Friday, July 9, 2010

continued...with limited vocabulary (warning, warning)

The clock next to the bed reads 3:00am and the same killing is being played out on the screen when I wake. There is some comfort in thinking that maybe this is the only murder we've had in this country as of late and in some type of strange fear mongering the network has decided to keep replaying it. I roll out of bed and power it off before proven wrong.

I don't have to be anywhere today, and there could be others in this universe who may think I'm out of my mind for getting up and making coffee. That's okay, let them think as they will. This is my favorite part of any day. There is a certain stillness about 3am, a beautiful quiet.

As the coffee brews I check out all the goodies Kay left for me. Muffins, homemade banana nut bread, a basket full of fruit and juice in the refrigerator. She is quite the hostess. I opt for a muffin with my coffee as I sit at the table and thumb through the guest book feeding my voyeuristic tendencies in the most pleasant way. How many varieties of this place is exquisite are there? Page after page of people attempting to put in words what they found here. If you visit you must, must I say, leave something in this book. Kay treasures these notes.

Two cups of coffee and a quick clean of the kitchen later I am unclothing and snatching a complimentary robe out of a huge wardrobe in the bedroom. There are no birds singing, no dogs barking as I make my way out to the hot tub and disrobe. It is a certain guilty pleasure to be naked outdoors. Maybe in my world it has always been taboo, but here it feels free and wonderfully safe.

I hang the robe on the wood fence surrounding the hot tub, remove the cover of the big bath and step in. The cool, crisp morning air coupled with the circulating warm water feels like a gift, like God came down, prepared me a perfect moment in time and said in the sweetest, kindest whisper, "Just fucking relax, kid." Is it wrong that my God swears and looks like George Burns?

Maybe this is the beginning.

Maybe there are a million beginnings to this week.

The lower part of my body is submerged in the tub, the pulsating jets and rushing water are all that is audible as I fold my arms and rest my head on a window cut out of the brick looking at the lights, the trees, the shrubs and potted plants. Here in this place, in this very moment, I am filled with such complete gratitude and love.

I am in awe.

Of here.

Of now.

Of everyone.

Of everything.

Of how amazing this past forty years have been.

And I say to God, "Fucking thank you, man. Dude, THIS. LIFE. ROCKS."

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