The Little Words Mean the Most

My Regrets To Date

 

 

Chapter 1

It was a slow Sunday in July, the kind of hot day when plans get made but no one believes much in them.

"We are so proud of you"

 

 

 

a novel of American manners 2017

 

 

 

The Bride's Vows Were Different

 

"Until death do you part."

"Until death doth us part," Scott translated. Kind of the clearest indictment of heaven he knew: death would part us? Where's the love in that? Let it go, he reminded himself, raking his eyes over the medieval vaults. Scott was done. He was married. He stopped repeating the minister's words. More than a few sighs escaped. "Aw" murmured the congregation.

"Oh, that was perfect!" his sister whispered. "You are so lucky, Scott!"

He could almost hear her. She was a good encourager. A family brace. She'd always had loads of friends. Growing up, if Scott looked lonely to her, she'd assign some of her many friends to be nice to him, at least lightly. "Once a day, say hi. It will make Scott's day. You remember what it was like to be a freshman? You could be preventing a suicide!!!! No," [magic fingers ensued], "not Scott! Somebody. Spread the love."

Now he noticed. Odd: the bride's vows hadn't stopped at the same place. They were longer. Her vows asked for more.

"Amber, do you realize that people never really change?" the minister said. "That they will apologize and feel shame for their bad behavior. YET. They will continue to do the same irritating, inflaming, vile, disgusting, irrational acts over and over. Men are pigs.

"And do you understand that optimism is an unnatural condition? That fear and pessimism are Darwinian?"

Scott was glad he'd brought the chloroform, in a sealed plastic bag. Though he didn't disagree, this minister worried him. Boundary issues mostly. He seemed to be slowing down though.

 

My old-old friend, John, lives in Kentucky per misadventure

 

 

John: I could.

 

Me: They're going to throw you in the BBQ pit. That's what they do with old meat.

 

 

 

 

Why NOT an annual novel? I just read one

 

 

it was OK

 

 

 

My next project, maybe

 

 

I recount and rewrite my entire life every year.

 

it's not inspiring it's not boring

Fasting

The cheapest good wine I can buy; from BOTA, in a box. A cup revealing our politics. One-a-day protein shake. My favorite pen (the uni ball VISION ELITE) on my favorite mineral paperweight, purchased @ the Desert Museum (Tucson), @ a fundraiser. Paperweights keep me from blowing all over the horizon. Are we colonized by our projects? I have 10-15 underway at once.

The thing in MT is this

Frontispiece for my novel, RAYREX { who after all sings this song }

 

I am the minstrel.

I am

 

NOT the warrior. I am

NOT the maiden. I am

NOT the saved. Still

you need hear me

because you are

 

NOT a legend. You are

NOT a symbol. You are simply

as we all are

a thing that must live.

 

 

 

Why McKays live near the coast

 

That's our family's official myth. I have it in a book somewhere. Ancestor McKay loved to wander the wild beach his family claimed on the Atlantic side of Scotland. Where, it must be admitted, you could not grow the grapes for good wine.

One day he met a mermaid. She calmly basked on the damp sand, little curls of surf racing up her long tail. "A very shapely tail," he thought.

He did not want to frighten her. "May I approach?" he called gently.

She pulled her long, fine, sea-weedy hair back from her face.

And that day, a mermaid left her natural home. She changed her tail for long legs. And with Ancestor McKay began a family, as his bride.

They were happy. She built a large family, bearing six children. All survived. That mermaid loved her man, true and true.

But as their children aged and became independent, she fell into melancholy. She longed to see (sea) her native world again. She said to him, "We must visit the wild ocean." And he immediately agreed, because her heart beat in his chest.

They would visit the wild ocean again and reminisce.

They walked together, just the two of them. The waves thumped. The gravel rattled. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Would you like a few minutes alone, lassie?" he asked. It was the hardest thing he'd ever said. He knew what it could mean.

He ached for the place where he belonged, so for sure she ached for her place. He'd thought: "With the children gone, would she wish to stay on land?"

He literally could not imagine life without her.

He depended on her. He depended on her mood. He depended on her kindness. He depended on her body within arms' reach.

But you could not truly know another's thoughts or predict someone's behavior.

He was in love. She was in love.

She swam away from the shore, tunneled into the waves, and disappeared. "Graceful as a dolphin after all these years," he thought.

And that's why the McKays to this day yearn to live near the ocean. To reunite.