Sunday, July 8, 2012

Dark Chocolate, Mocha Java, Salty, Oily Marcona Nuts…Alexandria, Virginia

Freedom, alone time, life post-divorce, call it what you will.  After several months of pondering, planning, waffling, excuse making and finally deciding it is time for me to stop being afraid of life, men, myself unchecked, my best self and my worst self, roads without guard rails, shadows, and demons real or imagined, I knew I needed to plan and take this journey.  Two and a half weeks on the road from my lovely home near the Hudson in Rhinecliff, New York to New Orleans.  I decide to start my trip visiting an old college friend in Alexandria, Virginia.  Wild, raucous friend with much love and big-heartedness.  Wild, raucous, friend with limited filters and wild, raucous, thrill seeking tendencies.

Let’s just call her Wild Thang, or WT.  When I call WT she is excited and happy and delighted that I am coming.  We have seen each other when life has permitted, sporadically over the years, recently when she returned for a High School reunion, as I live close to her hometown.  We have remained in contact and supportive through life’s ups and downs.  We are quite different on almost every level but we have had many good, hearty laughs.  And that’s my weak spot.  I like to laugh.  If  you have made me laugh or laughed with me a few times, you’re in and probably for a while.  WT and I laugh well together.  The laughter starts when I call and she whispers, “Do you like, the……dark chocolate………men?”   The laughter isn’t exactly shared, it’s more of disbelief.  I don’t typically speak of the men this way.  I do like dark chocolate but I’m not looking for any particular flavors quite yet in the men.  She continues without the filters a couple of days later in another phone call two days before I am planning to hit the road.  “Do you want me to set you up with a booty call?”  I can’t say I have ever been offered this…offer….?   I don’t have rich and amazing experiences, I have a limited, scary idea of what this could mean, but I start imagining the logistics.  So is this like an escort service, I wonder.  I did see American Gigolo about 30 years ago, maybe it’s like that.  “No thank you, I’m good.”   I reply politely.  I’m not really good in this area of my life, but I’m definitely not interested in WT’s offer. 

I share this with my support group.  I needed a little extra support the night before I left.  I don’t exactly have a support group.  I have fabulous friends, angels and vixens, cheering me on and happy for my newly reclaimed happiness.  They giggle.  They laugh. I do say out loud, “I can’t manage to  attract anything to the fine piece of booty I have been blessed with, she can arrange booty calls for others?”  What is this land I have not lived in or shaken my booty to?  I’m sure I hear at some point, quietly, on the gentle moaning breeze of desire, “Mocha Java……yummmmmm.”  There is a shared quiet as the breeze gently goes on to the neighbors yard, catching them unprepared, I am sure.  Powerful thing, the beckoning booty calls of others…We laugh more, eating foods of restoration and support.  Olives, cheeses, wine, friendship offered the night before I journey on.  As I leave, Vixen offers nuts for my trip.  Heavenly gift.  Salty, oily Marcona nuts for my drive and "Godspeed".  Angel hugs me warmly.  The breeze follows me home to pack and rest and wrestle out last worries and desires. The breeze has died down.  

The next morning I load up the car, slowly.  Enjoy my coffee with a friend, a couple of cups.  Happy with the knowledge that I have great friends supporting and cheering me on, I leave.  I get to Alexandria safely.  Pull up to the home of WT, arms wide open for an embrace and eyes sparkling with laughter.  We talk. We laugh. We sigh about the years that have gathered behind us.  We dress and primp and ready ourselves for a night on the town.  We go to a couple of dance clubs in Washington, DC and dance and laugh, carefree of the years that have gathered.   I survive, sweaty from dancing, booty still uncalled.   There is no breeze in DC.  107 degrees and stifling.

Restored and filled up with love from a wild and raucous friend.  Free to laugh and dance and enjoy time alone and time with friends.  With the full, ample, blessed, ummmm hmmm   sense that this is not the booty tour at all, but the freedom tour.  

I am venturing out to see the sights in Old Town Alexandria today.  The first stop will be Fort Ward, a  preserved Union fort built to protect Washington, DC during the American Civil War.  I love forts!  All mighty and protective, hey, wait a second, that might be the flavor I want to eventually find...what flavor is mighty and strong and protective? 

My trunk (teeheeheee) is packed up again and I am ready for the next leg of my journey.  Pavement bound 6 am tomorrow....

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