pink candytuft

05 November 2015 – Strange to receive your own notebook in the mail. The relief of having it back in my possession. Surprising and immeasurable. Can’t put a price on such things I guess. Missed it. This n-book. Its ready presence, its steady insistence. Wondered if I’d ever see it again. Was downright frantic about it if I’m truthful. Once I realized I’d left it at the house on the ocean.

What a gongshow that was.

The ‘family’ weekend gone sideways. Month ago already. Wow. Time can be funny. Such an off-the-wall set of days. So full of drama and consequence. Yet how distant and fleeting it now seems. Scarcely registers. But a pebble in the road and all that.

Peripheral madness.

Let’s see. Marlon was a complete ass. Nothing shocking there. But there are degrees to everything. Don’t think he spent a second in the house. Was with Amanda (one half of the couple who look after the ocean house) the whole time. Drinking, getting high, and who knows what else. Story being she was once a close friend of his ex-wife. Reunion of sorts. That’s the extent of his explanation to Liz. Not that it matters now. Upshot: Liz finally caught wise and ended things. On the Saturday night. Marched straight up to him and demanded he give her keys back.

Salts that away. But there was more.

Briefly put, Amanda lives on site. Yearround. In the garage. With her husband. Deiter. A professional hippie, as he was wont to say—though simple pothead might be better description. Whatever. Point is there was more to the debauchery than Marlon knowing Amanda. Deiter was on board. As was Alice (Dot’s daughter). Also married. To Duncan. Whose fruitless attempts to rein her in only pushed her further into party mode. Her out and out dismissal of him reducing him to sullen bystander. Resulting in heated exchange at first light on the Sunday morning. Summoning those of us in the house to kitchen to witness Alice, bugged out and coming down, shrieking. Calling Duncan a party-pooper and a toad and a wimp and worse. His response to clear the counter of dishes and pots. Crashing climax to scene. After which he calmly apologized to us sleepyheads, bid us all adieu, dangled the car keys in Alice’s face, and promptly took his leave.

She had it coming. I almost started to clap.

Dot and Melville did in fact get married. With Liz, G, and me in attendance. A sober and modest ceremony. On the beach. Mild weather. Not too windy or cold. Vows exchanged before a JP who kept things brief. Everything ran smoothly. No hitches or unexpected surprises—save perhaps the absence of Alice, though Dot didn’t seem to mind. Her attentions were solely on her handsome man, who was beaming like a schoolboy knowing the girl he likes likes him too. Face as pink as the small flowers G managed to pluck for Dot to hold.

By noon we were on the road. Girls in back, boys up front. A cheerful bunch. We played driving games and sang songs together. None of us let events prior to the wedding eclipse the happy union. The only comment on the weekend as a whole was G calling it a fitting script for a Woody Allen movie.

Title: Approximately Happy. Which it was, in the end.

We dropped the newlyweds off then headed to Marlon’s loft for Liz’s stuff. Not much to claim. Just a few bags of clothing and some toiletries. Last leg home Liz marvelled at how easy it was closing that door (and leaving the key under the wordless welcome mat). Wasn’t lost on her that had she already moved in, as planned, things would’ve been much messier. The imposition of the weekend changed their plans. She was grateful for the irony.

And hasn’t looked back since.

A weekend better left forgotten. And surely would have been, by now, had I not secreted this here n-book in the drawer of a faraway bedside table.

Like it was a thin bible.

Funny, can’t help wondering if Amanda and Deiter read it. They must have. How could they not?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s