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August 06, 2005

three's a crowd

I want an ice cream cone, and so late afternoon I call D. to see if she wants to come with. She's not home, which pleases me. I have mixed emotions about her. I like her--no, I feel like I ought to like her--because she's a good person. She is. Compassionate and a good listener, and quick to laugh. But. But if I want to talk about anything that involves an actual idea... Well, anyway, I like spending time with her if I have a specific requirement. Like right now.

The problem is that I need to make more friends. Because right now everybody I would like to talk to or spend time with is literally hundreds of miles away, and that sucks. The other problem is that I like people, but mostly I like it if they keep their distance. In fact I thought of this while I was walking Jack tonight--as the evening came on and the little bats flew overhead, the only color visible the orange glow of the street light down at the circle-- that I prefer my friends at arm's length. I prefer to yearn after rather than be pursued. So consequently, here I am.

Herself has been gone a month and Moo has been gone a week and a half and right now I'd like, in theory at least, somebody to hang out with. It's been nice being alone and I like it, generally, because I like being alone, I like the freedom of it, except that it would have been fun to go to JoJo's with a friend. I sat on the hill and ate my ice cream cone and watched a couple and their dog, who all ate ice cream sundaes. The dog had to be coaxed into eating his; he would rather have had what his people were having. My cone was cold and melty and the ice cream felt wonderful going down my throat and after it was in me the world seemed a little cooler for a bit. JoJo's ice cream isn't the best--actually it's not even very good ice cream; Dairy Queen's is better ... but I like that it's not a chain and it plays good summertime music and late at night there are lots of people standing in line and laughing and talking, even though I was there at dinnertime and the crowd was sparse.

Tonight Jack and I ran into some neighbors: a woman, her little poodle and a friend of hers, walking along slowly and talking a little bit but not much, the way friends do. We talked for a while about Paddy, the French Westie who used to live in the neighborhood, while Jack and the poodle sniffed at each other and wagged tails, and then it was time to come in. The house is quiet and cool, I like that it's quiet--but out there it's Saturday night just the same. Where the friends are.

Posted by JudyLa at 09:00 PM | Comments (0)

we're on a road to nowhere

All week it's been wringing-wet humid and the sun has bleached everything pale that isn't a tree. The grass in the front yard is crunchy when I walk on it. Dragonflies and water spiders dot the surface of the lake. The sky darkens at night prematurely early and thunder echos from horizon to horizon. Last night when I walked Jack forked lightning lit the sky; it looked like a skeleton hand, reaching. I thought I should probably go in, and when lightning snapped again--so close that I ducked, reflexively--I knew that I should.

All things end. Each day that marks a day closer to September reminds me; each day past fades, a dream. I try to remember the year gone by, the one that began last September, and I can't. Like it was just one long day that I lived over and over and over and through sheer repetition got myself to this point, but at the cost of memory. I try to remember but what I get running through my head instead is Bartlett's Book of Quotations, read aloud by a voice that sounds suspiciously like Orson Welles:
A foolish consistency is the hobgobblin of little minds.
The devil is in the details.
He who cannot recall the past is condemned to repeat it.

Posted by JudyLa at 06:00 AM | Comments (0)