Catbird Scouting While Traveling

She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.

Toni Morrison, Beloved

Last month I went on a Road Trip with some of my girlfriends. Three of those Bunco Bitches* I've known for 25 years. We had a purpose. One of those bitches recently bought an apartment in Portland for seasonal use. She wanted a car up there for her visits. Always up for an adventure, three of us volunteered to help navigate.

*For those of you new to my blog, or not aware, the Bunco Bitches are a group of 14 women that met 25 years ago at the neighborhood park. Not only new to the hood, (most of us from other parts of the country) we were also new at being moms and staying at home. We began meeting the second Tuesday night of the month, sans children, to play this stupid game called Bunco. It saved us from having to rely on babies and toddlers for keeping up our communication skills.

Another Bunco group in our neighborhood formed and those women were much nicer than us. They hugged and remembered each other's birthdays. They called themselves the Bunco Babes.  My group all looked at each other and said, "Wow, we don't do that. That must make us a bunch of bitches." Hence, the Bunco Bitches. It just stuck.

Although we haven't played Bunco in over 16 years, we still meet the second Tuesday of every month (or for an occasional weekend somewhere else) and we're still a bunch of bitches.

Back to the story, we began our trek in Los Angeles and meandered along the Pacific Coast Highway (HWY 1 and 101) through

Santa Barbara

 

Big Sur

Santa Cruz

San Francisco

the Sonoma wine country

and a sea glass beach.

 We marveled at the Avenue of the Giants and
the incredible Oregon coast

 

before driving into Portland and a little beyond.

Armed with guidebooks and maps, we didn't plan it all out and I must say, some of our spur of the  moment hotels proved rather interesting and fun. 

We stayed at The Bluebird Inn.

The Coastal Inn and Spa had an herbal store in the lobby, Korean clay on the ceiling and cell phone service if you walked behind the hotel and hung out by the herb garden. I think the hot tub was the spa part.

Our Crescent City hotel had a very organized trailer park behind it, plus, a view of the ocean.

The Fireside Inn faced the most beautiful, lava beach complete with a four-woman bench to watch the incoming tide.

Since we were cramming all four of us into one hotel room and splitting the cost, that left more room for great meals. Whether someone else made it for us 

Duck Confit

Artichokes (Artichoke capital of world nearby.)

Steamers

Best Oyster Shooters EVER!

Fish and Chips

Marionberry Crisp

Pok Pok Wings

Or we shopped and prepared it ourselves.

Leftover Pok Pok in scrambled duck eggs

What would a Bunco gathering be without wine? Okay, so we broke it up with a martini here and there.

However, road trips don't always have to end upon arriving at the final destination. 

On my last day in Portland I stood in front of my friend's apartment house while a car pulled up and stopped right in the middle of the street. Someone I'd never met before, who looked just as I knew she would, jumped out of her car to give me a warm hug.

 Yup, in the flesh -- Catbird Scout -- one of the finest essay writers I know.  Known only to me through blogging and email.

With a quick introduction and wave to my girlfriends hanging out the apartment window above, I climbed into Catbird Scout's car. Just like that.

Two people who had never met. Two people who knew each other very well.

Catbird Scout had a plan for the day. Off we went. Off as in walking my ass off - literally. That catbird scout lured me by parking at a restaurant and then walking in the other direction. I caught up to her and kept a pace I hadn't reached since my days as a sauntering jogger. By the time we finally landed back at the restaurant door, the pedometer in my pocket had registered 8800 steps toward my 10,000 daily goal (rarely reached.)

Catbird Scout and I did not lack for conversation. So quickly the time flew, the conversation fueled by topics far beyond what we already knew about one another.  Writing, teaching, family, travel, pain, sorrow, love, laughter. Even my mom. Catbird followed my mom's blog, Old? Who? Me? and they were friends as well. I found I talked of my mom as I hadn't since she died. I liked that.

By afternoon's end, I wished for more time, that we lived closer for I delighted in her company. The ease of talking and sharing with her. That she knew my mind.

Even that pedometer in my pocket was happy. With my walking in Portland that night, my little meter was acting like a jumping bean in my pocket. By day's end it registered almost 14,000 steps. A little figure next to that magic number was jumping up and down and I could hear it saying "Julie, oh Julie? If you did this everyday, you wouldn't look the way you do. "

I took offense to that. But I must say that after all the walking I did on the trip with my husband and then this trip with all my girlfriends, there does seem to be a little extra room in the ass of my shorts. I hate that. Exercise. Why does that have to be the answer?  Especially now that I'm back to my 4000-6000 step most days.

