Posted by: estheramy | July 8, 2012

Excerpt

My face is uplifted  toward the sun; I see, not to “the bottom of the sea, sea, sea”  I see, “not red!  but orange; I see orange!!  Wind chimes are playing their/our music; the sound of dest-i-ny, a gently chiming, slower and slower—–A moment of grace.

I get to sit down on the edge of the chaise lounge on our deck: mine (Amy’s) The Bird’s and Ox Cohens, for now!!!!!  Maybee someday Ox Cohen will get married.  I always imagine the overhang on which my wind chimes chime as a “Chupa” bedecked with flowers and “Ox Cohen” marrying his bride under it; his brides golden? hair wreathed with roses and you, B-, of course wearing a yarmulke.  (I don’t like the word “skullcap.”

On the table in the photo, Esther, are the “Remains of the Day”….  What sparkles (literally and figuratively) in the photo is: a pitcher of cold Hibiscus tea (I see sparkles, teeny sparkles like a constellation of stars). Esther, I was deciding earlier today whether to write about Carolyn (you know!) and her tattoos, or whether to write about our rainforest expedition.  Seeing the sparkles, seeing the light made me select the rainforest “over” the Amy –(no, Carolyn; you know who, Esther) –who I meant to say…..I know.  I said, “Amy.”  But, I’ve realized that every single (or married) person on our tour “reflected” or was mirror opposite to ourselves.  (see Buddhist mirror philosophy on my music stand, or I’ll include it later–you know, I never throw anything away.

You better write like your ‘hair’s on fire'” I warn myself, out loud, or the fire’s going to go out.

On the table in the photo (the one taken at the lodge where we enjoyed the aforementioned scrumptious lunch) taken by you (toi )  are: a  fork, knife, and spoon (like the sculpture on McCormick–part of the Sculpture Garden) a bowl of….cookies? that resemble mandelbroit (sp?)   (also known as mandlebread  (sp?) bowls of fresh cut fruit (papaya, pineapple, bananas) I may not be accurate regarding the fruit; I can’t see it clearly in the photo, a pitcher of….lime aid, a green colored fruit juice, not kiwi, hmmmm;    i wonder why no lemons were offered at our posada; we can always make lemonade 🙂  and packets of brown sugar were offered– So “de-li-cious” as you say, to enjoy in the delicious Brazilian coffee, yum!  So reminiscent of the Turkish coffee Grandpa Meyer used to make in the copper–not only copper-colored, but copper coffeemaker.

Roumanian!

Roumanian, not Turkish, Grandpa Meyer would say.  (I misquoted; what he actually said was:  Roumanian! Not Turkish! (why, Ms. Grammarian, are the red lines only appearing in this line?)

“Roumanian”!  Right, Hubby? (Har! Har! Har! says The Laughing Buddha)

On the page, I mean photo, are also a platter of coffeecakes, not too sweet (you would like them, Ships) a pitcher of cold Hibiscus iced tea…what I saw before “with” (Yid sentence construction) sparkles or “mit” (German) sparkles was a glass of tea–like the tea Grandma Esther, your namesake, used to drink from a glass; both Grandmas, Esther and Laura would spoon a spoonful (what else) of cheery (not cherry preserves) but whole cheery–not jam–the cherries Grandma Laura put in her tea were picked from a cheery tree that used to be in the middle of the backyard–the yard is to my left as I am sitting facing the setting sun; to my left, Es.  I am facing (“…the sun rises in the east, sets in the west”) so I am facing west.  The sound of cicadas has diminished, decrescendo ed (! no such word)  the breeze is blowing my way, birds are singing for “Me and My…Gal?” or “Me and My Girl.”  My Girl.  You, Esther…..   (to be continued tomorrow  🙂  “Tomorrow! Tomorrow!  Everything’s A Song! 🙂

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories

%d bloggers like this: