Saturday, October 11, 2014
Mooning about in the Billington's Cove sunshine
|Gloria's sandwiches, borrowed from here.|
If he'd been working in the field, so to speak, he could have swung by Gloria's for lunch. Any of the voices he heard that morning included conversation about sandwiches for workers. Someone mentioned feta and sun dried tomatoes on ciabata. Maybe they could bring him back a few. (Fisherman's pants! his mind half shouted at him, but the vision of an ample lunch refused to shrink.)
The other half of his mind had begun to fill with music, all of it decades out of date, all of which he had danced to, sometimes with enthusiasm, sometimes with a detachment he hoped seemed cool. Shuffled in among best loved oldies were the few songs he'd overheard Gloria singing in her kitchen. Folk songs in a sweet voice that made him think of a mandolin and girls with long, straight hair who had, once upon a time, laughed, it seemed, from the soles of their not-quite-clean feet, only knew how to cook spaghetti and didn't complain. He remembered they had each grown dreamy from the smell of his porch-dried chambray shirt and shampooed hair.
Good thing they hadn't assigned him power tools today, Robert thought. Saws, drills and their ilk in combination with ladders. He had sidestepped into his time machine, the state of suspended disbelief discovered in childhood where now became any time he wished, either with clear memory or soaring imagination. He knew from experience it would be a jolting re-entry to find himself back behind the cash register, his youthful wonder boy self disguised as a man of increasing years.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Thoughts of the summer dance transfix Billington's Cove inhabitants - part 2
|Bite-size grilled cheese sandwiches.|
She was of two minds about how she wished she could spend the day. What a luxury to be a girl again, all dreamy and a'swirl in tulle and silk, trying on gowns, party dresses, nearly hypnotized by anticipation and her youthful image in the dressing table mirror. Truth was, she was as enamored of preparing her treats as she had once been of, as she called it, sashaying about, fussing with her hair, writing some boy's name over and over in a notebook, wishing for things she couldn't actually name but felt she would recognize when they arrived.
Work was a tonic, a cure-all, even when no actual ailment was present. She was not moonstruck, not adolescent and definitely not confused. No, she amended. She WAS moonstruck and with good reason. It was rare in what she knew of the world to be so aware of another's essential self as she was of Robert's, without having been told. Gloria believed we possess aspects that never lie to us, that simply receive what is true and allow it to flow freely, a stream returned to life with the first snow melt. Though this was a new experience, she could trust it. She wondered if she ought to rethink trusting the townsfolk not to serve themselves too generously at a buffet. The answer to that was not yet clear.