I love your stories Alexa! I need to think of a misadventure.... I dont have one immediately... but i do have a compulsion to buying art supplies! And then enjoying these colours by drawing/ painting/ layering them onto paper or canvas through the night...
When I was an actress many moons ago, I loved costumes - how marvelous to embody other women through clothes. And if the costume didn't feel right, the character I was playing didn't feel right. I still am looking for different characters within myself through clothes, and, yes, it is so much fun! You say it beautifully Alexa - I hope I wasn't a bad influence!!! xxx
Love this! For me it's pants. They're in virtual carts all across the Internet-Land. I love the idea of calling back the parts that had to go into hiding. I'm trying to do that lately... calling back the part of myself that writes just to find out what she's thinking/feeling. She goes into hiding during the summer, when the house is filled with lovely loved ones with nowhere to go.
what a beautifully human post. so much meaning in the small things we do. I feel your heart. may your road be increasingly filled with ease and comfort. much appreciation.
Decades ago, I spent a summer in Fairbanks, Alaska, working in a summer travel office, booking tourist travel and doing a lot of travel around the state myself. I had rented a one bedroom apartment for the summer. It was sparsely decorated and I never did have a phone in there, for the 4 plus months of the seasonal job.
A month or so in, one of the summer drivers, Phil, had issues with the roommate he was living with. We had become buddies, so decided he could come and live with me, halving my rent and solving his dilemma. Thus would begin, for this mid-twenties duo, one of the most free and happiest times of our lives.
Phil was then a person who believed that all one owned should be able to fit in a backpack. He was perfectly comfortable sleeping on the living room floor in his sleeping bag. Freight trains and hitchhiking were his general modes of getting around.
While working many hours, we still had time to kick around-and we did, jumping on buses (free to us) to go anywhere highways took us and dropped us off, involving whitewater rafting, camping, hiking. If no bus was available, we hitchhiked. He rolled his own cigarettes and soon, I did, too. Who was this person?
We roamed around Fairbanks as well-going to the public pool (where I realized that this 6'3, Nordic guy had never learned to swim and I tried my hardest to teach him), going to the public library, where he would listen to me play the piano in their private practice rooms, deciding we needed to learn how to bake a good loaf of bread, which ended up being a summer long endeavor. He taught me how to play chess on long, subarctic summer evenings, drinking wine on the apartment rooftop. We spent evenings sprawled out on the living room floor reading and sharing literature. He bought a used turntable and we hit the used record store and watched a growing line-up of albums collect over the summer. We often went late at night to a dimly lit bar in a dicey part of town (something I would never have done on my own) to listen to soulful and bitter jazz. To this day, some of those tunes still float through my head.
We made stellar dinners out of our "pilfered from the hotel office where we worked" plates and silverware and a few odd pans. Many of the summer crew joined us for these evenings of homemade food and summer travel stories. In the roaming band of Alaska summer help, we often had people crashing for a night or two on our living room floor. I remember poignantly a couple who Phil knew from somewhere, who had finished working in a fish canning factory, staying a few days. She played the guitar and sang beautifully . I remember waking up to her singing in that sun-filled apartment and feeling truly and utterly content and happy. I never saw her again, but that singing, the smell of coffee and chatter in the living room during those cozy mornings will always occupy a place in my acre of life.
I remember laughing ourselves silly at times-playing like children, devising games of hide and seek, where we hid objects and had to tell what it was by feel before seeing what it was. Late night walks through the not quite dark of an Alaska summer.
We both had romantic flings with others that summer, but none of those added up to the fun we had together.
At some level, I knew that this wasn't a lifestyle I could sustain forever. Yet, I also knew, at some level, that this part of me had been waiting to show itself my entire life-my play by the rules, thoughtful and pragmatic life.
