When I remember last night, the first thing I remember is the garlic. On your breath, in your mouth, on your tongue. The altoids, it turns out, were unequal to the task of exorcising the ghost of whatever it was you had for dinner. “Curiously strong”, my foot. The next thing I remember—and it really only takes a fraction of a second for this memory to rise—is the fabric. All crushed up. Sheets and shirts twisted and tangled. Folds of flannel and denim leaving imprints that look like little landscapes—the topography of your top etched on your pale, perfect skin. I remember the lamplight, catching the luminescence of your hair, creating a glow around your head, like a halo. When I squint my eyes you look like an angel. And it’s weird, because I don’t expect this, but when I stop squinting, you’re still an angel, and I am lost in the heaven of your eyes. We melt together, twining into a glowing mess of garlic and desire and I feel this urge to tell you how I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have wings.
My brother and his family are coming next weekend, and we’re going to head to California Adventure on Monday. I took the day off, and I finally ponied up for Southern California annual passes for myself and the boy. It’s funny that we never bought them while I was living in Brea, less than 20 minutes away from the park… you’d think I would have bought them back then. I had promised the boy when we first moved to southern California that we’d go to Disneyland all the time, and I wanted to keep that promise—I really did. It just didn’t work out that way. It was expensive and I wasn’t able to pull it off.
But I worked it out. I bought them now. And hopefully we’ll get a chance to use the passes together this year. I’m thinking a few days here and there, just taking off from work and going with the boy, just him and me… that’ll be pretty great.
C’s paternal grandparents always loved to take him to Disneyland. They came and picked him up a few times and took him to Disneyland when we lived in Brea, even when I had to work and couldn’t go. I’m so glad they did that few times before his grandpa died. I think about C’s grandpa a lot when I go to Disneyland. He loved that place. He loved to take the kids there, go on rides, especially Pirates and Big Thunder Mountain. He was such a kind man. I miss him sometimes.
I present to you: Leonard Nimoy singing about Bilbo Baggins, surrounded by dancing girls. Enjoy.
P.S. No baby seals were harmed in the making of this blog entry.
P.P.S. Leonard Nimoy is the only one WITHOUT pointy ears in this video.
There’s a harbor seal sanctuary near my house. It’s only about a mile away. To get there, you walk on the bluffs above the ocean. We went there a weekend or two ago, and saw some of the cute baby seals. All the mamas are having their babies right now. They’re pretty cute, and I got a great picture of one of the mamas snuzzling her baby.
Baby seals, people!
Also, a few photos of my own baby seal. Who is soon going to be taller than his mama (kiddo grew 1/2 an inch last month)…
Is that like your own private hell? Is that what that means? Idaho? Is that code? Someday I’m going to have to actually GO to Idaho and see why I might want one all for my own. Or… not want one.