I've lost my train of thought and all my essay training is screaming at me that I really have two or three essays here and I need to pull it together. Probably not possible, but I don't want to separate these trains too much for the only complete excess in this discussion is the discussion of my ass. The rest all relates to friendship.

Especially to those that know my mind.  

Friends, be they bloggers, book clubbers, writers, men, neighbors, old classmates and old roommates, family or bitches, I'm grateful for how you share your lives and wonderment, your questions and answers, and the worlds around you. I can't imagine any journey without that.

How incredible is that.

  Thanks, Catbird Scout. Sucha and Shucka. Bohemians.

Thanks Bunco women. Enjoyed the ride.

Interpreting Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving, after all, is a word of action. 

W. J. Cameron

I had lunch with a good friend the other day. We ate at a lovely little bistro - sat in a back corner so we could talk and not be overrun by all the conversations buzzing in the restaurant.  As always when we meet for lunch, the time flies and in between all the discussions of writing, books, New York City, aches and pains, art and hibernation, two hours have passed. Once again, we are the only ones left in the restaurant other than the wait staff. 

The quote above arrived with the check -- written on a small slip like those found in a fortune cookie, minus the lottery numbers. My friend scooped it up and said, "I'm posting this on Facebook." 

If she hadn't done that, and I hadn't seen it on Facebook later in the day, I might never have remembered the quote. Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving. A word of action. Several ways that could be interpreted. 

Of course, my first thought of it as a word of action is all my action in the kitchen putting that huge dinner on every year. The planning, the purchasing, the cleaning, the table setting. The pie making and potato peeling. The bread spread over the counter to dry for the stuffing. The celery and onions chopped into small pieces. The cream ready for whipping. 

With all that work, I've seldom thought about exactly what the holiday meant. Certainly I am thankful for what I have. My family. My friends. The gathering. The day. The fact that it is my favorite holiday because all you have to do is cook and eat.

I am a grateful person. I write gratitudes often. Perhaps as with most things I now encounter as I grow supposedly older and wiser, I notice what I haven't noticed before. Thanksgiving - a word of action. Thanksgiving. Giving thanks. Thanking those that make a difference. Having great respect for those that give. Giving thanks for the gifts that others give - even though they may not know that what they give is appreciated. Relaying my thanks.

As always, I'm not certain of my interpretation. The quote most likely offers something much deeper than my analysis. But I do know I'm actively thankful for many, many, many people, places and  things. With deep gratitude, I thank another dear friend, Kris, who is hosting Thanksgiving this year.  So thankful am I for inviting me that I will bring the pumpkin and buttermilk pies. And a salad. And a vegetable. And rolls. And wine. And my husband and one of my sons and his girlfriend. 

I'll bring joy to the gathering. I'll relish the time we will have as three families most familiar with one another flock together and share a meal. Share a Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving - a joy to act upon. 

 Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Let's Talk Scrabble

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.  

Victor Frankl

My husband thinks playing Scrabble online is a complete waste of time. He tells me this while he is flipping channels on the television set. I'm thinking there are worse ways to spend my time and I enjoy playing Scrabble. I'm good at it. So, there.

I also understand it is one of those things that distracts you from what is really going on in your life, but for the past year or so, fun distractions have been most welcome in my world. I could have found something else - like a boyfriend, or drugs, even more wine or, God help me, channel changing. But, no, I chose Scrabble. I play with a few of my friends and my sister-in-law and brother-in-law. And when they don't play often enough to satisfy my desire to form words, I choose a random player. From that has come a small group of people I play often.

Many people I know play Words with Friends and I tried that. But cheesy design, too many bells and whistles, and too many cheaters for my taste. Where is the satisfaction in resorting to an app to find the right word for the most points? It's like having the questions to Jeopardy right in front of you while Alex reads the answers.

Not to say there aren't cheaters in Scrabble. If I get into a random game with someone who has an incredible record and consistent scores in the 500's - CHEATER! I opt out of the game and wait for more of a purist.  Plus it is most certainly not like sitting down at the table and playing the real game for there is that little dictionary there that tells me that thone and qi are words. But it is similar to the real game and fun. And, did I say I'm pretty good at it?

But, my fun hiding place has been turned upside down. The past few days it has been hard to get the game onto my screen without freezing. Then, a new game board appeared and advertisements kept popping up. I had to spend quite a while finding my games amid all the clutter and cheese of boxes asking me to invite everyone on my Facebook list to play with me and a bunch of other crap I had no desire to see.  And, the screen looked just like Words with Friends. A mess, indeed.

