What happens in Vegas...

Vegas.
In July.
Is HOT.

The sidewalks are shimmering by 9am. The palpable heat rises upwards, forming thermal air currents. The wind blows one way, then another, evoking the experience of a convection oven. If you're unlucky, it blows your hair about, making it stick to your sweaty forehead. If you're lucky, you're inside, gambling just to have an excuse to be where it's cool. If you're really lucky, you're winning at the tables or the slots. Or at the game of love.

We checked into the MGM Grand around noon. Our room was on the 20-something floor. From the windows I could see the fountain show at the Bellagio, and the construction of the monstrous new Cosmopolitan Resort, which was rather depressing. Given the state of the current economy, I wondered when its three towers would be completed. Plaiting my hair in twin braids that gave me a girlish look, I took a quick shower and changed into a flimsy white muslin sundress with a plunging vee neckline perfect for hanging my sunglasses on. I've got plenty of décoleté and I was fully aware that eyes would be drawn there--especially since my nipples get very hard and long in the air-conditioning.

My lover gave me a long, level look when he saw what I was wearing. His eyes are dark, and while they are often as open and transparent as a child's, in this case, I sensed a good deal of ambivalence. He walked up to me and gave me a long kiss, then snaked a hand up between us and tugged on one of my prominent nipples, making me moan and lean into him. I hadn't seen him in weeks and I was so hungry for him all I wanted to do was tie him to the bed and keep him there for days.

His other hand slid searchingly along my backside. He broke the kiss and said authoritatively, "Wear panties under that dress."

I pouted and considered going commando anyway, but in the ever-present struggle for dominance that is our relationship, I knew he'd simply pull his trump card. He'd deny me what I wanted most from him: the feel of him over me, on me, and in me. In the world of D/s some people are controllable through pleasure, some through pain. Me, I am controllable via my turbo-charged libido. I'll do anything if I'm denied sex long enough, and silly me, I'd taken a vow of monogamy -- albeit a rather loosely defined version that would not be recognized as monogamy by most vanilla couples.

So I went and put panties on. And for revenge I put on the granny panties I always pack just in case Aunt Flow decides to visit. And then we took the elevator down to the casino.

I like the MGM Grand because it's one of the more understated hotels on The Strip. Not as understated as the Park Hyatt in Tokyo, mind you, but for Vegas, it's quite bearable. Since I choose not to watch television or listen to the radio (I think I was Amish in another life) most of the Las Vegas casinos overstimulate me within minutes, and seeing as I had been high up in the Sierras just a few days prior to visiting Sin City, my sensory net was particularly sensitive. It didn't take long for me to blue-screen, and I lost count of the number of times I bumped into people because I was wandering around in a daze. Finally, my lover pulled me aside and asked how I was doing.

"Protein," was all I could think to say.

He took my hand and towed me over to the Rainforest Cafe, where I devoured my lunch to the accompaniment of trumpeting elephants, nodding leopards, and thunderstorms. When I finished, I wanted a nap.

"Let's play the slots," he said.

So I followed him to a bank of slot machines and watched him sit in front of something that looked suspiciously like a video game for 8 year olds. Push a button and watch five rows of three symbols roll around until they stop. And when they stop hopefully there is a row of three symbols matching, and hopefully on the line you bet on. I'm not a gambler. It goes against the grain to throw money at something where the odds of coming out ahead are so low. Sitting in front of slot machines is suspiciously like the grinding one does in MMPORGS like World of Warcraft. Push button. Spin spin spin. End turn. Push button. Spin spin spin. End turn. Repeat. Yawn. I grew bored of watching and pulled out my iPhone. Heros of Sparta was far more interesting.

Eventually he grew concerned about my apparent boredom. Was there something else I wanted to do?

To reassure him, I pulled a dollar out of my pocket. For all the times I've been to Nevada, I've never gambled there. I fed the dollar into the penny machine I was sitting at and blindly pushed a button. It cost me ten cents to watch the video screen tumble. Nothing.

A man sat next to me, drink in hand. He looked at my breasts, noticed me noticing him looking, and asked, "How's your luck?"

"Nothing yet," I said, and turned back to my machine.

I pressed the button again.

The screen rolled, same as before, only this time, when it stopped, the machine started dinging. And kept dinging. And dinging. Apparently I'd hit a jackpot for 1300 credits. Which on a penny machine means I made 13 dollars.

I cashed out.

My lover smiled at my good luck and asked me how I wanted to celebrate my win. I leaned over and whispered something into his ear, then hit the 'cash out' button on his machine.

Time to head upstairs to our room.

We threaded through the casino, following the 45 degree angle of the floorplan from one side to the opposite end, where the hotel access was. The elevator was empty and he teased my ass with his hand on the way up, making me squirm. I leaned forward to kiss him, but he blocked me, giving his head a firm shake.

He let us into the room and I went immediately to the bathroom, which was quite spacious, with black and white marble tiles and a big oval mirror on the wall between the shower and the commode. I ran the tap on warm and stripped down, then stepped into the tub to give myself a quick anal douche. I knew what I wanted, and I wanted to be ready for it.

Feeling clean and confident, I rinsed off and towelled dry, then slipped into a short and slinky black satin nightie. When I stepped into the bedroom he was waiting for me, completely naked. I felt an anxious thrill as he slipped his arms around me and gave me a long, lingering kiss. His hard cock pressed against me and I took it in my hand, wincing a bit as I did so. Even after four years, his size was a bit daunting.

Suddenly, he pushed me forward onto the bed so that I landed face-first and somewhat sprawled, with my legs mostly over the edge. His hands gripped my hips and he pressed himself against me, searing me with his heat. I wriggled a hand under me and guided the head so he rubbed against my clit a few times, making me gasp with pleasure. I moved my fingers farther back, opening myself, fingers seeking the wetness deep inside, but he pushed my hand aside and shoved into me. It hurt. A lot. He's so thick that I can't take him without serious lubrication, and so my body produces a profusion of it -- only this time he wasn't waiting for it. This time he wedged his cock incrementally into me, making soothing sounds whenever I cried out. He brushed my hair aside and kissed my back, grazing it with his whiskers. Another shove, this one easier than the last.

"There we go," he said. "I found what I've been drilling for."

He pulled back until he was almost all the way out, then pushed in again, seeking to tap all that moisture. Within moments we were both well-lubricated. And within moments, I was coming. It was a voluptuous orgasm and I relaxed into it, my body lengthening and my throat releasing my pent-up breath on a long wail of pleasure.

No sooner was I finished coming than he pulled out and pressed the big mushroom head of his cock against another opening.

