dusk this evening

I've just come inside.  I spent dusk this evening outside on the patio in the backyard with Gunny, my dad's 100lb German Shepherd.  He whined about the barricade between himself and the rabbit hutch in the neighbors' yard.  I lied in a hammock chair in the grass, at the bottom of a slight hill full with trees, the kind that make acorns and look ablaze in autumn.  Most families in the neighborhood have cut down those trees and leveled their yards.  I can't think of a worse idea.  I lied back in the cool dusk, feet up, hands behind my head, just before the mosquitos come out, but right on time for the fireflies.  I lied and watched.  You've gotta be patient with fireflies, but the reward is big if you can hold out.  It's a fireworks display on the Fourth of July in slow, slow motion.  There are hundreds of them scattered about.  And there's music.  A chorus of crickets and cicadas celebrating, buzzing and chirping their lovesongs, seeking the solace of release.  And birds pick up the hook with their nightsongs.  They're invisible from where I sit, but audible, palpable.  And they sang to me as the sun kissed me goodnight.

It was Pride Weekend here.  I marched in Dyke March.  It was a wholly different feeling than Dyke March San Diego or Orange County.  There were no corporate sponsors at all, just bad ass grrrls with megaphones and a big homemade banner.  It was real.  There were lots of boys and tranny boys, lots of mommas and grandmommas.  Old folks, teens and tweens.  Lots of ink, lots of women of color, radicals, butches, fems, everything on the spectrum.  It was all love, dignity, and energy focused on peace and community.  It was wholly different than the homogenous crowds I've marched with in other cities, yet pulsing with the very current of sisterhood and solidarity that embodies Dyke March worldwide.  I honored my own struggle with each step.  I marched with my head high and my shoulders back in contemplation of the indignities suffered by lesbians 100 years ago, 50 years ago, 25 minutes ago.  I offered up my thanks to the Universe for bringing me friendship, love, health and safety.  I counted my blessings and squeezed Euni's hand.  She knew that meant I was tearing up so she flashed me a big toothy grin to coaxe a smile.  It worked.  It always does.

Today I struggled with my overwhelming shyness.  I walked around the Pride Festival trying to get folks to sign letters to their legislators.  It was tough.  Not so much becasue they weren't willing, but because I wasn't.  I don't want to ask people to sign something.  I don't want to stand there and make small talk while they fill out their name and address.  I don't really like to speak to strangers up close and personal.  It's mostly because Pride, unlike Dyke March, is corporate sponsored.  There's beer and malt liquor everywhere.  I didn't want to go up to drunks and hand them a clipboard.  I didn't want to hold their drinks.  I didn't even want to know them.  I was hot and cranky and sunburnt.  But if those fuckers from the Real World were doing it, I damn sure was too.  Damn them and their do-goody ways!  So I grabbed my clipboard, a stack of preprinted Dear Senator letters, some magnets and sticker bribes and worked the crowd.  Folks would actually refuse to sign but ask for a sticker anyway.  And I had to smile and give it to them.  I hated it.  But, que sera, someone's gotta do it.
 
I have been eating fabulous food lately.  There's a farm here by the house, well, a couple, but 2 in particular that I really love.  Duffield's is one that has a nice big farm market.  It has this really wonderful smell, it's a combination of freshly picked fruits and vegetables and their bakery.  They make jellies, jams and preserves from the fruits, herbs and veggies they grow too.  The bakery section though, is to die for.  I'm not a big fan of pastries in general, but wow, just to look at the fruit pies bursting with sweet earthen goodness.  Imagine, they make pies with the fruit they pick that same day.  Oh my goodness.  But what I really love is their bread.  Their rolls are heavenly.  They're chewy on the outside and soft and airy on the inside.  If heaven were bread, it's this roll.  No joke.  The smell has been the same since I was a child and since everything inevitably changes, I always kind of brace myself for the smell to be gone, but it's always there.  And I drench my nostrils with it as I walk around looking at the most perfect fruits and veggies on the planet.  If it's not perfect, it's not on the shelf.  That's their way.  And prices?  You'd die.  You've never seen prices like these.  It's not oh-my-god-cheap, but it's lower than you pay now for 800x better.  No lie. 

So Euni and I bought some zucchini to toss on the grill and they were long and fat and firm and a deep dark forrest green.  I cut them in half lengthwise and tossed some salt, pepper and a dash of olive oil and grilled them up.  Woooo.  Insanely delicious.  I could have foregone the chicken and just eaten the squash.  I also steamed a couple handfuls of their fresh greenbeans.  They were so gorgeously green and crisp, free of blemishes or tough fibers.  And as sweet as if we'd soaked them in sugarwater. 

And don't get me started about the tomatoes.  They are red, red, red, not orange, not green, not yellow, but red, Crayola Red.  And you slide a knife through them and their nectar just sluices all over the cutting board and you realize there's no way in hell you're sharing this tomato and you think, there's no way in hell I'll eat this whole tomato, it's the size of a softball, but you do, you eat the whole thing and you think about what else you can make with tomatoes and you forget all about any other tomato you've ever eaten in your whole entire life and it dawns on you that tomatoes are fruit and you finally, finally understand that weird bit of trivia you've always heard because this tomato you've just eaten in its entirety would have made a fine desert. I've had much to be thankful for lately.  So much.  I've spent a whole lot of time contemplating the blessings of this place I'm in right now.  This time and space and the accessories that go along with it.  I'm feeling really alive lately.  There's been a lot of those moments where I catch myself with this feeling that the right pages in my book are turning and the story is familiar and comfortable.  I'm relived and refreshed, like I've taken a sabbatical from my daily struggle to make sense of this crazy life.  I feel like Baby in Dirty Dancing...on vacation at that crazy resort...but there will be no dancing and no abortions.  But then again, I am planning to picket the picketers at Planned Parenthood...