So today we stood outside talking and eating oranges we'd picked from branches over our heads.* If you've never stood under an orange tree, it's worth checking out, especially in spring when they bloom.. It would be ridiculous to try to describe this experience.. One can describe an orgasm as effectively as one could describe standing under an orange tree in bloom, or under a giant fir in snow or snuggling with a baby or jumping out of an airplane or any of those things that can be described but should be experienced..
Heh---are you experienced?
Ranulfo does this weird thing when he shows up. He rings the doorbell, then, when I open the door, he's standing way back, like 18 feet away, He's like a Ninja---no matter how fast I open the door he's far away. . I have one of those peephole things--the old swivel ones that look like tiny telescopes. I keep meaning to put some eyelashes on it or something.
I swear, I look at him through the thingy and by the time I open the front door, he's way-the-hell up the walk.
It really cracks me up, so I asked him about it. I said, "What, Ranulfo? Are you practicing for something?" He just laughed it off. So we talked about gravel and apple trees and I enjoyed, truly, a conversation with someone who has never been on the internet and sees little of television or movies. It is a mango sorbet. It is a cool shower for the brain...
Still, next time I'm going to ask him about that front-door thing.. Every time I think I have a good grip on reality somebody does some quirky stuff like that.
Feel free to take a stab at it. I'll be curious to hear what you come up with. G'night
* I've talked to several friends on the phone or internet, all of whom live in rather cold places that are rather colder tonight. Almost universally----when I told them it was sunny and 74 degrees F and I was standing outside looking at the snowy mountains and eating oranges off my tree while talking with my gardener---- they each had various colorful ideas about what I could do with my oranges (and my gardener) or threatened that when I visited they might help me learn to enjoy snow ---also in colorful ways.
To all of you butts (I say this with deepest love) Get over it. Call me this summer when it's 127 degrees F and my shoes are melted to the sidewalk.
"But, it's a dry heat." whaaa
Yes, it is so dry that it could suck the moisture right out of you. It could except for the bazillion fucking golf courses in Palm Springs. No it's a blinding, searing, unbreathable, shave your dog, hide in your house misery.. But then, it gets dark at 5:30 and we swim until midnight. hmmmm
Okay, you can hate me a little, just this week.