"Oh wait, please wait," I begged him. "I'm not ready there. It's going to hurt."

"You like it when it hurts," he reminded me.

"Yes, but it's been weeks since we had anal sex and I'm not opened at all."

He backed off a bit and planted both hands on my ass, separating the cheeks. I collected some of my juices on my fingers and worked them up against the dark rosebud he'd been pressing on. I knew he wasn't going to give me much time, so I slipped my fingers inside, opening myself up, frantically trying to get as much pussy juice around that little hole as I could. Anal sex normally pushes the pleasure/pain barrier, but with him, well, accomodating him was akin to fisting -- and I'd tried that with one of my girlfriends. (Yikes!)

Apparently, watching me slide my fingers in and out of my asshole got him worked up even more. He grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the small of my back, then pressed his cock into me. I drew my breath in between my teeth, alternately hissing and whimpering. I wiggled my ass around under him and squeezed and released my sphincter, doing everything I could to ease the pain. Then with a short little shove the glans popped through the over-stretched ring of my anus. He moaned and I gasped. His hands dug into my flesh, pulling the cheeks of my ass apart like one pulls apart the segments of an orange. He pressed relentlessly into me, and every time I begged him to slow down he told me I'd taken him this way hundreds of times and I was going to take him a hundred times more. My hands fisted the coverlet on the bed and I buried my face against it, crying into it, alternately begging him to stop, and begging him to push on. There is something about anal penetration that is both excrutiatingly painful and exquisitely pleasurable.

He paused for a moment and then pushed on, wedging himself into me in the same way he had worked himself into my pussy -- incrementally, backing off and pushing forward, bit by bit, until at last I could feel his shaved mound pressing against my ass. Deep. It-can't-get-any-deeper-than-that deep.

I sighed and whimpered and begged him to be still, to give me a chance to adjust. He was so huge and so deep and I felt so impossibly stretched that I would have cried if I hadn't known that crying would only make it hurt worse. In response he leaned forward until his chest was draped over my back. As he lay there on top of me, his weight pressing into me, I danced my ass around, wriggling and jiggling and squeezing, trying to get past the "ouch! what the fuck, get the hell out!" stage.

Finally, it happened, whatever it is that happens that changes the terrible stretching from pain to pleasure. Like a leg muscle being repeatedly stretched and worked in different ways, the muscles in my backside finally relaxed and warmed up to my intruder. Something in me changed at the same time. That thing that always happens when I'm pinned under him with his cock in my ass. I became a supplicant, a penitant, a mendicant, and a full-blown anal slut. I released my grip on the coverlet and raised my head.

"Fuck my ass," I said to him. "Fuck it like a pussy, baby."

And oh, did he ever. He arched himself up and grabbed my shoulders in his hands, using them as leverage for penetrating me deeply. He fucked me slowly at first, using slow strokes that reminded me of how long he was, and then he'd clench my shoulders and push deeply, making me gasp. Sometimes he pulled all the way out, and sometimes he pulled out just until the head of his cock was inside, and then he'd fall forward into me like a meteor down a gravity well.

"You love this, don't you, you dirty girl?" he asked after my first orgasm.

"Yes," I gasped, taking his cue. "I love it. I'm such a dirty girl, I love the feel of you fucking my ass. Fuck it so I'm sore for days, lover."

He turned onto his side and brought me with him, and his fingers dove between my thighs. I hooked a leg up over his to give him easier access, and soon he had three fingers buried inside me, pressed up against my G-spot, while the heel of his palm ground against my clit. He cradled my head against his shoulder and gripped my breast in his hand and started fucking my ass with short fast strokes that had me moaning deliriously. Shudders ran up and down my spine, making my fingers tingle like they were sparklers on the fourth of July. I came on his fingers, came hard, a triple anal-vaginal-clitoral orgasm that totally wrung me out. I went completely limp in his arms and he pulled me back to the edge of the bed. I had no resistance left. Conquered completely, I balanced on unsteady legs as he stood behind me. And then the ass-fucking began in earnest.

He pounded my ass through the languidness of the post-orgasmic endorphin rush. Pounded it past the tingly phase. Pounded it into over-sensitivity. Pounded into me until I was begging him to cum, begging him to fill me with his cum, begging him to end it soon because the pleasure arc was no longer smooth. It was jagged with points of pain.

"Please baby, please. I'm such a dirty little anal slut, you know I am. I want you to cum deep inside me. I want to feel your cum inside me all night."

And then he slapped my ass, a hard flat-palmed slap on my sweetspot, which made me bolt forward, and he followed me, mounted me higher, his knees up by my hips, sawing his cock between the cheeks of my ass until he came with a roar, his body jerking and swaying as he pulsed inside me again and again.

He leaned forward and kissed my shoulder. "You're going to feel that for days," he said smugly. "And when you I notice you're no longer wincing every time you sit down, I'll do it again."

I moaned, half in supplication, half in anticipation. As a Dominant, I know how to make a man mine, but this man, he knows how to make me his. Like no one else, he knows how to make me his.

Blog of the Day Award, and other things

I can't believe its been nearly ten days since I last posted. Obviously, I've been really busy.

The big news for today is that I just heard from Bill Austin that my site has won a Blog of the Day Award (BOTDA)! Very cool and unforseen. I even get to use this button:
.


What else? Lets see... My friend S was just visiting--he is an airline steward and has had Friday night to Saturday afternoon layovers this month. On his most recent overnight I took him to the Samurai exhibit at the Asian Art Museum here in town. We ate pho and I showed him photos from the Japan trip in April. It has been a few years since he was there last and he now he really wants to go back.

My companion, M, is working like a fiend on a start-up project. I cleared the dining table of its settings so he could use it as an additional desk -- he's got 4 computers running right now, with MacOS, Linux, Windows Vista and Windows 7 beta. There are lots of routers, wires, and packaging all over the place--its madness. A madness I do my best to cope with while leaving it alone--quite an effort, I assure you.

I'm in talks with a friend, The Sayer of RedWordSaid.com who does his own erotic audio files for women -- we're trying to figure out how to expand awareness of our work and the unique niches we fill. I'm advertising on Google, looking at doing ads on FetLife.com (a captive audience of Kinksters!) and trying to figure out how to re-design my sites with DreamWeaver and make banners with PhotoShop.

M, being an internet guru, has given me some tips and suggestions -- like offering my high-quality erotic vignettes on iTunes for .99 each to get more traffic and sales. So I'll probably set something up with CDBaby, a music distribution company local to my favorite town (Portland, OR) which has been hit hard by the recession. Hopefully, selling short vignettes on iTunes will help drive traffic to the sites where my full-length, high-quality, kinky and creative erotic audio stories are available for sale, like SilkenErotica.com and AudioSensual.com.