I may do my best to keep up with the changes in life (I can text. I succumbed to a Kindle), but when I go hide in a Scrabble game, by God, I want to play Scrabble. Not feel like I'm at a carnival with barkers taunting me to come into the tent - and then having to wait 5 seconds before I can click away the ad unless I want to entice 3 of my friends to play Scrabble and then I can be ad-free for one whole week. Wow -- who thought that up?

I voiced my complaint on their feedback bar - after waiting two days for that bar to work. Perusing their discussion lines, I'm not the only one upset. I haven't seen one positive comment. Many are calling for a boycott. I say YES!

Are there better causes? Probably. Is there a more serious essay here that I could develop? Absolutely. Do I care at this moment? No.

Yet another forced change in my life, but this one, nope, this one, I don't have to accept. I'll finish the games I have going. Maybe play once in a while with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, but other than that, I'm done.

Perhaps I'll take up writing in my journal lonesome for my confused thoughts, or working on that unfinished novel, or cleaning my house. (Maybe not that last one.) Or, maybe I'll just play the real game when I get a chance.

Now that's Words with Friends.

Bookends

book·end   
noun
a support placed at the end  of a row of books  to hold them upright, usually used in pairs.

Twenty-four years ago I moved to Texas -- seven months pregnant and the mother of a two year old. Pregnant, I wasn't exactly an ideal job candidate. Home with the first child and then a new baby was unfamiliar territory for me, the working girl. Each day I listened to the lady across the street drive away to work and was extremely jealous. I began another day of uncertainty, trapped in a house in a new town with two babies and no friends.

My mom and dad arrived in town shortly after the birth of the second child to help me for a couple of weeks. My husband, very serious about his career, worked long days and I appreciated the help my folks gave me.

However, mothers can be mothers. One afternoon she walked with my two year old to the neighborhood park. At home, the baby napped and I took one, too. Next thing I awoke to was my mother standing beside me.

"Come outside," she said. "I want you to meet someone."

My heart collapsed. I felt like I was five again. I recalled this scene from my childhood to the detail. My mother had found a friend for me. For me, the shy, little girl who couldn't find her own friends. My mother waltzing on air to introduce me to my new friend -- and me, wanting to hide in the bathroom.

I trudged out to the driveway where a young woman my age stood beside a minivan. "This is Rebekah," my mom said. "She gave us a ride home from the park."

I stood in the yard, shuffling my feet back and forth, blushing I'm certain, saying my hellos. My mother's new friend had two children -- a beautiful little blonde girl about two with a mad look on her face and a boy of three, who whipped out the pistols in his gun belt and shot me.

Suffice to say, 24 years later, that little boy with the guns is now getting a Masters in Creative Writing at a London university and "Mad Maddy" is madly in love in Vancouver. Rebekah and I are still friends and from that union a grand group formed -- the Bunco Bitches.

I have my mom to thank for that.

Rebekah and I met the rest of our motley crew while pushing our kids in the swings at the park. We weren't always bitches, but we are now. We don't necessarily remember anyone's birthday with any consistency. We all have different professions, friends, and activities that keep us apart except for once a month on the second Tuesday when we gather to eat and drink and yack. We haven't played bunco in over 12 years. But we are who we are and when we get together, there is no pretense. We put up with each other just because.

Being together for so long, it is kind of like home. We take each other in no matter what. Very often, it is the safest place I know to go.

In September, I hosted Bunco Bitch LakeFest. I knew at that time my mom was having great difficulty and that her life would change very soon. I didn't know she was to die, but I knew we were headed on a new journey. I'm uncertain exactly what my mother's journey may now be, but I know mine is rather emotionally-wracked at the moment. Most fortunate for me LakeFest served as the left bookend to the beginning of the past month and Bunco Bitch BeachFest bookended the right.

This weekend, Rebekah hosted the BeachFest at the Gulf Coast. I must say, Friday afternoon after our arrival, I sat up on the Bird's Nest deck of her beach house and with the sea before me and a slew of ships and sailboats coming in and out of the harbor, I took the first breath I'd taken in quite a few weeks. Glass of spirits in my hand, sunshine overhead, a clear view before me, I couldn't think of any place more comforting at that moment.

So, must share. Lake first, then the beach.

Remember the Recreation Station? It had blown down the lake so this crew swam down and retrieved it. Notice the supervisor on the right.

Not quite as comfortable as we'd hoped.

Naps allowed.

Reading garbage

Eat, Float, Drink

Graceful Rope Swing Entrance


LIFE INTERVENES

View from the Bird's Nest - the path to the Gulf of Mexico

Bitches at Work

 

Chair Yoga

See us way out there?

Show Off

Now, onto the next bookshelf.