Of course, it all had to end at some point. The weather chilled, the tourist season ended, and we would part ways. During our roaming twenties, we crossed paths many times-in the arctic, (me), where I would procure him a temporary job. Outside of Fairbanks (him), where he wintered over in a 1 room cabin with a wood stove. Minneapolis (him), San Francisco (him), Arizona (me).....
Until we settled down long-term in our 30's-he back on the family farm in Minnesota, where he would become a skilled craftsman and me, in the Seattle area.
But, we stayed in touch through the years through long, long letters, always handwritten, full of music, book and film recommendations and the true and unfettered goings-on of our lives. His letters usually arrived with packs of mixed CD's he put together. and book and film recommendations, and the true and unfettered goings-on of our lives. When these once or twice a year letters arrived, I would wait until I had time to sit down and really read and enjoy them, this window into a past life.
We both married and had children-1 for him, 4 for me, and divorced, got tossed around by life. In the second half of our 50's, he came to visit. By now, children were raised, and both of us were now caregiving aging parents. One gorgeous summer evening, we sat on a bench, overlooking Puget Sound, watching the sailboats swirl around, realizing the seasons of life we had gone through.
He still rolls his cigarettes and smokes constantly, except now, I was repelled by it all. The world we shared that long ago summer was gone, but I realized that freedom we had, that freedom we made, would always be between us. A centerpoint, a place that both of us needs to return to, the endless laughter, the spontaneity, the lack, at that time, of responsibility and worldy goods holding us captive. I was more me that summer than I would possibly ever be again. For sure that summer marked a dividing line in my life-of who I was and who I would become.
As I write this now, I smile and think of that seemingly endless space in time and the amazing and full place it ever holds in my life.
And in front of me, is a fat envelope, holding a letter from Phil that has been there for months now. It is my turn to write. I best get to it.
I love your stories Alexa! I need to think of a misadventure.... I dont have one immediately... but i do have a compulsion to buying art supplies! And then enjoying these colours by drawing/ painting/ layering them onto paper or canvas through the night...
Art supplies! I do that with notebooks...Here's to our little, mostly harmless misadventures.
Notebooks!!! Yes of course!!!
When I was an actress many moons ago, I loved costumes - how marvelous to embody other women through clothes. And if the costume didn't feel right, the character I was playing didn't feel right. I still am looking for different characters within myself through clothes, and, yes, it is so much fun! You say it beautifully Alexa - I hope I wasn't a bad influence!!! xxx
The best influence! Xo
Love this! For me it's pants. They're in virtual carts all across the Internet-Land. I love the idea of calling back the parts that had to go into hiding. I'm trying to do that lately... calling back the part of myself that writes just to find out what she's thinking/feeling. She goes into hiding during the summer, when the house is filled with lovely loved ones with nowhere to go.
Oh I love this, thank YOU for sharing, Heather. I too am slowly coming out of summer hiding and to writing just because...heres to reclamation!
oh how you weave!!! another gorgeous weaving!! perhaps soul retrievals can come in many forms!!
Yes I believe it can! Thank you Starr!
what a beautifully human post. so much meaning in the small things we do. I feel your heart. may your road be increasingly filled with ease and comfort. much appreciation.
Thank you, Carol! I'm so glad my words resonated with you. And I'm sending you my best and much inspiration...
MY SUMMER WITH PHIL-
Decades ago, I spent a summer in Fairbanks, Alaska, working in a summer travel office, booking tourist travel and doing a lot of travel around the state myself. I had rented a one bedroom apartment for the summer. It was sparsely decorated and I never did have a phone in there, for the 4 plus months of the seasonal job.
A month or so in, one of the summer drivers, Phil, had issues with the roommate he was living with. We had become buddies, so decided he could come and live with me, halving my rent and solving his dilemma. Thus would begin, for this mid-twenties duo, one of the most free and happiest times of our lives.
Phil was then a person who believed that all one owned should be able to fit in a backpack. He was perfectly comfortable sleeping on the living room floor in his sleeping bag. Freight trains and hitchhiking were his general modes of getting around.