I'm podcasting 3x a month on the 5th, 15th and 25th--just put a new episode out today, in fact, and recording and doing the production on audio is actually a rather time-consuming labor of love. Currently, the AudioSensual podcast is averaging about 7,000 downloads a week from 1500 unique IPs. I passed the 100,000 downloads mark at the end of May, in just 14 weeks. That still blows my mind.

I've been writing, too -- submitted stories to 2 anthologies this month, and have two more July 1 deadlines I want to meet, one of them for an anthology featuring erotica based in San Francisco.

I'm also heading out of town tomorrow. I'll spend a week in the Sierra Nevada's up near Mammoth Lakes, writing, fishing, and hanging out with family. I'm hoping to get some excellent photos taken. I get home on the 2nd of July and then on Sunday the 5th I'll be hopping a plane to Vegas -- M decided he wanted to see Bill Maher and so we'll be staying for a few days and catching Chris Angel's show, too.

Hopefully I'll find the time to post something naughty in the next week.

Say what you need to say

I am enjoying my life in San Francisco. I am writing, recording, and enjoying the beautiful weather. I have a fun and interesting companion and we go on adventures together. I am happy. I am doing my best to live life fully, with my heart wide open to everyone I meet.

My companion and I watched the movie The Bucket List earlier today. As the final credits rolled and the song Say What You Mean To Say Played, he said, "Maybe we should make bucket lists."

Have no fear of giving in... Have no fear of giving over...

"Sure," I said.

You better know that in the end... Its better to say too much... Than never to say what you need to say again...

"But I'd rather make lists of things I want to do in the next 2 to 5 years."

Even if your hands are shaking... And your faith is broken... Even as the eyes are closing...

"Why is that?" he asked.

Do it with a heart wide open... Say what you need to say...

"Because I don't want to be one of those people who makes a list of things I want to do before I die and then die before I get around to doing it."

Say what you need to say... Say what you need to say...

I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister. I miss my sister.

Say what you need to say... Say what you need to say...

I miss my sister. And some days... some days it feels like I've got to live my life fully enough for two.

Say what you need to say... Say what you need to say...

Miss you, little sis.


AND Thank you so much for the trip to Japan, sweetie. My sister always wanted to go there.


Ah, much better. I said what I needed to say.

Surprise! Its December.

(Tammy and her niece, Nov 2003)

December has come, to my surprise. It has crept up on me. For the past 10 years December has always been a hectic month, a headlong dash into what we in the fiscal/accounting field simply call "Year End". But not this one. Last month I quit my job and my life to move nearer to family and love. I am no longer tied to the grueling schedule, but neither am I tied to the certainty of a salary. It is an interesting adjustment to make.

The past couple of weeks have been a pleasant interlude, and opportunity to rest after the hectic pace of November. I've been waking up when I want to, which is usually between 8 and 9 am. I see my housemate off for work between 10 and 11. I go work out. I come back and work on my writing and recording and websites. For the first time since Tammy's illness became life-threatening, I've had both the time and the creative energy to think about how to put my work out there to touch more lives and perhaps earn a bit from it. I unpack a bit. I read some. I ride my sybian and leave naughty voicemail messages. And when my lover is free, I ride him. It is lovely, having sex almost daily. And it is interesting how our relationship has changed.

Next week I will be at my Grandfather's. It gives everyone in Tulsa a bit of a break, and my grandfather is asking to see me. Then the following two weeks I'll be with family back in California. It will be the first time I've spent Christmas with my family in over 10 years. And it will be the first Christmas without Tammy. I'm grateful that my other two sisters who had grim cancer diagnoses are still with us, and grateful, too, that Grandfather will live to see the New Year. But I am sad, nonetheless. Tammy loved Christmas.

Playing tour guide

I have been a good hostess, I think. Its been a few years since my friend was in the States, and last time all he wanted to do was fish. This time it was too late in the season, so I entertained him by playing tour guide. This weekend we went to McMenamin's Edgefield, had their microbrew brown ale and played four games of pool (he won three). In between rain showers we visited the Chinese Garden, drove through the countryside and enjoyed all the foliage changing, did some wine tasting at Willamette Valley Vineyards, and drove along Skyline Boulevard and the Hoyt Arboretum in downtown Portland. He enjoyed the dim sum, much to my surprise. He made short work of the chicken feet, which were very savory with ginger. Sushi at Saburos, after an hour wait, which he grumbled about until he saw what the sushi looked like, and then he settled down to eating. After sushi we went to a 'gentlemans club' to watch the girls dance. It was quite fun--especially the part where a birthday girl got a lap dance from three woman at the same time. He is good company and he makes me laugh, but it will be good to get back into my groove. I've got three weeks before I leave Portland, and a lot to do in the meantime. Some how I've got to fit in sorting and packing and paring things down between my desire to see as many of my friends before I leave. So much to do, including getting him to the airport tomorow!

Boston

My companion and I had a wonderful time in Boston. The weather, for mid-October, was quite good. The days were either overcast and almost-balmy, or sunny and brisk. We were rained-on only once, and briefly at that, and it felt good. Boston is one of those cities that has grown organically, not unlike most European cities, and so it is almost impossible to get around in via car. We bought transit passes and rode the T most of the time. I enjoy people-watching except when the conditions are too crowded, at which point I stare inward. When there are too many people around me it is oppressive. Every person has their own sphere of energy, and many people project it, and I can feel them all around me, pressing. My companion was wonderful. He always knew when I was feeling over-crowded. I'm not sure if it showed on my face or if he was sensitive to the changes in my own energy, but he would ask after me, hold my hand, and occasionally distract me with kisses. The kisses, of course, were delightful.

The Museum of Fine Arts is huge, and the quality of the artwork and the displays was above reproach. They even allowed photography. The Boston Commons is a lovely park criss-crossed with broad walkways and containing well-placed statuary. The roasted nuts were wonderful to hold, a treat for my nose and my chilled fingers. The Aquarium was fun. I particularly enjoyed watching the penguins and the jellyfish. The central, multi-story aquarium was massive and the flow of fish was hypnotic. It suffers in comparison to the aquarium in Monterey, CA, which I visited in February, but given the space they have to work with, it is a fine facility. I saw Dark Knight on the IMAX at the Aquarium. It was a brilliant film, engrossing and thrilling to watch on such a large screen. We did a tour of the city by road and water. The cruise on the Charles River at sunset was truly lovely, if a bit cold. Boston is loaded with Irish pubs. We stopped at one near Faneuil Hall and I ordered shepherd's pie and Sam Adam's Oktoberfest brew. It was a good meal, filling and warming. On our final day we went to the JFK Museum and Library. It is a beautiful setting and a well-designed facility. He was dead before I was born, and while I'd known of JFK most of my life, it was refreshing to get a glimpse of the past from primary materials. Jack and Jackie brought something to Washington that has been missed ever since -- the hope and energy of youth. I would have voted for him, I know that.

