Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Rockrose Moon (A Serial Fiction)

Part 8 (forget the Roman Numeral thing)

The moon is moving on to half full and I’ve been thinking about orange blossoms and making swimming pools.

They are a kind of girlie martini. One has to have the proper chilled glass. Otherwise the light doesn’t work properly. Blue Curacao is the secret. Oh and when you’ve had enough of making the perfect Caribbean beach water colored drinks you can swirl in straight cranberry juice. Not only is it good for those pesky bladder infections it makes this great iridescent purple color.

Last time I was at the salon I splurged with some guy’s money and bought the B&B shampoo I love so much. I think it smells like an Orange Julius but my stylist thinks it smells like figs. All I know is that I love the way my hair smells after I wash it.

I’ve been kind of a mess lately and sometimes I get confused about who I am and yesterday I was at the Farmer’s Market carefully picking out a couple of small pears, a beautiful organic orange pepper, a few perfect tomatoes and a solitary peach.

That peach was amazing; it had about four layers of flavor. There was this high sour note that made me squinch up my face and there was this cinnamon like spiciness and then two different layers of sweetness, a quick hit that came just after the sour and this deep thrumming sweet that one wanted to go on all night.

It was funny, I had my purchases in a string bag, I’d been following this woman around the market who had my hair to see if she was me but she wasn’t, she was wearing jeans I wouldn’t be caught dead in, actually I don’t wear jeans except when some guy absolutely insists but so I gave that up and wandered off and some old woman who had seen a lot of drinking days asked me if I had any money for food.

I said, “No, but would you like a pear?” She was a bit surprised and said, "I don’t want to take from your own personal food stash…”

I said, “It is a little bruised but I bet it is really sweet.” I gave her the red number just bursting with juice. I think we were both happy there for a moment.

Bobby says he wants to come over and watch me shave my legs. I wonder if I can talk him in to taking me shopping tomorrow? I found this store downtown that sells some Eileen Fisher pieces I covet.

Fall is in the air. A nice wooly sweater to snuggle up into would be so very comforting.


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