While working many hours, we still had time to kick around-and we did, jumping on buses (free to us) to go anywhere highways took us and dropped us off, involving whitewater rafting, camping, hiking. If no bus was available, we hitchhiked. He rolled his own cigarettes and soon, I did, too. Who was this person?
We roamed around Fairbanks as well-going to the public pool (where I realized that this 6'3, Nordic guy had never learned to swim and I tried my hardest to teach him), going to the public library, where he would listen to me play the piano in their private practice rooms, deciding we needed to learn how to bake a good loaf of bread, which ended up being a summer long endeavor. He taught me how to play chess on long, subarctic summer evenings, drinking wine on the apartment rooftop. We spent evenings sprawled out on the living room floor reading and sharing literature. He bought a used turntable and we hit the used record store and watched a growing line-up of albums collect over the summer. We often went late at night to a dimly lit bar in a dicey part of town (something I would never have done on my own) to listen to soulful and bitter jazz. To this day, some of those tunes still float through my head.
We made stellar dinners out of our "pilfered from the hotel office where we worked" plates and silverware and a few odd pans. Many of the summer crew joined us for these evenings of homemade food and summer travel stories. In the roaming band of Alaska summer help, we often had people crashing for a night or two on our living room floor. I remember poignantly a couple who Phil knew from somewhere, who had finished working in a fish canning factory, staying a few days. She played the guitar and sang beautifully . I remember waking up to her singing in that sun-filled apartment and feeling truly and utterly content and happy. I never saw her again, but that singing, the smell of coffee and chatter in the living room during those cozy mornings will always occupy a place in my acre of life.
I remember laughing ourselves silly at times-playing like children, devising games of hide and seek, where we hid objects and had to tell what it was by feel before seeing what it was. Late night walks through the not quite dark of an Alaska summer.
We both had romantic flings with others that summer, but none of those added up to the fun we had together.
At some level, I knew that this wasn't a lifestyle I could sustain forever. Yet, I also knew, at some level, that this part of me had been waiting to show itself my entire life-my play by the rules, thoughtful and pragmatic life.
Of course, it all had to end at some point. The weather chilled, the tourist season ended, and we would part ways. During our roaming twenties, we crossed paths many times-in the arctic, (me), where I would procure him a temporary job. Outside of Fairbanks (him), where he wintered over in a 1 room cabin with a wood stove. Minneapolis (him), San Francisco (him), Arizona (me).....
Until we settled down long-term in our 30's-he back on the family farm in Minnesota, where he would become a skilled craftsman and me, in the Seattle area.
But, we stayed in touch through the years through long, long letters, always handwritten, full of music, book and film recommendations and the true and unfettered goings-on of our lives. His letters usually arrived with packs of mixed CD's he put together. and book and film recommendations, and the true and unfettered goings-on of our lives. When these once or twice a year letters arrived, I would wait until I had time to sit down and really read and enjoy them, this window into a past life.
We both married and had children-1 for him, 4 for me, and divorced, got tossed around by life. In the second half of our 50's, he came to visit. By now, children were raised, and both of us were now caregiving aging parents. One gorgeous summer evening, we sat on a bench, overlooking Puget Sound, watching the sailboats swirl around, realizing the seasons of life we had gone through.
He still rolls his cigarettes and smokes constantly, except now, I was repelled by it all. The world we shared that long ago summer was gone, but I realized that freedom we had, that freedom we made, would always be between us. A centerpoint, a place that both of us needs to return to, the endless laughter, the spontaneity, the lack, at that time, of responsibility and worldy goods holding us captive. I was more me that summer than I would possibly ever be again. For sure that summer marked a dividing line in my life-of who I was and who I would become.
As I write this now, I smile and think of that seemingly endless space in time and the amazing and full place it ever holds in my life.
And in front of me, is a fat envelope, holding a letter from Phil that has been there for months now. It is my turn to write. I best get to it.