just a peek...

First look (first listen). I thought they couldn't possibly surprise me (I was wrong). Spent the evening (night) listening, in the van as we drove around... finally he said "we leave for Moose Jaw in three hours". Had to let him go, could have listened to the stories forever... or at least until the songs were done. (at least I get the songs)

Getting out I was greeted by those Northern lights that I love so much here on the prairie. The perfect cap.

Doesn't get any better than this.

I don't know how this became my life. We talked tonight about that first show and realized the strange twist of fate that resulted in ALL OF THIS. The realization that one small change would have brought me to a different NOW. Or maybe now would have come no matter what.... there seems to have been alot of strange twists of fate.

To CW: Thanks.

simple pleasures

The chill of air conditioning almost makes me shiver but I can feel your warmth beside me as the light from the screen flickers across our faces. Shared giggles and smiling glances scattered throughout our mostly transfixed watching of the movie. Hands touching as we reach for the popcorn, sharing melty chocolate. I'm smiling that kind of smile that hurts your cheeks, that originates from somewhere deep inside.

Simple, perfect, hot summer night.

Outside our comfort zone

Well, does it seem weird to you to be here together? it does to me too This has never happened before, to be surrounded by your people without the buffer zone of mine. you have people, who knew? No longer the entertainer, you're very quiet here. but somehow still, as I expected, the head of things. It's been an interesting experiment but I'm not sure what it means. Perhaps we will try the other thing you suggested. summertime is for patios, parties and backyard bonfires after all. Do you play host there as well?

snapshot: broken

"How did this happen?" she wondered "How did I get here?"

As she looked at the shards of broken glass that surrounded her on the floor where she sat huddled, she wondered if his choice of things to throw was as well thought out as it seemed. He'd given her that vase, after another fight long ago. It was a make-up gift, of course. And to prove how very well he knew her he had gone out and found just the perfect thing - a beautiful vase, very ethnic, very exotic looking, something he knew she'd love.

And there it was, in hundreds of pieces on the floor. "Funny", she thought "It seemed like it was hard to break, I guess the vase was tougher than I am." He'd had to pick it up and throw it again after it failed to shatter in a satisfactory shower of sharp bits the first time it hit the wall. The thought brought inappropriate, almost hysterical laughter to her lips. The sound hurt her throat did it hurt from crying, from screaming at him to leave or from where his fingers had held her against the wall? The pain triggered the memory and her bitter laughter turned quickly to scalding tears as she lay her head back against the wall.

Her breath was shaky as she sighed, thinking over and over again "How did this happen? How did this happen...to me?""

clearing the mists

Is it a change in barometric pressure or something else? Suddenly the air seems clearer and less oppressive. I don't feel the weight of it on my shoulders, on my spirit. I feel like I can move through it more easily, with less care and less effort. The fog that has been hanging over my thoughts is lifting, is lifted and I smile into the sunshine. Not much has changed and yet everything has.

repeat

I knew this place once. I think we sat here right here all of us, often. That door that was once so hard to find, opens with ease and rememberances. These walls are familiar, not much has changed from my memory.

You're still here. Where we left you. But there are different faces at the bar now, not ours. Are you happy to see us? Who knows. You seem to be, although we've disturbed your scheduled closing. No kitchen tonight. No familiar "Sunday dinner" for us. Too bad - we wanted to reminisce with our taste buds. I guess the beer will have to do. No pretty glasses either.

But in my memory there was music and as much as I enjoy your choices for the stereo, it will never be the same without that.

snapshots: the unexpected series: a bit about tenses

I've been worried about tenses. Worried that the fact that some are in the past tense and some are not might take away from the cohesiveness. I tried to fix them - couldn't - and realized that I think the tenses may have something to do with self preservation. The ones in past tense seem to need to stay that way and the ones in present tense feel comfortable where they are. I can't explain it. I just wanted to acknowledge the variation. Maybe later I'll be able to fix it... but for now I can't.

snapshot: fear

She stared at the blinking red light on the answering machine. Twenty-eight messages. Twenty-eight. She didn't press the button, she just stared and found herself beginning to shiver. How long had she been gone? Three hours? Four maybe. How could he leave twenty-eight messages?

She glanced at the door to make sure it was locked, wondering how long she could live like this. She felt pulled thin, like it was possible to see right through her, like she wasn't completely there. She knew what the messages would say, the bizarre progression from charming, cajoling, apologies to accusations and threats. She didn't need to listen to know. She wondered if he would come right out and say it again; say he was going to kill her. "I'll keep it this time" she thought to herself "I'll use it when I tell, when I finally tell someone."

She sighed, seeming to shrink in complete defeat, as she pressed the button to listen.

snapshot: reconciliation

"I'm so sorry" he says, "It won't happen again. I miss you and you were right all along. I'm sorry I said those things. Can you forgive me?"

She stops to look at him, trying to see in his face if he's telling her the truth and seeing only pleading anguish in his warm brown eyes. She reaches out her hand to him, tentatively, and he pulls her to him. "Honestly, I would never do anything to hurt you" he whispers and she believes him completely, with her whole heart. It feels so right to be back in his arms.

She sighs as relief washes over her. OK, she thinks, now we can get back to normal. Things felt all wrong while he was gone. And besides, everyone has a fight once in awhile...

Flash.....boom

I love the rolling thunder in the distance. I love the flashes of light. Sheets that illuminate that corner of the sky, or the whole sky, the whole world maybe.... and chains, crazy randon jagged chains that hit, presumably, somewhere...or come up from the ground out into the atmosphere. I've always loved a storm whether from a balcony as it rolls past in the distance or from the car windows as we drive through the rain across the city.

"Most chain lightning actually moves up from the ground, did you know that?" he asks.

"Yes" I reply, not really considering if this science is accurate because I am busy filling my senses with how much he makes me smile.

We ooh and aahh over the light show for the whole (too short) drive home and I wonder if there is ever going to be a time when his answer to my "Wanna chase it?" is a spontaneous "Yes, let's go!" instead of an amused shake of his head.

And then I wonder if maybe that is a bigger question than it seems, and for my drive home alone, my mood becomes echoed in the grumbling of the sky.