Entries from August 2011

weather-a-stir

August 26, 2011

while our kin on the east are bracing for that nasty girl, irene, temperatures here in the west, are smoldering chaud.

the heat feels thick and heavy; like an invisible, clear fog has seeped in to bake us. skirts are short and skin is bare. hair is worn high to avoid sweaty necks and shoulders, stiff from an all night losing game of finding the cool in a un-air conditioned california king. last night a cold, wet washcloth provided a most heavenly pillow for me …for the beast too.

yesterday my movements, my speech, my thoughts-they all carried a slight, sleepy slur. this heat wave washes in a gauzy net of slow-motion, almost tipsy-like air, of which i find myself breathing and walking around in.

this weekend i’m going to saturate in the sticky hot of the last of summer. i plan to roll my warm, languid friday, saturday and sunday nights out, like a kaleidoscopic rainbow of faces and places of the people i love most; a pot of gold at every port.

linger, linger, linger.

that will be my word of my weekend.

finding my slower back beat, i’ll relish in summer’s final, simple pleasures that too often go amiss in my interval driven world: the sound and sight of my backyard bees liquoring up on bushels of lavender, jasmine oil baths so heady with summer scent i’m perfume free all day, breakfast coffee in the yard: early enough so the moon’s still out, but warm enough to be robe free. i will set my alarm a bit earlier so i can hang longer with the my garden friends.

losing my psycho, good girl, quick-to-wipe-away-the-first-sign-of-mess, disordered self, perhaps i’ll let a dribble of our soon-to-be gone, gummi-bear sweet, local nectarine juice remain on my chin for a self-deprecating chuckle or two, before i whisk it away with a napkin. or maybe i’ll finally eat those strawberries right off their stems, right out of the basket, after buying them from stand #14, like i’ve been wanting to all season.

how will you be soaking up these last bits of summer m’loves?

sending all my good vibes the east coast. miss irene sounds like quite the diva; which is ironic because we irene’s {my middle name} mean peace.

oh, yeah….speaking of divas….priscilla would like to say “goodbye.”

my favorite summer meal

August 25, 2011

we’ve had some delicious food this summer, eaten at some spiffy restaurants, but so far nothing beats this 5-ingredient masterpiece.

tomatoes, candy sweet, fresh from my dad’s garden.

aromatic basil snipped directly from my patio pot.

the creamiest burrata in town.

and a 25-year-old aged balsamic, so honey-thick, its olive oil sibling is left unused.

put them on plate, add a couple of toast points, and voilà! you have the best tasting meal, in my opinion, of the summer.

bon appétit m’loves.

we are now boarding…..

August 24, 2011

last week as i waited for my plane back to california, i was wide-eyed and open- mouth as i watched the various tents of the circus they call ‘terminal 3’.

for the most part when i travel, i trek happy, my skies are almost always friendly. following in the shiny-shoed footsteps of my parents, i always dress for traveling: a frock fit for sunday best. or rather, in my case, saturday night close second.

more often than not i’m in a skirt or dress. public restrooms are phobias of mine, and the thought of a long-legged trouser skimming a bathroom floor sends me screaming to pharmacist for beta-blockers.

with hunkiest’s delta status of late, we’ve been getting bumped into fancy class quite frequently. i would hate to feel schlumpy in sweat pants and tennis shoes while downing my sixth, hot from the easy bake oven, chocolate chip cookie…although the elastic waistband is nice.

summer airports feel different from their colder, more bundled, rushed siblings of fall and winter. less coats, more visors and hats of straw, t-shirts of states and cities visited. there are more families which can mean more childhood meltdowns {and one father}, more lil’ ones to watch for underfoot, and less politesse when boarding the plane.

the gate line up seems to always produce a giggle fit from me. there’s something about getting onto that plane for some people that completely erases every manner learned or awareness of self, and turns them into hogs gone wild. suddenly their ticketed, undersold plane to orange county becomes the last flight out of saigon, with only three seats left open, and 300 caged fighters clamoring for spots.

one grown woman {in age, not maturity} told the flight attendant she was filing a complaint for the incompetency of the pre-flight boarding: she had to wait too long in the jetway, she was getting hot, hungry and her legs were tired. mind you, this was after she had already cut in line, knocking into a woman holding a baby, and bag-rolled over an open toed sandal without so much as an acknowledgement, let alone an “i’m sorry.” within earshot i told the same flight attendant i, too, was filing a complaint about said complainer’s ugly pants……making friends wherever i go.

the pre-boarding show wasn’t as infuriating, mostly just families in various stages of energy levels:

there were the sun-burnt kiddies at gate 67, buzzing around like meth’d up bumblebees, sword fighting each other with their day-glo mini roller bags, knocking over fellow travelers’ laptop cases and starbucks trays. their mom, neck-deep in the latest issue of us magazine, starting the, i assume at one time threatening, count down of “1……2……3……” and then quickly losing count and interest upon turning the page to details of the upcoming kardashian wedding.

meanwhile dad, sitting two rows behind, practically at a different gate, alternating between a furious game of angry birds on his iphone and napping; oblivious to both his wife and precious baby bees.

in the northeast tent {gate 63} i watched the sweetest, young, first-time parents from tempe, travel, for the first time, with their darling bundle of gooey yum. taking their shifts on bucket duty, both dying a slow, little death over every cry and gurgle-still in disbelief noises could be so adorable. dying another slow, little death over those same cries and gurgles, worrying that fellow passengers won’t share their same affinity. baby, oblivious in his happy, fat-thighed, baby world, cooing back at his parental stress monkeys, flashing a tooth-less, gummy grin melting the tension and hearts of all of us fellow travelers. cry all you want baby boy you’ve just endeared 41 more for bucket duty.

but the family who took center ring took my heart as well. on a layover back to ohio from disneyland, emma cinderella still sporting her gown from the ball, danced charmingly and happily upon dad prince charming’s toes as he fought off the urge to yelp and wince. exhausted from a week of non-stop disney intervals, dad, sprawled out in his terminal chair, let his cinderella stomp dance to her heart’s content as momma sleepily looked on, and clapped to the imaginary orchestra who had been playing for the last two hours of their wait time. sucked dry on princesses and pool time, these dear parents nevertheless quietly continued the magic for their angel girl.

a fitting grand finale.

wednesday happy m’loves.

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