|Victorian Trade Card Tarot|
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord
I love evenings like this at home. Whoops, Brandon Belt just hit a home run that splashed into San Francisco Bay and now the score is 6-2 Giants! I indulged myself earlier in the evening with an episode of Lost Girl. Our star, an unaffiliated Fae who just happens to be a succubus, tried to help out her friend the bar owner (there’s more to that story, I’m sure) and her friend the doctor. Her sidekick took a turn entertaining the wild-child daughter of a dignitary with the “usual unpredictable” results. I’m waiting for Dyson to get cured of his enchanted indifference to Bo, myself.
I watch Giants television (that’s baseball, not Fae now; I’m back to the present. Stay with me) as much for the announcers as I do for the sport. One of them just commented that his fellow announcer would be able to recount the details of tonight’s game whether he had seen it or not. That’s the mark of a true announcer! Baseball is my idea of reality TV. I have to agree with my friend Dan “Mr. Crankypants” Pelletier. Baseball is an entire deck of tarot cards.
My husband rails at the announcers as they tread on superstitious ground. There are things you don’t say during a baseball game. There’s an old song by Jim Croce about all the things you don’t do. You don’t spit into the wind. You don’t pull off the mask of the Lone Ranger. You don’t mess around with Jim. The Hubs is such an easy-going guy that people probably don’t realize he’s a stickler for baseball protocol. The last two words of the National Anthem are “play ball.” You don’t talk about a no-hitter during the game because it will ruin it. This is why the movie Bull Durham explains the Church of Baseball. It’s a matter of faith, not logic.
As delightful as this evening is in its small ways, I am so glad I was able to get away this past weekend. How could I possibly need a break from this beautiful life I have? No, I’m not worthy.
I had told people that I really needed the weekend away. It wasn’t that I needed to get away from my husband; he’s an angel, even when he’s screaming at the television for the announcers not to jinx the ballgame.
Oh, they won, by the way. Tonight’s game, I mean.
I really needed to get away from a little bit of the stress of work. The tension has been building for software releases, the usual changes at the last minute, the usual changes in tactics and strategy, the usual tension from management trickling down to the next level whether they mean for it to or not. My favorite way to unwind is to unplug and go to nature. A weekend in the redwoods started to sound like an emergency by mid-week last week.
I’m not worthy of my lovely friends who stole a weekend from their busy lives, either. We had our semi-annual Goddess Weekend in the redwoods last weekend. Not everyone could be there this time; we were only four for the weekend. The four of us have careers in technology in common, so we waxed geek with each other long into the night over a lentil soup, minted cucumber yogurt salad and tabouleh. We watched a chick flick, One for the Money, a Stephanie Plum romp.
I meant to get up early on Saturday but I slept until almost 9 am. We indulged in the nearby natural wonders of shopping. Oops, that’s not nature, but we indulged. I found a couple more of my favorite tie-dyed dresses. I chatted with the cats and dogs in the shops we visited. We lounged in the sun and in the shade. We laughed uncontrollably at a battery-operated motion-activated rolling and laughing cat. My friend Kaye couldn’t resist and bought the dog model of the laugh machine. It was for her dog, she said.We stopped at Duncans Mills for lunch and decided to skip lunch and go for dessert. Goddess weekends are like that. We split this apple cake with buttermilk syrup confection, a celestial treat something like tres leches cake only richer somehow. I had iced tea to offset the calorie load as if that would help.
We shopped some more, stopping at the Saturday flea market that is a mainstay of the Safeway parking lot in Guerneville. Ah, the glass lampshade for my back porch I had been looking for and for only $3!
We determined to go out to dinner Saturday night. Usually we are not that well-organized and succumb to leftovers. No, this time was a treat. We dined al fresco under the redwoods with glorious views of the coastal hills. We made friends with the cute little girl playing with her Dad’s cane at the next table, found out about his dreadful knee accident, rubbing our own knees in sympathy.We retreated to the house we had rented and attempted our traditional craft project. This time we decorated glass vases with glued on glass doodads, fussed about the quality of the glue, despaired of the glue ever bonding, frowned over Ronda’s round vase with its extra challenges. All the while, we told each other the story of our lives, our jobs, our families, our men, our pets, our gardening triumphs and failures.
Another breakfast the next morning and then the real healing: A walk in Armstrong Grove where we took pictures with our cell phones, revered the cathedral-like trees and played with bubble stuff.“Redwoods grow like a mother surrounded by her children,” I murmured, not sure if anyone was listening or needed to. “I wonder why people keep naming trees for men when the trees seem so obviously like moms?” The sunlight bounced through the green tops far above onto the large oxalis on the ground. This was a place of spirit.
Back at the house, I read tarot for everyone. Kaye insisted on a reading for me too. Yup, I need to pay more attention to details, money stuff, home stuff, health stuff. Yup.
My 8 of Cups weekend ended, my journey away from what I love for a little side-trip to the reconnection to nature that I crave. I went back home to those I love most, my dear husband, my little family. I think I can handle the workaday world again now. Sometimes you don’t need the ice cream.