July 11, 2020 … Saturday (yeah, yeah – Covid is still raging)
I’m tired. As I’m sure all of us are. I’m not just physically tired – but mentally. I am SO tired of everything! I’m tired of the angst, ire, conflict and abysmal neglect from our government officials–lest I mention the criminal activity that has me going nuts. I’m tired of being home, worrying about my loved ones and friends and if I am/are they “next” to get this virus. I’m tired of this on-going/never-ending/end-of-days pandemic that continues on due to the stupidity and genuine on-going idiocy of our President and government officials and the American people at large. I’m tired of the grocery store prices and empty shelves and people STILL – even though it’s a state and grocery store mandate – not wearing masks.
I’m tired of wondering how we will all get through these next 4 months until the election with the daily shitshow that is now our country … and what then?
I’m tired of the uncertainty of everything–not just my move/future. I’m tired of the hate. I’m tired of living in a country where the color of someone’s skin still defines them. I am an entitled white girl and have NO idea what people of color experience and I cannot walk even a step in their shoes because I am lily-white. I will never be able to experience that fully. I want the color of one’s skin to be as inconsequential as the color of their eyes or the size of their feet. Instead, why don’t we measure people by the size of their heart … like in the “Grinch”? Every life matters but until we realize that Black Lives Matter, too … NO lives matter. We cannot continue this discord … we cannot continue on this path. There is NO reason for this hatred towards other human beings. NONE.
I’m tired of watching our American values go down the proverbial latrine. Everyone needs to get out and vote this November. It is our right. And it is our civic duty. Be like Nike–Just Do It! And make sure everyone you know votes also.
We are currently under a water advisory (day 3) here in town so I have been/am continuing to boil my water before I filter it. It’s inconvenient and I’m tired of doing it (but I still have water – so can’t complain too much). And I’m really tired of October days masquerading as Summer. I’m not sure we’ll make it to 60 degrees by noon. I have doors and windows a jar hoping to let some air waft in, but I’m in sweater/pants – so I have turned on my heat. Again. I’m tired of freezing. It’s SUMMER, Mom Nature – get with the program!
I’m tired and can’t think of anything upbeat to write about because I am quite deflated by all that is happening politically and otherwise. I let it affect me too much, I think … but that is me. I’m passionate and things affect me. I have extended family members in peril – Covid and otherwise – and it makes my heart hurt.
I’m just tired of it all.
And in the midst of all my tiredness, yesterday I had one of those “aha-omg-out of the blue-where the hell did that thought come from” moments when I realized that the majority of whatever I’ve written for most of my life was sitting in a file cabinet in my office … poems, songs, stories, notes, ideas, my attempt at a mystery and one ratty piece of paper towel with stains and some scribbling on it. And I figured I’d best get them transferred/input on my computer … asap. So, I’ve begun to enter them in (tedious project) but am having fun revisiting my past works.
I hope to think that my writing has improved with age. I came upon one bundle of parchment papers tied together and wondered if I’d found someone’s writing from the Revolutionary War. Parchment? When the hell did I write (long hand) on parchment? Who am I? Betsy Ross?!
Anyway, here it it … the parchment papers … written (gasp) in April of 1993. I was shocked to see that I wrote this nearly HALF of my life ago and as I was re-reading it, I remembered it as if it were yesterday. So – enjoy this embarrassingly cliche attempt at my only Romance Novel …
The fog rolled in quickly. Emily suddenly found herself alone, lost and adrift at sea. She hadn’t meant to journey so far from shore but the light in the old, abandoned lighthouse was lit and it beckoned her seaward. Now she silently scolded herself for being so impulsive and short-sighted. She knew the sea and its evening fog–a person could drift far out to sea in it.
She tried not to think of her fate–instead she intently searched for the shoreline or the light, but could see neither. As she sat in her Grandfather’s dinghy the waves gently rolled her on the water.
Fortunately, she was within the curve of the cove and it was a calm night. It was quiet except for a distant owl and the lap of the water against the side of the boat. Emily knew the fog would eventually lift and she could then steer for home–if she hadn’t drifted too far out. She tried to relax and keeping her eyes alert for lights or shoreline her thoughts drifted to earlier that day …
Matthew had called and asked her to an early dinner at the BayShore. They had been seeing each other for nearly two years, on and off, when he was in town. Matthew Randolph Winston IV was an art dealer and traveled a great deal. He made his home in Boston but came to this small Oregon village as much as possible–more to see Emily than to find great art treasures. But it was actual treasure that brought him here in the first place and Emily was grateful for that.
She smiled and softly sighed as she thought about him. He was as nearly perfect as a man could get–in looks and being–a real Prince Charming. Her real-life brunette Ken doll. He was rather tall and muscularly built with a (dare she say) chiseled chin and lustrous chestnut hair. He always sported tortoise-rimmed glasses. And, of course, he came from an upstanding, proper East Coast family with old money. As in OLD money. And, lots of it. She had never met his parents and wasn’t quite sure she was ready, even now, but if tonight’s dinner ended in a proposal–which she was fairly sure it would–she would soon have to meet the formidable Matthew Randolph Winston III and his pedigreed wife, Regina Mavis.
