March 23, 2005

• Sunday morning

  
  

   I went to the coffee shop I’d seen when I’d turned off the main road, on my way to the resort.  It was done in an island motif with uncomfortable wicker chairs and after sipping the funny taste I left the odd place.  Then I took a walk down to the bridge I’d seen.  The river was raging and the one-lane bridge said it could only hold 24 tons.  I picked my way over the rocks, down to the water.  Hiding behind the graffiti-covered concrete I got in the stance to do some energy work.  That’s when I saw her face.  Running water makes me vibrate like crazy and I knew when I saw her I was supposed to think about sending her this strength that came bubbling up.  I believe I was able to do it for my daughter once, and I thought maybe I could do it for my friend’s.

  
  

  Monday morning

  
  

  It was snowing at Timberline, “first time in a long time,” said the workman I rode the elevator with.  This always happens to me when I go somewhere; the weather improves immediately.  I got to park right up front, because nobody came this year, and fought my way through the blizzard to the entrance of the lodge.  I’d worn a thin coat and tennis shoes, having no idea it was snowing.  There was a crackling fire blazing in the four-sided fireplace that filled the center of the ground floor.  They only light one side, that I’ve seen.  Maybe at night it’s all lit up.  There are chairs on each of the four sides and I sat down, closing my eyes to listen to the fire. In the corner sat an antique radio, the kind people would have sat around in the 40s, listening to their radio shows at night.  The music was from the 30s but I think it must have come from the speakers mounted up toward the ceiling. 

  
  

  After a while I made my way up to the next floor.  I wish I’d taken my notebook because in one of the many nooks and crannies there was a writing desk tucked behind a wall.  The small window lit the corner study from the sun’s glare on the snow.  A skier sped by and I sat down to watch the action on the hill not 20 feet from my window.  The timber they used was massive, as was everything about this place.  It was a privilege to sit there and the contrast to the condo struck me:  the lodge was more real than the condo was fake.

  
  

  The top floor is where the bar is and I decided to go up and get coffee.  It, too, has wonderful places to cozy up and watch the skiers; lots of couches under windows.  The woman across from me was doing embroidery and my youngest had recently asked me to teach her.  I went over and struck up a conversation so I could watch her.  She taught me all kinds of tricks and even cut off the square so I could show it to my daughter. 

  
  

  I drove back carefully, it was still snowing hard, and I thought about something strange that’s been going on with me lately.  I am falling in love with myself.  There is really no other way to put it.  It seemed like such an odd thing but the more I thought about it the more it made sense.

  
  

  I’ve spent an awful lot of time alone since I broke up with my last boyfriend.  In my whole adult life, actually from the time I could date, the only time I’ve been without a man was when I was going through the divorce.  I like myself better than any of the men I’ve been with, and the sex last night wasn’t too shabby either.  This morning at the lodge I almost felt like I was on a honeymoon, walking around with a big smile on my face.

  
  

   

  • 3:24 pm
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