and proofs as clear as founts in july ~ king henry viii

5.July.2010

It’s a Rufus Wainwright kind of day. Before I continue, perhaps I should credit Mr. Wainwright for the soundtrack of my afternoon journaling. Here’s to you, Rufus.

I finally - stopped. By that, I mean, I’m through with bustling throughout the house. I’ve been away all weekend, living the good life at Casa del Sol Resort & Swim Spa. I had the most wonderfully relaxing weekend. Okay, so it wasn’t really a resort, but I did spend the weekend at Tim Larson’s - dear friend, confidant, and theatrical consort. He and his brother have a beautiful home in Bellevue, and they invited me over for the weekend.

Surprisingly, after the night I previously mentioned in my other entry, I somehow still managed to wake up and head over to Tim’s house by 11:00am. We were in the pool by noon, margaritas by two o‘clock, wine by six o‘clock, dinner by eight o’clock, night swimming to commence shortly thereafter, followed by a poolside nightcap, preceded by late night television comedies and deep discussions of sordid lives; then off to bed by two o’clock in the morning.

Fourth of July brunch was served at eleven o’clock, and by eleven forty-five, me, Laura, Morgan, Tim, Kenny, and Ted were all floating in the pool, laughing, talking, playing games, and simply relaxing hopelessly on this gorgeous, July afternoon.

After yet another incredible dinner, Laura, Morgan, Tim and I traipsed off to the front yard to enjoy the panoramic view of the neighborhood, fireworks display, making a marvelous game out of guessing the color of the firework-yet-to-come. Of course, five year old Morgan seemed to truly delight in this game, which made the three of us adults enjoy it’s silliness even more.

The shooting stars of light soared elegantly through the shadows of the skies, arching gracefully above the treetops, lighting up the heavens as they couldn’t soar any higher without bursting into unexpected colors through the starlit evening. A cerulean hibiscus, fuchsia starfish; illuminated baby’s breath, and more fairy dust than I’d ever seen, poured down upon our eyes of blue and deep brown.

Even sillier than the color guessing came was the shadow creature game that we played on the lawn, creating stories to match our elongated, moonlit silhouettes. Sometimes my quiet silhouette was overtaken by Tim’s monstrous one, as he chased it about the lawn, and sometimes Morgan’s five-year-old, diminutive outline seemed to pounce on mine even more-so than the six and a half foot Tim’s!

I went to bed that night, completely content and full of magical stories. All that previously seemed to cause me anxiety, and all of those disparaging thoughts that had previously overtaken my consciousness throughout the earlier days of the prior weeks before me, somehow found a different residence for the weekend, leaving me freed of my previously heavy mind.

I’m home now. The kitchen’s tidied. The living room is picked up. I’m unpacked from my weekend away - my room is as pristine as if Mary Poppins herself had been here, snapping her fingers and singing about spoons and sugar, while chirping birds sat perched on her outstretched fingers - my clothes put away and pillows fluffed. My bronzed skin seems so foreign against these ecru cushions of my writing chair, my hair highlighted by the sun’s tickling right arm. (In order to understand that slight inside joke, you’d have to ask my mother about the story I dictated to her, that she wrote on a napkin when I was merely four years old and too young to write for myself. Simply mention “Sun‘s tickling arm“ to my mother, and she‘ll gladly tell you all about how I started writing stories, once I figured out I could translate my imagination into scripted words. She LOVES to talk about that.) All the creatures of the house are curled up in my room, apparently also fans of Rufus, as they are quietly snoozing - one at my feet, two on the bed, one on the window sill, and one beneath the chair - as Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk plays on in the background.

It’s been a wonderful weekend. I know I only have four more days until the week is over and I can perhaps try again and have just as exciting Saturday and Sunday at this week‘s closing, but I just don’t want this magical weekend to end…