It was a wrench, leaving Boston, leaving my companion. I have loved him for years, and sometimes it is years between seeing each other, despite our best efforts. Friend of the soul, heart of my heart. Of everything I experienced during our vacation -- he was my favorite part.

Phone call.

His was the last number I called from the airport.

"I'm here."

"Where is 'here'?"

"I'm walking up the ramp from my plane."

"Oh good! You're close."

"I am?"

"Yes, I'm at the marina, just put the boat back in the water."

"I thought you were keeping it in dry-dock til next year."

"Meet me here?"

"I'm tired, Kurt."

"I know, but I want to see you, see how you are doing."

"I'm tired, its after 10. How about I see you tomorrow morning?"

"Good idea. You can sleep here on the boat and I'll see you when we wake up."

"You're so bad..." I chuckled tiredly.

"I'll hold you, and the boat can rock you to sleep. I know you like that."

"I do..."

I stopped by the escalator. I was so tired that I swayed under the weight of my briefbag.

Kurt gave me directions from the airport to the marina, the rich timbre of his voice flowing through me. Potent, it was like a caress down my spine. I felt his large hands scoop my ass and pull me close to him.

"See you in what--half an hour?"

I was too tired to argue, and his boathouse was much closer than my place.

"Sooner than that. I left my luggage in San Francisco."

"You're going back?" Kurt sounded cautious. He accepted my relationships with the other men in my life, but he was concerned about the one in San Francisco.

"Yes. My sister..." My throat tightened and tears welled up.

"Ah. Poor Kay. Come here and let me pamper you."

"Deal."

Travel clothes

I wear skirts when I travel. I generally wear skirts regardless of whether I am flying or driving, and except in cases of deep snow, regardless of the weather. Most women I know think I'm nuts. But I have my reasons, good reasons.

Skirts are comfortable. They are unrestrictive, allowing a full range of motion. If they get twisted, they do not tug or cut painfully into anything. They allow for air-flow when it is hot. When it is cold, bike shorts or leggings can be worn underneath without compromising comfort.

But regardless of these practicalities, there is a better reason to wear skirts when traveling: People are more courteous. I find that when I am wearing a skirt or dress, people are more polite. Bus, tram, trolly, and shuttle drivers always rush to help me with my bags. Service staff at hotels, restaurants and airports are both more deferential and helpful. People hold open the doors and let me pass first. And men are more admiring and appreciative. I've had several comments from men about how nice it is to see a woman in skirts.

I assure you, chivalry is not dead. It is simply that men's responses to feminism have driven it underground. I have observed that while most men will be solicitous toward women given the opportunity, they are less likely to act upon their chivalrous urges when the fairer sex is wearing pants. It seems to me that men unconsciously interpret the wearing of pants as a woman's declaration of independence.

A woman in skirts however, ah! now she is the target of all the bottled-up chivalry that men have less and less opportunity to express in this world of gender parity. She has dropped something, Oh, here, let me get that for you. Oh, no need to pump your own gas, I'm almost finished with mine, I'll be happy to do yours next. Please, take this full-sized car instead of the mid-sized, no extra charge. You'll be more comfortable. A lady should never eat alone, may I join you? Please, you take this elevator, I'll wait for the next. Its pouring rain and you've no umbrella? Please share mine. Here, let me get that door for you.

I am by no means helpless, in fact, quite the opposite. But there is an implied social contract between a woman in skirts and the rest of the world. In exchange for their solicitousness and courtesy, for providing them the opportunity to be gentle-people, I am smiling, gracious, and receptive: a lady.

I dress like a lady, act like a lady, and in return, I am treated like one.

All for the 'price' of wearing a skirt. Quite a bargain, I say.

Leaving Massachusetts

The sun shone. The rain came, a torrential downpour complete with thunder and lightning. And then it snowed. And rained some more. All in 10 days. I'd forgotten how bizarre the weather could be in New England.

She was brain dead but we kept her on life support long enough for them to find donors for her organs. Four people were given a second chance at life. This is a comfort to me somehow, knowing that some part of her lives on in others. Like me, she had no children.

She was cremated. Her urn is actually a beautiful wooden box, which we will take to Hawaii. We will disburse her ashes in the same place we did our mother's ashes 6 years ago.

I went to her boyfriend's house to get her things. I had this odd moment, this memory-echo, when I went to get into the rental car stuffed full of clothing and paperwork and medical supplies. I remembered Tammy and me in Hilo, standing next to my mother's car, which contained all of her belongings. It seemed so sad that her life fit into a car, and my sister Tammy sobbed then, horrible wracking sobs that echoed in the jungle with the same mournful quality as wolves howling. My other sister unpacked the rental car when I got to her place. I couldn't seem to do it. I was so blocked on it, for some reason. But she understood and did it for me.


We had a quiet ceremony at the funeral home. Just family and a few close friends. Friends of hers opened their restaurant early and served us lunch. I had homemade tortellini soup and a portobello mushroom salad. It was all quite tasty. It was the first thing I remember tasting in a week, actually.

Friday we opened her bar for a goodbye party. Last call for alcohol. It was just for 4 hours, but there must have been 250 people who showed up to pay their respects and send her off. I think she would have liked it. She always threw a good party.

I'm in Portland now, with an 18 hour turn-around and then to California to see my sister Caro before she dies. She said come now, she is tired. The tumor on her aorta makes every beat of her heart painful, and she is ready to go. And so I am coming.

Such a painful way to start a new year, with so much loss and suffering. I could make it mean a lot of different things about the world, about life... I could chose to make it mean that life is unfair, that it sucks--all sorts of things. I choose instead to make it mean that Tammy is free of suffering and Caro soon will be, and that life is what it is and every day we have is the most important day of our lives.

Solstice on the Coast

It is quiet here. Very quiet, except for the wind and the surf. It sounds like there is an airco engine running outside. The seagulls are grounded. The dunegrass and brambles are waving at me, trying to get my attention. I think they want inside. The sea is gray-green--big stormy swells with colliding whitecaps in a rush to reach the shore.

