Nothin But Blue Sky

The guy at the liquor store today looked bored while he was ringing me up. Grand Marnier for Kate's galette, and a bottle of wine. I wasn't sure he had even looked at me until he took my ID, looked down at it and said "Whoa, I was thinkin '74." Then he looked up at me and smiled, said "Gotten pretty good at this, I'm nearly always within two years." Not with me, though, since what he was looking at was '71.


The weekend was full of little pleasures like that. Just funny exchanges with people, moments where I was wearing shoes I liked, or listening to I'll Take You There for the bazillionth time, drinking good beer, or sitting behind home plate for a rare Mariner's win, or eating curly fries at 3AM, or just goofing around with someone I liked.


I got to see big smiles on the faces of a lot of the people I am so fond of - Susan nearly doubled over with girlish laughter after we ran into one of our high school heart-throbs, Bobby dirty-haired and devilish at coffee, the morning after his shenanigan-filled fourth, Lindsey on the dance floor under fairy lights, spilling champagne and flipping her ponytail, Jessica grinning and shivering in Lake Washington at 3AM, as pale and beautiful as the moon. Kate in her kitchen with a counter-full of fresh fruit and a big ball of pie crust dough, Ryan finding his tempo on the dance floor at the Hen tonight.

We were just all pretty happy, I guess, out in the warm air, meeting up, going separate directions, coming back together again. I wore a bathing suit under my clothes for the first time this year, left sand on kitchen floor and drank more bottles of Green River than I care to admit. I was in love, all weekend. With band practice, Jackson Five, fish tacos, other people's back yards, open car windows, hair left wet out of the shower, blurry photos of sparklers, and yes, Jessica, sleeping in, eating out, new kisses, and maybe an old one too. But that's a story for another blog.

Happy summer, at long last.