Bon Voyage, Mes Amis

I Have To Say I Love You In A Blog

 

Spring is here and love is in the air!

 

Well, it's not, but it should be and I'm about to do something about it.  I've planned a bit of a get together.  A soiree with four of my favorite people and the man who I've believed for years would be the love of my life, if only.........

 

I've picked the four people very carefully.  The men both bring out "the best of Billi".  They make me feel alive and giddy and girly.  He will love this.

 

 

Wolfie will arrive first.   He is usually the last to leave, but not tonight. There is no one who can get a party going better or faster.  But a small gathering can't be "balls to the walls" the whole way through.  That's where Edgar steps in.

 

He's a wild card to be sure, but his lively sense of the absurd makes the risk worth taking.  Not one moment will be wasted with silence or dull banter.  So long as the topics remain on the merely morbid and absurd not crossing the line into politics, Dorothy will be fine.

 

Her wit and Etta's voluptuous sensuality are qualities that I possess in ONE package.  A package that I hope my love will be unwrapping before the night is through.  He can't help but notice and be impressed by my confidence in inviting these fabulous women and my belief that they will enhance and not lessen my own fabulousness.

 

 







I considered inviting Tallulah Bankhead, but I'm not that confident....no one in their right mind is.

 

 

So everything is in place.  Brie with fruit to start.  Cornish game hens with an asparagus pilaf.  Wine, ale and whiskey.  (I know, I know "Should I really give this crowd alcohol?......It's not like I have to worry about killing them).

 

“I wish I could drink like a lady / I can take one or two at the most / Three and I'm under the table / Four and I'm under the host” ~ that Dorothy, what a hoot! (But good to know in case things don't work out as planned)

 

The music, of course will take care of itself.

 

Everyone is here, everyone but him.

 

And then he arrives.

 

 

 

I've known since I was about thirteen, when I realized that songs like Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown and Rapid Roy that Stock Car Boy and I Have To Say I Love You In A Song and Lover's Cross all came from the same beautiful mind under that curly beautiful hair, that he was my soul mate.  He was the man who imprinted a love for "sexy-ugly" men on me like a little duck.  He was the man who convinced me that "cool" is quiet and that "style" is being comfortable in your skin as well as with your feelings.

 

I've known since I was thirteen that this man died five years before I fell for him.  I've know since I was thirteen that I would search for and be attracted to men with some Jim Croce in them.

 

 

This blog was inspired by writer's block, a weird dream and a young man (I almost said boy, sorry Ryan) in my class who has Jim Croce hair that I want to touch like normal women want to touch pregnant bellies.

What Am I Afraid Of?

Heights.  Definitely heights.

 

But really, for the most part I can avoid heights.  I have control over whether I climb a ladder or go to the edge of the balcony of a fourteenth floor hotel room.  If I decide to go to out on a ledge of a cliff and I start to freak out I can back up.

 

What I can't avoid, what I don't have control over is the safety of my children.  It's so hard to balance keeping them safe and encouraging to have an exciting and fulfilling life.  There are so many scary things out there.  Even if they make wise choices at every turn (I've met them, they aren't going to), even if they wear seatbelts and don't experiment with drugs there are so many things out there that I have no control over whatsoever. 

 

When my oldest daughter was a baby sleeping in a crib I remember looking at her and thinking that she was so tiny and helpless and that this MUST be the scariest stage of motherhood.  I was wronger than wrong!  That kid is twenty-six now.  In the Army.  Living in California.  Climbing rocks, jumping out of planes with babies of her own.

 

Now a couple of my babies have babies.  The idea of losing any one of my four children paralyzes me.  The idea of losing one of my grandkids is, in some ways even more frightening.  The thought of losing them and having one of my children go through the pain of losing a child makes me want to huddle us all into a "safe" room and sit.  And be safe.  And be sad.  And not have a life.  It, of course, is not an option.

 

I love seeing them live and enjoy life and I love having them return home safely.

 

 

 

 

 

I owe it to them to teach them to love life and to live life in the safest and most fantastic ways possible.  I owe it to them to hide my irrational fear as best I can.  I have to do it even as I watch a friend go through the unimaginable.  A friend of mine is in day nine of hell.  Her son is missing after a tragic mudslide in Washington state.  Her pain is heartbreaking.  It has literally brought me to my knees.  However, one of the things that I believe will get her through the dreadful unfairness and pain of her son's life cut short is the beautiful adventure of a life that she gave him.  The hiked and skied.  They didn't just live life they embraced and attacked it often outside in the mountains of the beautiful part of the country where they live.  Was he out in the wilderness taking risks when he was taken.  No, he was watching television in the safety of his step-father's basement.

 

I will do whatever I can to help my friend through this nightmare.  I will learn what I can from her loss and from the way she lived her life and taught her son to LIVE his.