I am listening to Dead Can Dance's Toward the Within album. The Piece for Solo Flute with its haunting melody provides a soothing counterpoint to nature's rage. Solstice has passed, the sun is reborn. The days will grow longer, and yet Winter has formally begun.

There is a New Year on the horizon, hovering out there in the fog and mist, as yet unformed. I have great hopes for that New Year... and no small amount of dread. Who will I chose to be to meet the challenges and opportunities of 2008? Looking into the future is like looking into that mist, and the only certainty right now is my sister's Jan 2nd surgery to remove the cancer growing inside her.

The coffee is brewed and the muffins are cool enough to eat. My friends are awake. Time to start my Sunday.

Returned from California

My visit to California was extraordinary. I got to see two different sets of friends, my sister and her family, and my father. I watched my nephew in a play, bounced my niece on my knees, enjoyed the 50F Bay Area weather and the 90F Valley weather, and smiled a lot.

Last Friday I pulled up to my sister's house around 11pm. She stumbled out of bed to greet me and gave me a big hug.
She said "Wow, you feel good."
I said "Thank you."
She said, "No, I mean you feel GOOD. Have you fallen in love or lost weight or something?"
I said, "I've fallen in love with Life and I've lost the past."

Landmark Education is paying off. Best investment I've made in myself. Better than the two years of therapy I went through. Wheee. Finally, I have access to tools that make it possible for me to live an even more vibrant, extraordinary life!

Luck, or Reaping what is sown?

I have been assured that I am far too generous. That I am too kind, too naive, too gullible. That one day I will get myself hurt (I have been, but that won't stop me).

This may be the case. Certainly it appears to be accurate from certain points of view.

And yet, this is how I am. I have a generous spirit. I give when I can, where I can, when I perceive need. In one month I paid a scholarship to a workshop for someone who could not afford it, I paid for coffee for a woman who left her wallet at home, I asked a single-mom with a newborn what she needed most and got it for her, gave a friend with back-trouble a massage, paid for my niece's daycare so my sister could finish her nursing program, and gave freely of my time to an acquaintance who was having marital problems and needed an ear.

"That was very generous of you," commented a good friend of mine.

"Its only time and money. Its what I do with them that are important," I answered.

Besides. I do have a motive. Or maybe three. Giving, of myself or my resources, makes me aware of the abundance in my life. I am aware of my good fortune and try not to take it for granted. It makes me feel good, knowing I have been able to do something for another person. And lastly, and perhaps more importantly, I do so selfishly. I have this superstition that what I send out into the world comes back to me, perpetually. Ill thoughts, ill words, ill deeds, I feel, revisit themselves upon those who perpetuate them. I sow kindness and good intentions and in return, I know, I just know, that when I have a need I cannot meet myself, that somehow, someway, I will get what I need. Some call it luck, some call it karma. I say--good or bad--what comes your way often depends on what you send out into the world.

I cashed in on a few good-deeds this past weekend. I drove up The Mountain and when I left, I left my car and took the car that The Englishman had... it was being cranky. It was late, and it was some time before I realized that the car I'd traded mine for had a gas gauge on empty, and the nearest place for gas was 14 miles away on a winding, graded road. I had a twinge of anxiety but told myself I would make it. And I did. Only, when I arrived, the station was closed, and had been for 30 minutes. I noticed a clerk was still inside. I knocked on the door and he came to it, saying, We're closed. And I said, I noticed, and could he please tell me where the next station was, as I was on empty. And he told me 7 miles. And I asked him if he thought it would be open. He looked at his watch, looked at me, at my car. He said, No, not that late, and he must have seen the flash of panic on my face, because he offered to turn on the pumps and fill my tank. I thanked him profusely. When he finished filling the tank, I tried to give him some cash for him, for his time, for staying late, but he would not take it.

He was a good man, who did a kind and generous thing for a stranger late at night. I could have been a thief, but he took a chance, and helped me. I hope, one day, when he is in need, someone will help him, too. I know the next time I come across someone who needs my help, I will do so, and remember him.

Walking down memory lane

I spent my birthday with a special someone, walking through the misty Henry Cowell redwoods, revisiting my childhood. Not a mile from the house where my mother and I spent our childhood summers is a place called Roaring Camp. All summer long they run old trains on narrow gauge tracks up to Bear Mountain and back, and down into downtown Santa Cruz. Hearing that train whistle brought back a flood of memories. As did that scent of oak and redwood and humus that filled the air. It was fun to feel the decomposed granite of the pathway crunching underfoot, my legs longer and my feet larger than when I walked it last, but each step rolling back the years. I managed to will back the rain long enough to enjoy the 1880's village there, to toast the marshmallows that MR bought, and to walk the mile circle through the redwoods. I missed the sounds of birds, but it is winter still, despite the fact that the plum trees are blooming. I know I was suddenly childlike in my enthusiasm for being there, in that place, but MR was great about it. He even offered to let me drive his Z3. Pity I didn't have my license with me.

I'll be off to the airport soon, returning to the life I left behind in Portland 10 days ago. CW and Cyn and the others have missed me and I've missed them. And my bed.

Just your average blog entry

Last week a nasty cold fell on me like an avalanche, wiping out my voice, and filling my lungs. I left work at noon on Wednesday and it wasn't until Sunday that I could get out of bed without feeling dizzy. So I stayed in bed. A dozen long-stemmed roses in a gorgeous salmon-pink colour arrived to grace my room on Thursday, a bit of beauty to raise my spirits. This afternoon, more flowers, this time at work (a big no-no): an arrangement of orchids and interesting greenery. The card read "Stubborn wench--at work when you should be at home, in bed..." I added the parenthetical "with me" that he left off of the message, probably to save the florist embarrassment.

A cold front hit the Pacific Northwest at the same time. It was interesting to look at little drifts of sun-sheltered snow on vivid green grass. Such a contrast. The culms of the black bamboo seem so dark right now, the leaves sparser and less vivid. The holly trees are full of berries this year. Big red berries that show up so well against the spiky, waxy leaves. I really need to get out and take some photos. I've been wanting to for days, but I dared not go out in below-freezing weather, not with my lungs so full of crap. Perhaps this week.

I finished a naughty story yesterday, the seeds of which started months ago but which I just didn't have time to do right. I wanted to do a D/s story, but I wanted to get the nuances right, the psychology, the dialogue, the scenario. I'm fairly pleased with it, though I know some people think I will have ended it prematurely. I just don't feel it necessary to spell out what any reader knows is going to happen. That is the thing about erotica. You know the ending before you even start reading :) I doubt I'll record this one, there is too much male dialogue.

Plans for next month are shaping up. An upcoming seminar in San Fransisco just before my birthday prompted me to take some extra vacation time to spend with loved ones in the area. It should be a very full 10 days. Hopefully the weather will be conducive to photography. I may even bring my tripod.

The intensity level seems to be ratcheting up in some of my relationships. I don't know if it is a function of my stress-level or my customary availability during this period in my work. But I am being asked on several fronts when I'm going find a less demanding job, when I'm going to settle down, narrow down the list of people I'm dating, etc. I've got some great people in my life, people I enjoy so much and enjoy dating casually, no intimacy pressure or awkwardness, a fair number of whom are 'poly' people. And then the two most intense, rewarding, and frustrating relationships are with men who are monogamous, love me, 'wouldn't ask me to be exclusive' and yet aren't happy. I've offered to end the relationships. I've offered to eliminate physical intimacy and focus on what is important: relating. But that is not what they want. No, they want me available and all to themselves. And I'm floored. They are both good-looking, personable, financially-stable professionals that just about any single woman between the ages of 25 and 40 would gladly date. So why do they want me? Or why don't I want to pick one and settle down? Oddly enough, this is not good for my ego. And its definitely not good for my peace of mind.

There is so much love in me. I think learning metta meditation, learning to project that love out into the world, has helped to diminish some of that compelling intensity I bring to my deeper relationships. But not enough, I think, for one person to bear the force of it, of what they both seem to covet for themselves--my uniqueness. I am of the mind, however, to give one of them what he thinks he wants. And see how quickly he changes his mind. I don't think either of them is capable of valuing what being in a monogamous relationship with me really means. All of my intensity, my libido, my intellect, my spontaneity, my intuition, my emotions--everything I've honed in the past 2 years I've been single gathered up and devoted to one person, focused on one person? Heh. They would be intimidated.

They both deny it, but they would. I don't know why, but even when I try to be open and warm, I intimidate some people. Daily, prolonged exposure to me seems to make my partners feel insecure or overwhelmed or whatever. I am whole unto myself, self-contained and self-reliant. I don't need any one person. And men need to be needed. They need to feel they have a purpose in a woman's life, a reason to be: protector, friend, lover, provider. But no one person can be all things to another. Its a fallacy that monogamists the world-over have bought into and try to brainwash and socialize others into believing--that you're not whole until you find your other half. And two men I love think that their individual self-interest is jeopardized by the presence of other loved-ones in my life. They don't realize that it is not the others they have to worry about competing with for me. Its me.

2006: The year of love and friendship

In the past year, especially, I've learned the value of open and honest communication, and more, of putting myself out there emotionally and being vulnerable. My awareness of the world and my inner life has deepened with both therapy and my meditation practice. I've had some insights and put into effect some changes in my life and I've found that my ability to relate with others has increased dramatically. Yes, in putting myself out there, I risk emotional pain, but life is as transient and uncertain as it is beautiful , and I've realized that if I'm unwilling to embrace the possibility of negative consequences, I'm not really living my life--I'm playing it safe.

These flowers are from a friend I've made this year. A wonderful man of intelligence, wisdom, and kindness whom I never would have met if it was not for the changes I've made in my life this year--of my choice to take risks, to be spontaneous, to follow my intuitions.

A retrospective of 2006:
I am, mostly, well. 2006 was a tough year--My sister spent January through September in and out of the hospital and I did a lot of travelling back and forth to Massachusetts. She seems to have stabilized, but the medical estabilishment says it will be another year before they know what the lasting effects of the illness will be, and if she will require convalescent care for the rest of her life. We did not think she would make it to her 37th birthday, but she is a stubborn wench and surprised us all. Work has been awful--so short-staffed that I was asked to stay on even after I offered to resign because I was having to leave for MA for weeks on end and at a moment's notice.

And yet, for all that, it has been a great year, too. I've been dating some amazing men, completed two years of counselling/therapy, seen friends and family, and done a fair bit of travelling. I am participating in an ecstatic dance group, have been exploring tantra and intimacy, and I've been developing my abilities as a writer and a photographer with the encouragement of professionals in both fields.

This year my friendships have deepened, and I've learned just how secure a support system I have. I've learned that I don't always have to be 'strong' and that it takes more courage to lean on others than it does to be the one others lean on. I've learned that I can feel fear without embodying it. As a consequence of my sister's illness, which was partly brought on by self-neglect, I've come to the realization that I need to learn to live in and with my body--to fully inhabit it--rather than driving it, or using it as a tool. The seat of my self-awareness and the source of my connection with reality are my flesh and my senses, and neglecting to care for my body means that there will likely come a day when it is unable to furnish my needs.

And so, while I am not the sort of person who participates in the New Year's Resolution ritual, I am committed to making 2007 the year I make peace with my body, learning to inhabit it fully, ceasing to use it as a shield between me and a world whose attentions I'd become so averse to.

I am off to the Coast for the weekend for a quiet retreat in a little 1920's cottage, where I can recuperate from 50 to 60 hour work weeks to the sound of wild surf and blustry winds. I expect to sit by the fire, read, watch movies, and enjoy the opportunity to write and photograph.

Lost a bet!

I awakened this morning to a glorious sunrise. The sky was rose and gold, and the light poured into my room, which faces east/northeast. I put on my robe and went outside to photograph it, but the forest nearby obscured it too much, and I was still too sleepy to consider driving to a better vantage point. So I went back inside and watched the display until it was replaced by the bold blue sky, and went back to sleep. What a luxury.

I worked 6 days this past week, over 60 hours. I'm tired. I woke up tired. And I'll do it again this coming week. The joys of the accounting field and end of the year. What keeps me going is knowing that in 8 weeks I get my life back, and in 10 - 12 weeks, I'll do my birthday vacation in some form or another. In another month or so I should probably decide what, if anything, I'll be doing. Last year I went to Key West. The year before that, Siletz Bay, and the year before that Litha Springs. Some days its good to have that light at the end of the tunnel to work towards.

I lost a bet this weekend. I never bet unless I'm certain I'm right. And I was certain. But I was wrong. Ah well. I should know better than to bet against M, but I didn't mind really, since it was a win-win situation. Not that I mind losing this bet, which entails me going to San Francisco instead of him coming here. We didn't agree on a date or a duration prior to making the bet, which is good, as I'll not really get to breathe again until mid-January, and that weekend I've already got plans lined up, much to his dismay.

I'm working on a naughty story, almost got it finished. Its been a while since I did nay writing and it feels good to get those creative erotica juices flowing again.

