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Jett Superior laid this on you on || July 5, 2004 || 7:52 pm

Vacation Journals, part three

Saturday, eight twenty-one ay emm

Miraculously, the babies are still sleeping.

Likewise, the adults.

I perch, cross-legged and straight-backed, on the balcony floor, sipping orange juice. The balcony overlooks the tennis courts and pool, and as I absent-mindedly nibble a corner of wheat toast, I watch what appears to be a boy of ten and his father play tennis. I am in awe of the boy, whose skill is amazing. I don’t even like tennish, but I am entranced by the pair for twenty minutes.

Then my eyes travel the pool; just climbing in are a father and a child of about eight. The child has an angry red scar atop its head and wispy tufts of chickenfluff hair scattered about a mostly-bald pate.

A big spot of joy goes immediately dead in my middle. Today is the day. In two hours a crowd will gather to memorialize my Catt-girl, and I will not be in attendance.

There is a taste in my mouth so bitter that I don’t even think I’ll be able to ‘drink to forget’ today.

Even though my grandfather pissed his kidneys out because of it, ‘Cancer’ is a word that I’ll never view the same now. Catt was only thirty-three and one-half years.

None of the books seem to tell you: When does closure begin after the death of your VeryBestFriendEVer? When will I get my bearings back? When will my feet be planted on something other than grief?

Her poor parents; I cannot even imagine.

Not even.

Saturday, eleven ay emm

Settled on the beach, ‘A Little Respect‘ pipes in joyfully across the headphones. My heart soars.

I look at my phone. It’s eleven ay emm on the nose. They are all back at home in the heart of the Delta, sitting at my old high school, watching a slideshow of my best girl.

I contributed words, music, ideas for planning.

The wind skirts my face, the sun lovingly lies on my skin, the waves roll in and pull back, green and shifting as her eyes ever were.

Tears roll quietly down;

I am there, twelve hours away, not here.

I am there.

Saturday, four fourty-eight pee emm

Earlier a man exited the surf; he was sporting navy trunks, a brown tee-shirt and one arm. Mathias -ahem- wondered loudly at what had happened to the not-there limb.

The man answered quickly and thumbed toward the ocean, “Shark got it,” and gave a grin worthy of the aforementioned sea-dweller.

Mathias stayed out of the water the rest of the day. He says he wants poolside action tomorrow. So be it, then. That’s less steps I have to take to flop around in some water.

Sunday, nine forty-seven ay emm

Maxim has taken the children to the water park.
Brave, braaaave soul.

The only thing I’m left to worry with is which hand I’ll lift and then re-seat the Mug O’ Doom with. I think every hour or so I will rotate the lid so as not to overwork either arm.

Sunday, three twenty-one pee emm

I brought some homework along that I told myself I was supposed to do. Maxim chided me for this.

He needn’t have worried. I only just now thought of it, and that thought was quickly followed with, “Fuck that.”

Sunday, three twenty-six pee emm

You know, I’m sporting one hell of a pedicure. Several days’-worth of digging my toes inna sand haven’t marred it one bit.

Good thing, because we go out to a fancy-dress dinner one vacation night each year. That night is tonight, and the wine consumed this afternoon will have rendered my smallobjectpainting skills useless. Hooray for itty blessings!

Monday, three-ten pee emm

It’s started to rain and we’ve pulled over to a rest area to attack the sodas and tuna subs I made up for the trip home. We are about four hours from our destination, as some yokel decided to forget how to drive and subsequently caused a traffic jam.

I, having the worst case of GirlBladder ever, excused myself to go to the restyroom while the fam set up shop at one of the covered pic-a-nic tables. I sauntered across the parking lot –as I love the rain– and was pulled up short at the sight of my little tribe, smiling and talking, warm under the picnic gazebo, framed with a backdrop of rain. It is one of those pictures that I tuck achingly away in my heart, every minute detail (Sam’s shaggy hair, the rhinestones on Scout’s barettes, Mathias’ beaten-in leather sandals, Maxim’s floppy jungle hat) preserved for bittersweet recollection.

Life bears up these little moments of amazement and preciousness. I am infernally blessed.

Monday, eight thirty-nine pee emm

As we were en route home tonight, road fever overtook Mathias and he began muttering, squint-eyed, the phrase ‘chicken beaks’ over and over.

(It goes like this: “Chicken….BEAKS!” with his head lolling lazily forward on ‘beaks’)

I turned to Maxim, saying, “That’s your DNA at work there, buddy.”

“Pardon me, but your own DNA is a little muddy, missy,” he said.

“Honey, my DNA is the super-deluxe, whisper quiet kind.”

In a perfect illustration of both my points, Maxim embarked upon an imitation, which he dubbed, ‘Your DNA Whooshing Down the Fallopian Freeway’.

5 worked it out »

  1. BFG 7.5.2004

    Like the toecovers, very “You”. So you had a good holiday/vacation then. Nice.

     
  2. hans of love 7.6.2004

    whoa, so like I pulled up your blog, and all the comments were gone…then I like refreshed, and they were back! But now 1/2 your blog is gone.

    BTW, although your new design is uber-sweet in IE; it has issues when viewed with Safari and Mozilla.

    I would appreciate you cleaning up this issue in your copious free time.

    and to quote a bit of bygone Americana:

    “Thanks for your continued support”

    - ED

     
  3. amen “hans-on love”, mozilla does not respect this site at all.

    beth dahling, i have this wonderful microwave sausage recipe i simply must show you; don’t let me forget.

     
  4. DecaMaster 7.7.2004

    The comments were down across the Decablog for an hour or two due to an unforeseen ateration in server technology by the host. I discovered this and rapidly fixed the error.

    As for Mozilla, compatibilty is in progress. Everything seems aces in Firefox now, but then I’m kinda lazy and haven’t czeched everything. And since 90% of the world still uses IE, that’s priority. Suckaz.

     
  5. Jettomatika 7.7.2004

    I like that: ‘DecaMaster’. Sounds so very D&D.

    Or S&M.

    Or both, depending on whose head you’re in.

     

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