Let’s Get Rich and Buy Our Parents Homes in the South of France


I feel like I could just breathe on the page and the word count would tick up to 500.  It wouldn’t even take so much as that to do it.  I am riddled with thoughts, with whole maps of whole universes of thoughts that are clambering to the bow of the ship with spyglasses in hand, leaning forward, keen to hit land.

I am already losing some of them to the waves, so, more bullets of memory.

  • Drinking Malibu in the massively, exorbitantly overly fancy hotel’s bar with my sisters and father, toasting our grandfather.  That massive hotel with the single room that we all crunched into and ate as much Chinese food as has ever been.
  • The really awful, shitty, 12-hour delay with Frontier that left me getting home 30 minutes before I had to pack and drive down to pick up the shuttle to go back to the airport to Seattle.   Somehow not being deterred by the seeming impossibility of that.
  • Our crazy drive with my little sister laying across my parents and my laps so we could fit everything into the car.
  • Arriving at SeaTac (which sounds like it’s short for something in military jargon) and feeling completely loopy from lack of sleep, feeling amazing as this whirling set of a thousand highways and trees and buildings filled out the skyline.
  • Crashing on S’s couch even though I wanted to be awake, but just drifting away.
  • Our darling, dear little cottage in the woods.  Those were perfect woods for imagining horrible murders or skulking fae.
  • The curling teacher who was so earnest about her instruction, but laughed until she cried when we tried to explain how it was we ended up to learn about curling.
  • The mad rush to defuse bombs.
  • Compliments, support, friendship.  Nobody being an asshole or a jerkface.
  • The man/creeper on the docks in the little touristy shop who asked me if I was waiting for my boyfriend.
  • The beautiful flower garden at the Locks with grass green enough it could trademark the color.
  • Those garlic fries that had tiny minced garlic all over it.  It had just the perfect balance of salt and starch and flavor.
  • The guy earnestly trying to pick up the semi-oblivious (or completely aware and incredibly nuanced) clerk at the esoteric letterpress gift shop.  He said he went to school with her.  She said she remembered him, maybe.  She looked like Joanna Newsom.  I felt his dismay when she told him goodbye.
  • The softest hoodie in the world!
  • Watching Magic Mike XXL and totally, totally, totally getting why people love that movie – both on the obvious mancake level and based on its whole raison d’etre.  Ain’t an ounce of hate in that movie, it’s incredible.
  • Every dorky joke made before we all fell asleep.
  • That pico de gallo, oh my goodness!
  • Not, at any point, falling into the sea.
  • Showing our dearest K her very first viewing of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
  • Truck Shepard and Monster Factory videos.

It was a lovely Mother’s Day and tomorrow, reality, smack in the face.  Time to get some writing done.

3 thoughts on “Let’s Get Rich and Buy Our Parents Homes in the South of France”

  1. They were really incredible fries, actually. Hopefully you got through today okay.

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