Dining Out with RipTide

We were at King St. Blues (a roadhouse style burger joint) last evening, one of many restaurants with new makeshift patios to accommodate the canine population. (Bear in mind, this means not an in ground patio, nor one natural to the landscape. So the sidewalk…is the patio, and in this historic town, that ain’t much, and the poles to hold his leash are of flimsy plastic with zero security.) RipTide's lying down relaxing, and I'm having a drink doing the same, and then … - BAM! He gets spooked by something and springs overtop the car parked directly on the curb not two feet away. The table follows him, hitting the side mirror while his paws surface the roof of the car. Being freaked out still, I try to maintain a grip as he continues to pull. The gentleman at the table next to me jumps in to help, and we finally secure RipTide, though he's shaking still. I can see and feel this man's white face, and correctly realize the car is his. It's obvious as well that it is a first date, and he's just finished telling this young lady what a long day it's been. He further goes to say that he's sorry he didn't pick a nicer place, as he simply heard it was good food and someone highlighted the outdoor patio. And it certainly didn't help to have his date tell him 'It's only an accident,’ once RipTide's paws had connected with the hood of K's car.
The waiter's shortcomings were many, among them asking the date if she'd enjoy the seafood special after she specifically informed him she was allergic to seafood. I fared no better as he wiped water into my lap, having pointed the cloth in the wrong direction, and delivered my food calmly, and without reaction seeing my bloody legs from the broken glass spilt still on the patio, though he did react to the glass and went to collect a broom.
And it was a vacation at the beach the man was on as he made his way to collect one from the kitchen, even with waiting customers. When I requested water and a rag, he simply said he'd be back once he collected the glass. (Tears should have been my next resort.) And the wounds were deep enough not to clot immediately, but K, the gentleman whose car RipTide damaged pulled out his first aid kit to minister my wounds.
Feeling horrible about the condition of K's car and the havoc I provided his evening and date, I pushed the two to go enjoy a drink at Le Galouis, a French restaurant with a natural in ground patio that would not accept dogs, and was quiet besides. And even now, K was not taking my phone number for repairs, insisting the car was too old to worry much.
It was with my feet elevated upon a chair that my friend, Sam, who was meeting me for a drink, found me. (We'd met only once, and I was looking forward to seeing him again. Well...first impressions...) He treated me to a beer which we enjoyed and then K returned, having walked his date home. Sam chatted awhile with us and soon departed, having to work the next day, (it being construction at the crack of 4:00 a.m.) And our last meeting was had upon his recent arrival from Biloxi, his most recent residence after Hurricane Katrina. To think I’m calling this a fiasco would be Sam’s immediate question. Wisely, I chose not to – question, that is.
Feeling for K, I implored him to join me for a drink before going home to make the ride safer – (and wouldn't only an Irishwoman find 'beer' and 'safe' to be equivalent?) Safer by relieving tension, and that he had, in spades - not unjustifiably. He sits down, upon which he shares his evening with me, outlining hurdles for future dates, such as her not liking to dance, camp, etc., upon which I provide dating advice; highlighting Smithsonian’s, art museums, Library of Congress lectures, and the many other things that a cultured woman would appreciate, and D.C. in its wisdom has a few to select from. (She's Brazilian and, believe me, with way too much panache to go for the outdoors activity, and far too demure for a burger at a roadhouse, or ready for one, dressed as she was.) He further shares with me how he met her online, and that this meeting was a first in more ways than one, his recent separation, concerns for his two children and the projects he's managing at work. Only then does he see the mirror and suggests that maybe he should take my phone number. (We're sitting still at the patio table only a few feet from his car.) He finally heads home and I close out the bill.
Since then, we've played phone tag but haven't finalized anything as his other concerns are of higher priority. K's found a secondhand mirror, has assured me he will paint the scratches, and will see what he can do to make this inexpensive. It was another blow on the night of this date to understand then that I had no car insurance, having no car and thus, no need for it, so the kindness was not just a guy being nice. (Friends have since insisted how funny it would be were K and I to date. I don’t want the man to suffer more, so let’s hold that thought.) Isn’t it a wonder that no matter how well I redirected myself away from driving only to have my dog pick up where I left off with accidents? You go RipTide!