Home from Thanksgiving Vacation

Home.

I am sitting at the dining table sipping jasmine tea and nibbling on dark chocolate with bits of crystalized ginger in it, watching the black bamboo and the sweet orange osmanthus sway in the breeze. It is silent except for the deep thrum of the windchimes and the tap of my fingertips on the keyboard. I forgot how much I relish silence.

Ten days of travel. The joys of seeing family and friends and children. Road noise, airport announcements, beeps and flashes, the annoying endless loop of television programming.

And now, home. Silence. People say silence is golden but I think few really understand what that really means. It seems to me like so many people fear being alone with their thoughts, fear the silencing of the external noise that drowns out their internal dialogue.

And now that I am alone, I'll let my thoughts flow, unedited, from my fingertips...


The photo above is of my niece gathering up the golden leaves of the ginkgo tree. I braided some of her hair and put ginkgo leaves in it to form a crown. She looked like a princess with golden butterflies in her hair. A lovely child of four, with mossy green-brown eyes, so solemn and wide, and hair the colour of tobacco, brown and gold, with the same curls as mine. She resembles my mother in ways, particularly her mouth and chin, and she has the permanent sun-kissed tan that mom always had and which my sister's and I did not get. Lucky girl. I brought her Dr Seuss books and read to her, and she read the stories back to me, even mimicking the accents. She is so articulate, so expressive, so impossibly bright. I taught her fencing poses and lunges one day last May and she still remembered them. When she wrapped her arms around me and told me she loved me and missed me I fell in love with her all over again. My sister and her husband have done a fine job of raising her.

My nephew is a source of wonder to me. In January he will be 14. He is 5'9" already, and wearing a size 13 shoe. His hands are larger than mine, and mine are large for a woman. He is big and fleshy, poised for another spurt of growth. His nature is similar to what mine was at his age... he is very empathetic and kind, good-natured and friendly. He is popular with his peers but does not seek it. He does phenomenally in school--my sister was concerned that he was not bringing home any school work and met with his teachers, but the truth is that even with the GATE program he is hardly challenged at all. He finishes most of his homework before he leaves school for the day. I was prepared to find him at that age where teenaged boys don't want anything to do with their family--that age when they are exerting their independance and withdrawing from their family in favor of their friends. But he's not there yet, and perhaps never will become that self-isolating. For now he is thoughtful, affectionate and snuggly. I loved snuggling up to him and listening to him breathe, listening to him talk about the things that are important to him. Manga. PS2. Yugi-oh. Movies. Swimming. School.

We talked about girls. He said there are girls at school who say they are in love with him and I could tell that it confused him. "I'm too young for a relationship," he said to me with such seriousness. I always have condoms with me and I offered to leave him some but he blushed said he was fine--my sister has made some available to him but he doesn't plan to use them any time soon. I like him. Smart, articulate, brave, sure of himself in ways few teens are. He knows he is loved. My sister marinates him in it. I have faith that he will survive adolescence with his 'self' more or less intact.

As for my sisters, both are well. The one who was ill, well, she's getting better physically, but she drifts around a lot, somewhat out of sync with reality in ways that are hard to pinpoint. Some of that is being on morphine for pain, I know, but some of it is residual psychosis from advanced Beri-beri. She is existing right now... exisiting, and not in a place to care much for herself or others... she keeps falling asleep with lighted cigarettes in her hands, leaving burn-holes in carpets, blankets and clothes, freaking my other sister out. They fight over the smoking... my youngest sister fears that she is going to wake up to her house burning down. And so it goes.

Wednesday night I made yellow curry with vegetables and chicken for everyone. I decided it would be a good idea to have something completely different from what we'd be eating on Thanksgiving. Its a speciality of mine and my brother-in-law and my nephew were dubious, but find themselves enjoying it rather a lot.

Thursday's Thanksgiving dinner was delicious. My sister cooked the turkey in cheesecloth, which kept it very moist. There was cornbread stuffing cooked in a muffin pan, acorn squash, green beans with bacon, mashed potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce. Dessert (much later) was pecan pie or chocolate cream pie. I had the pecan pie, of course. The best part was snuggling up with my nephew for a nap.

Friday the six of us drove up into the Sierras to Shaver Lake, which is located about half-way between Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon. We had some of the best pizza I've ever eaten and strolled around the town a bit. The kids got their photos taken with Santa and my brother-in-law snapped a photo of my sister and I clowning around at the base of the town's Christmas Tree. It is a good photo. I think I'll have it printed and send it to my sister.

During the course of writing this I've gotten several phone calls and IMs. It is good to be home and good to know I was missed. I'm ready to resume my life here in Portland, even with the spectre of 8 weeks of 10 - 12 hours days at work on the horizon. Ah well, the joys of being in the accounting field.

Weekend in San Francisco

After a rather stressful day at work, I flew into San Francisco Friday night, rented a car and drove over to M's by 10-10:30pm. It was good to hug him and talk, and we neither of us got to sleep until 2 or 3 am. But of course I was awake by 7:30am, and of course he needs his 9 and more hours of sleep, so rather than wake him and make him keep me company, I showered and went out. Lucky for him I had my rental car... or I just might have taken his nice little BMW Z3 for ride.

The weather was peerless, warm enough that I didn't need a jacket, and there was not a cloud in the sky. I opened the sun roof, rolled down the windows, and listened to a jazz station as I drove up the Great Highway toward Sutro Heights. CD recommended the park to me. I climbed the hill in my little blue Pontiac G6, passed the Cliff House, found a parking spot on Point Lobos Ave, and strolled up toward the entrance to Sutro Heights Park. There be lions there, reclining on either side of the decomposed granite road. There are benches placed along the west side, and older people sat there, reading the paper and warming themselves in the late-morning sun.

It had rained a fair bit the week before I came, and I noticed signs of growth and renewal: new-green grass, plants pushing up out of the ground, bushes starting to bud. The air smelled so clean and fresh, and there was only the faintest breeze, barely enough to stir the folds of my skirt. Just past the gazebo I followed a dirt pathway that lead up into some trees surrounding a stone wall. The quality of the light coming through the tree branches was dreamy, lending an ethereal quality to my little tramp up a stairway. I came out onto a broad foundation overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Wow. Three big trees (cypresses?) dominated the east side of the space, leaving the rest of it exposed to the elements. I rested my palm against a rugged trunk and shook a stone of of my Birkenstocks. I liked the feel of it under my hands...rough and unyielding as stone, but living, a living being, this tree. I found myself wondering how old it was, how much it had seen, how many decades had passed for it to reach such an imposing girth.

