Piecing it all Together

Life here is remarkable. There are more hills than I experienced in San Francisco. More rain, in all forms, too. The windows of this building were supposed to be washed yesterday, yet a 30-mile-per-hour wind barreled across Puget Sound, up Vine street and blew over an ancient tree on the corner.

And, the owl, the plastic one that has planted itself on the shelf below the sixth floor apartment, it finally moved. Three feet west and then back two feet east. Head remains buried in the sawdust.

So, Friday the windows will be washed. Yesterday, in spite of the weather and wind, the building across the street got its windows washed. Three men, all dresses like Zorro, hung on ropes and squeezed the dirt off the glass wind-breakers that adorned the side of the building. This morning, the sun was dazzling as it reflected off the early morning building.

Why didn’t our building get serviced? Were the men afraid to hang from the side in the wind? Didn’t want to get dressed up like Zorro, and trip up and down a 12-story building? I don’t know. Friday, when they do appear, I’ll ask. How will I ask, I’ll have to practice how to ask without hurting any feelings.

Is it Raining?

Silly question, if you live in Seattle. I have been here since the last days of April. Visiting a friend, well . . . more than a friend.

We’ve decided to ‘give it a try’ . . . living together in his loft on the sixth floor of a building, one-and-one-half-blocks from the Pike Street Market. I’m back, downtown, where I’d rather be. After 27 years in San Francisco, then a major move to Orange County to be with my daughter in the ‘burbs,’ now, the moans of sirens at 3am and honking cars are music to my ears.

I was born in Seattle. Official War Baby. Lived here for 11 months, then parents divorced and I ended up in Southern California. New dad, two baby brothers. I met my Seattle friend in fifth grade. We were not pals, but were aware of each other. He moved in different circles. I was into music and talking; he was into being cool. In the tenth grade, he gave a party. I don’t know why he invited me, [he doesn’t remember] but it had an Hawaiian theme. I was in line to get my lei, when he reached out, grabbed me, and planted a juicy kiss on my lips.

“You are not the prince,” I said to myself. Later, when I told my mother [I have no idea why I told her this], that he was too short for me.

“Don’t worry. He’ll grow,” she announced.

He grew, in my heart. We had separate lives, married other people, dropped LSD and roamed Griffith Park while at USC, yet nothing ever went further than that.

He kissed me again just before Thanksgiving, in 2021. A walk on the beach. According to him, it was electric.

“He’s tall enough now,” I would add, to tell my mother who has left the planet.