Meeting Death with Peace

And so do the wheels of evolution turn, as I experience again and again fortellings of what's to come...even now as I type this entry. This time, a friend's death was made known to me before it took place. Loretta was fighting breast cancer for several years, and her days were numbered. My sister began collecting momentos from all of us, including stories, photos, etc. I began writing what is becoming a book, and dubbed it "The Lion Sleeps Tonight." This was a somewhat popular song in the States in the 60s/70s and also the song Loretta sang at karaoke with us often. As a result, the song was replaying itself in my head, again and again, so that it became tiresome. I took a break to walk my dog, and we wandered to town, which was 2 miles or so away. As we grew closer, the song only got aggravatingly louder. When we reached the heart of town, I heard a group that performs weekly, After the Storm, singing The Lion Sleeps Tonight (of all songs). Their music style is a combination of motown and barbershop quartette, the first popular in the 60s, and the second a popular singing style in the 50s in the States. I then knew Loretta had breathed her last. It was confirmed by one of the singers, Henry, whom I chatted with during his break. When I mentioned Loretta, he told me something to the effect of "now that she's gone home, it's time to be at peace, because she finally is, " which made me wonder about the use of the word 'now' and "has gone". I knew I'd hear word that night, and opened an email from my sister confirming this. What other messengers circulate your lives? More than anyone would think or credit. Listen to those voices, because they speak to us all, and charter the courses we choose, if we can allow ourselves the room to hear this wisdom.

Reflections

Fear, the assurance
Of living;
Life, the determination
Of fear.

--------------


Age, not gifted by years
- but comprehension.


- a la moi

Taking the Trip to Death ... for Life

Harrowing at the verge of death’s door
I recognize this scene
I’ve been here before.
Seized from the echoes
Of this world,
Electrical charges jolt me
- singing sweetly another chord.
Understanding, accepting
Of this familiar scene,
Do I conquer my individuality
In search of that ultimate, higher realm
- Ecstasy with limitless bounds.
Cascading outside of my humanly mold
Does my very self unfold.
Mirrored against
the calm night sky,
My spirit now hearkens
In sleep a lullaby.
Blissfully floating
- Not a worry, nor care,
For the peace, the serenity
That is offered here.

What shall this visit make of me?
How will I leave here differently?
For this journey entails
A trip up to
Life unceasing
Within a warm-glossed hue.
Like the sun’s journey
Around the globe,
Does my mind
Go in overload.
Now separated from
This earthly realm,
it now dispassionately views
From its original helm.

This journey’s different for everyone
Though all the same
Once it has begun.
We’re meant to die
But only after
We’ve served the purpose
Our creator asked of us.
We need not fear
Such a natural state,
Touching our humanity
-why we procreate.
Mourners eulogize -
Praises unceasing
Of the departed.
Yet the departed
Has left only
The world we know,
Having now entered
A greater one
We have yet
To realize,
To comprehend -
Or even understand.
Perception deceives
That greater promise
Of unceasing lives
Entwining, reuniting
Constantly –
But not always
Within our immediate grasp.
Seek out those
Whispers on our skin,
Blemishes across our brow,
Smells of loved ones
Preferred gin –
Love, its highest valve.
How can we understand
The mysteries beyond?
This life, our master’s
-that greater God!

I think this time
I am prepared,
To take that journey
Into the stratosphere.
So much unknown
Yet I understand,
That this is necessary
For the heart to expand.
Voices reverberate
And feedback given,
An aide then guides me
To that land I live in.
My altered perception of reality
Again, reinventing, redefining
Another ultimate destiny.
Of the ultimate I expect
And continually anticipate,
No matter what might chart my course
Its affects louder, sharper
than any earth’s quake.
Morale coaches surround me
With consciences so endearing,
But of their judgment I’m unconcerned
- the intent is ne’er interfering.
Rejuvenated am I
To be honored here,
Of constant reinvention
I shall not fear.
For a continual – and consistent
- recycled state,
Is the only thing certain
of all our fates.
This second skin
I’ve felt before,
But in what context
I cannot concur.
What prior travels
Did I once take?
What did I then glean
That I should now reinstate?

Where will my loved ones be
Once I take my flight?
Will someone be there
With compassion and care
To console their every plight?
Only worries of this world
Are the fears now left to me,
The ones to come
I do not pause to consider
-of these, I shall be free.

So death, dear death,
I welcome you
And hold you close at heart,
You bring me peace and finality
From this journey upon we’ll embark.
The ones I love have yet to realize
The glory in all that is you,
Promises to now become fulfilled
After struggles in life have ensued.

Continue to talk with me
After I’ve left
As I’ll never entirely be gone,
My body you’ll not see
My voice may alter
But the essence that’s me
Remains uniquely my own.
Be calm and quiet in all you do,
Fulfill your every dream,
This is the beauty and the struggle
Of everything life means.

-a la moi

REM awakening

He summoned me while I was sleeping, and prodded my fingers to write, though I could not rouse myself to see what it was. I awakened to find a laptop filled with anecdotes I don't recall having thought, making me realize they weren't mine, but someone else's. "Whose thoughts?" I could ask, or give myself up to the Higher Power that put the words there. To whom do I owe these honors, for they happen often, and with a frequency I've come to expect, even when I doubt there's more to see, but there always is. Being too full to see too many pots gushing with bliss blinds, as it binds, what enables me to seek these gratifying outlets...not of expression, but a confession of needing.