As I wandered around the grounds I developed an appreciation for some of the specimens growing there, particularly this flower.

M woke up around noon and called me. We arranged to meet down at the Cliff House for lunch. I had a delicious shrimp louie at Sutro's Bistro, where they served these great warm popovers with a flaky exterior and an eggy inside. From there we walked down the hill to the beach and eventually sat on a bench and talked until the wind picked up about 4:30pm and it got chilly. We walked back up the hill and I followed him bak to his place, where we watched episodes of Ghost in the Shell late into the night.

I spent *hours* in bed on Sunday. I don't know when I last spent 10.5 hours in a bed. That is twice my usual daily dose. But it was nice to sleep in, and M did say that he would know his goal of geting my vacation off to a good start was achieved if I actually slept in. Which I did. Lunch was dim sum at a place that was insanely busy and we were the only non-asians in the building. From there we went to see Casino Royale. Went back to his place to watch more Ghost in the Shell and nap, and then went for sushi at Hana Zen, which was fantastic. I was going to head south to see my sisters, but as it was dark and getting out of San Francisco and onto I-5 is difficult enough in daylight, I decided to stay over another night, and leave on Monday morning. Since he had to go to work in the morning I was a good girl and went to bed early, then got on the road about 10am.

A long, relaxing weekend with one of my best friends was just what I needed. All in all a great start to a week's vacation.

Fantabulous Weekend

I think this has been one of the best weekends of my life.

1-My sister is doing better. One might even go so far as to say that she is recovering, keeping in mind that a few good weeks does not a recovery make, not with an illness that cost her 10 months of her life and half her body mass.

2-CD has not only finished his manuscript, but will be handing it over to his editor in a week. Even better tho, are the poems and prose he is now free to write, brightening my days, like this:

Opposable Thumbs

Because of our opposable thumbs, we human beings have unique capabilities. Our muscled, contrary digits allow us to pull, twist, manipulate, and grip; to use tools, to control, even "civilize" our environment. There is, however, one essential human quality that does NOT respond well to this wondrous digital opposability...

Love.

Love is given; it is to be received with open hands, as if it was a gift of pure, clear, life-giving water, flowing into and over our cupped palms.

Love is not to be pulled, twisted, manipulated, leveraged, or squeezed. Love is not to be hijacked, hitchhiked, clamped, or hammered.

No.

Use your opposable thumbs on love, and its life-giving magic will disappear, as surely as water flows through a grasping hand.

3-I went to two birthday parties on Saturday. Yes, two!

J's was at a meditation center. I wish I could have spent more time there, because there were some amazing people there, and J needed some serious bodywork. Still, I got his low back relaxed enough that he stopped wincing every time he moved, and he gave me a peek at the library. Mmm... books. A good thing he doesn't know what a turn-on books in general and libraries in particular are for me :)

I had to leave J's party because B's was starting, and well, no offence to J, but who would want to miss a party involving a chocolate fountain, a basement lair draped in billowing fabrics, a wine cellar, a chocolate fountain, one man, 10 women, (did I mention a chocolate fountain) and a camera?

4-Sunday Sacred Dance Circle. Wow. The energy was amazing. I had gooseflesh the entire time I was there. Between that and the endorphine high from multiple orgasms, I was guaranteed a great day.

6-Snuggle Salon. I invited a different J to come along and he accepted. It was the smallest snuggle I've been to, maybe 10 people. Still, both the birthday boys were there, and there were only two other women besides myself, so I had a great time snuggling and being massaged. And I loved the five-person snuggle at the end of the night, sandwiched between the J I'd invited and J the birthday boy. YUM!

7-I got to talk to my other sister about all sorts of deep and personal things, and gave her the good news that I will be taking vacation in November afterall, so we're both really stoked. Its been a few years since my sisters and I were together last.

8-Oh! and I have pretty toes, courtesy of my lovely girl C, who loves me so much that she gave me a pedicure this weekend. French, with pretty nail art.

Its nearly 1am and I'm still high on life. I love my life. Life is good.

"A good day," a friend said to me. "Why are they so rare?"
"I don't know," I answered, "Somedays we dont know a good day when we are in one."

Sunday was a good day. So was Saturday. Here's to Monday.

Sweet Saturday

Friday night I went to sleep fairly early. My friend M called from Kona and caught me in that twilight state between rest and sleep. I do not remember the conversation, but apparenty, he planted some thoughts that flowered into naughty dreams. So the first thing I did upon awakening Saturday morning was masturbate voluptously. Then I brewed some micro-roasted coffee put on a robe, and sat out on the patio. It was a beautiful morning...the air was moist with an autumnal bite to it, redolent with the scent of humus and the call of birds. It was the birds that drew me to the river, where I meditated on one of my favorite rocks. When I got home, I felt...bouncy...again. Less weary. Refreshed. I had planned to leave for the Coast before midday, but did not get moving until 2pm. Which is fine. I cajoled my roomie into coming along (she's been here 5 months and not been) and away we went. The drive from southeast Portland to the Oregon Coast is about 90 minutes, depending on traffic, and it is a beautiful, scenic drive. Since I was so desperately in need of renewal that I cancelled dates on both Friday and Saturday, I headed straight for Ecola State Park. Its a beautiful second-growth forest, the original one having been chopped down by thoughtless, greedy men who thought the old growth forest ran forever into the horizon. Well, it once did. Ecola was distinctly uncrowded. There was a fine haze that gave a certain misty, ethereal quality to the light, and the breeze was bracing, and tangy with salt. On the path to this overlook there is a tree. A great, noble, dead tree. Seeing it, I was reminded of that odd notion I had when I was a small girl--that trees had silver hearts. The bones of trees are silver, see? Stripped of bark, of the living flesh of xylem and phloem, a tree can turn to silver, as this one did, standing upright and noble, eternally yearning for the sky, its limbs freed of the responsibility of sheltering life. From Ecola we went to Mo's in Cannon Beach, where we ate chowder and I sipped a Haystack Black Porter. Its a rich brew, tasting a bit of chocolate and coffee, with a thick, carmel-coloured head. From there we went to an expresso shop, got warm drinks, sat and talked a bit. I cradled the cup in my hands, warming my fingers, my shoulders hunched to conserve warmth as I learned into the wind. It was a timeless, silvery moment, sweet and savory, and just what I needed. We left Cannon beach after just a few hours, and were home by 8pm. It was a short visit, but not too short. I can still smell the salt, feel it on my skin. I will be showering soon, before I to go to dance, and I will be sad to wash it away.