Friday, May 27, 2011

he said she said

It's been an interesting phenomenon for me to be creating a relationship with someone else who also has an online presence. STG blogs. He's on Facebook. More and more he's on Twitter (though he's not yet the big twit I am - ha). And, he makes and posts crazy fun videos on YouTube - something I don't imagine I'll ever do. 

Today STG blogged about the long weekend, one day of which we spent together, and I was struck while reading his post about how interesting it is that two people can spend 24 hours together and have such different ways of talking about it. No doubt any two people would have some variations in experience and reportage, but - loathe though I am to admit it - I'm pretty sure there's a considerable gender influence on the the whole thing. 

So ... if I was going to talk about Victoria Day, like STG I'd start of remembering laughing at the parade - the spectators as much as the clowns. I'd talk about our impatience to see the bands, and our disappointment in the lack of bagpipes. 

And then I'd remember ... his excitement at the Penny Farthings (and the stunt bikes on a flatbed truck, and the motorcycles, and ... well ... you get the picture :) ). My excitement at the warmth of his hand on my aching back. I'd remember missing my BBs - the only other people I've watched this parade with ... and thinking about which floats and bands they'd most enjoy. 

And moving on ... adventuring softly through our day, the breeze and the sunlight calling us forward. A late breakfast. Shopping and then ... the beach. The beach. The glorious sunshiny beach. 

I'm mesmerized by the pebbles we stumble along - they are so pale, so perfected by the waves. I stick to the larger smoother ones. STG enjoys the smaller ones further up the beach. The other people at the beach are friendly. A young man taking pictures of his affectionate friends. A happy older couple resting on a log. The sunshine is bringing out the best in people.

As soon as I see the rock outcropping, I know where I want to go. I don't remember if we discussed it ... it's just where our feet went. It's perfect. Better than I imagined. Multi-leveled, moss-spotted, smooth, and semi-private. The big black rock has had hours of sun to warm it through, and the warmth of the rock seeps through the blanket, softening my body and easing the ache in my muscles and bones. I lay back, slip off my top, and close my eyes.

STG lays next to me and we exchange lethargic banter, listening now and then to the voices of the people on the trail so near and yet so separate. I've never done this before - taken my top off to gather as much sun as possible in a semi-public place. Yes, I have a bra on that covers more than some people's swimsuits, but ... there's a soup├žon of excitement - a vibration on the edges of an otherwise perfect peace. 

Even though we're into the second half of the afternoon, my pale skin can't stand too much of this sunny glory, and we pack up and wander on. We see a modern mansion, the back end of it never quite in sight, and discuss dreams, and styles, and the morality of conspicuous consumption. We take a less beaten path, and discover a magical glen that casts it's spell. Shutters snap. Close focus. And far. He sees the heart of the flowers. I see the far away bluffs. 
We end the day with a picnic at home and a silly movie. And through it all I carry with me the warmth of the rock on my skin ... echoing the warmth of his hand on my back. 

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