Emily had dressed carefully, picking out a light peach vintage silk dress–one of her favorites. It had been her Grandmother’s. They were both small waisted and delicately boned and both had green eyes. As her Grandfather always said, ‘As green as emeralds.‘ The dress was ankle length and fit her perfectly showing off her trim and well-toned body. Her deep auburn hair cascaded down her back to nearly her waist in flowing waves and curls. She brushed it out, applied her favorite Peach Melba lip gloss and was ready. Before leaving the house she wrote a note to her Grandfather …
To dinner with Matthew. Be home later. Hope you had fun. Love – Em.
She waited for Matthew on the front porch of the home she and her Grandfather shared. She had lived here almost her entire 26 years. Her parents had been killed in an automobile accident when she was three and she had gone to live with her grandparents–Joseph and Shannon McKelvey–her father’s parents–at their home.
“Violet Hill Farm” was in the quaint fishing village of Otter Cove off the mid-Oregon coast. The house wasn’t really a farm but Grandmother had chosen the name for the hilltop home for its many violets. Early in their marriage they had a few sheep and the “farm” part stuck. Grandmother Shannon was a warm loving woman whom Emily (and her grandfather) had adored.
Tragically, Grandmother Shannon (as she was always called) disappeared one evening when Emily was sixteen. It was a horrible time for them and their tight community. Some townspeople ventured that she was swept out to sea by a rogue wave. Others surmised she fell to her death while on one of her cliff walks or from a craggy peak. They never did find her body. The search continued on and on but finally ended without any answers. It is said that, “The sea seldom gives up her dead”. No one ever knew what happened but how they missed her. Her absence left Grandfather devastated and heartbroken and he and Emily were left alone in that home that they cherished, at the top of the hill.
Matthew drove up and Emily’s thoughts were brought to the present. He looked dashing, as always. She smiled as he greeted her. “Funny”, she thought, she had never seen him dressed casually. She could have described his appearance even before she laid eyes upon him–khaki pleated trousers, a crisply pressed long-sleeved white shirt, a burgundy tie and a navy blazer with gold buttons … and on his feet – polished loafers. He always looked like he stepped out of a high-quality men’s catalog for the Nantucket Club. Had she not known better she would have thought they were headed to his yacht.
Emily couldn’t help but smile. They turned many heads when out together–as they were indeed a very attractive couple. She shivered as Matthew took her arm and led her from the porch to his rental car–always the same sleek, black sedan with leather interior and gorgeous woods. His car choices were always predictable – as that was his trademark. No surprises with Matthew. Tonight’s car was no exception and he held her hand as she slid onto the smooth seat.
The drive to the BayShore was a beautiful one. This area of the coast is heavily wooded and forests march down to the sea … rocky shores and black pebble beaches … water and land wildlife galore. Emily couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. The winding forested lane that led to the secluded resort was lined with lush foliage … amazingly tall ferns, cedars, moss and wildflowers. The resort was hidden amongst the trees and ferns and greenery. The restaurant was at the end of the cliff and overlooked the ocean below. It was quite breathtaking, especially at sunset but tonight’s dinner was early and the sun poured in over them causing Matthew to ask for the shade to be lowered into place. Emily was disappointed as she loved the view but some of it and the sun still squeezed through the semi-closed blinds. She had always wished the windows opened so they could hear the roar of the surf and the barking of the sea lions below on the rocks.
While the view was simply wonderful– the interior was a bit too overdone with the brass and smoked glass and deep woods. It was beautiful and the wood tables and railings gleamed from constant polishing but it was a bit too haughty or stuffy for her. Matthew always said it reminded him of home. But Emily couldn’t know – not even once had she seen his home.
All through dinner Matthew seemed somehow detached and far away. Emily dismissed his distance as nervousness at the ensuing proposal. Barely able to sip her espresso she sat with near giddiness until he said, “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
Emily had already known that he’d be going back to Boston the next day and wondered why he seemed so stiff and ill at ease when telling her. Then, without looking into her eyes, he added, “France. I’m leaving for Paris.”
Emily was a bit surprised for he hadn’t mentioned a business trip to France to her before then. “Paris?”, she asked. He took her hand and looked at her with his incredibly deep blue eyes and said, “I’m taking a position at the Louvre–head of gallery acquisitions.” He faltered a bit and added in barely a whisper, “This is good-bye.”
Okay folks … that’s the end of this segment. If you want to find out what is next you’ll have to come back for more of this untitled romance about Emily. What happens? Is this the end of her and Matthew? Is she still adrift at sea? Segment II will be coming in a few days …