We booked three nights at Port Townsend's Manressa Castle for the 24rth, 25th and 26th. Small room, okay view, hints of haplessly wandering ghosts, overly expensive Christmas dinner (of which we didn't partake), great bar - - we left after spending one night. We didn't have to look at each other and say, "Nah,", we didn't have to say, "We can do better than this," we didn't really say much of anything at all. We woke up on Christmas Day and I said murmured something like, "Let's get out of here and go down to the Tides," and Alan said, "Yeah," and we high-tailed it out of there. We didn't have to recite the reasons why. I knew the reasons why, he knew the reasons why, and we each knew that the other knew, without having said a word about it.
Kapish?
Right.
When you know you know.
Further back. June, 2008. I said to my friend Magge, "Someday I'd really love to live on Bainbridge Island" and Magge said, "Well, why don't you?" and four days later, I bought a townhouse on Bainbridge Island. I don't like to house shop any more than I like to do any other kind of shopping. If it isn't plaid, and doesn't have diamonds, I'll consider it. If I don't have t tie a knot, even better. If I can get somebody else to take a look at the kitchen and to see if there's any decent kind of storage space, whoopee.
Get it?
I'm easy, that way.
When I know I know.
At the party Alan invited me to, the family party held for his birthday, his cousin George's birthday and one other relative whose name (sorry! sorry!) I can't remember, that's when I knew. I knew as simply and surely as a thirsty man knows that water is what is absolutely needed. It was the third time we'd met. He spent just the right amount of time next to me. He spent just the right amount of time away from me. His relationship with his daughter looked loving and respectful on both sides. He touched me just enough. Years ago, oh, many, I'd taught that kind of social touching in workshops at the Bangor Base. He was a natural. I didn't need a second opinion. I didn't need another date. I didn't need a fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eight opinion. Three. One, two, three. Just enough.
Three.
Like the legs of a milk stool.
When you know you know.
On the other hand,I know I shouldn't be doing. Driving, for instance. I know shouldn't be behind the wheel. I'm not good there. When I'm behind the wheel, I DON'T know. One of the gifts I received for Christmas this year (no, not from Alan) was a key-locater so I can even FIND my car-keys. Or: trying to read a map. I shouldn't even OPEN a map. It's ludicrous to try. Everyone who knows me knows this. Because, although "When I know I know," the opposite may also be said of me - - "When I DON'T know, I DON'T know."
Ah, well.
I wanted to write a terrific blog on the WHEN YOU KNOW YOU KNOW theme. I wanted to write it tonight. But Life got in the way and handed me a broken afternoon and then a evening. A fire, a metaphorical fire, but a fire, nonetheless, has broken out regarding my son, and I am torn into pieces inside my chest. I won't be okay for a couple of days and it's no use putting off writing just because certain pieces of me are going to be busted up for awhile; those pieces will just have to heal in their own good time while the rest of me, like Time, marches on. Crap waits for no one, especially during holiday time.Especially big cruddy pieces like these.
Like cow pies.
Like cow pies with steam spewing out.
Like cow pies still wet in the middle and you slip and end up all squished up on your butt in the middle of one.
And you feel like you're ten years old again.
And you want to throw back your head and yell, "Hey, if there's a plug out there, would somebody mind pulling it?"
But nobody you know has that kind of plug and if you knew somebody with one you'd dust yourself off and run like hell because you want to see where this next year takes you. Because there could be angels sitting on the fence posts. Somebody could bring you wildflowers. Maybe you could get married. Probably you could dance some more. Way, way more. Probably you're gonna laugh some more. A lot more. And listen to more Leonard Cohen and more the Reverend Al Green, especially his song,"Belle". And Tony Bennett. And Ray Charles. And eat more bagels. And make more chicken salad. And read more Lorca and Neruda out loud.