at a loss for words

this house thing is so bloody all-consuming i don't seem to have room in my brain for anything else. so, be forewarned, the blog will likely be pretty painfully boring for the next couple days or weeks...

in the meantime, as a meditative practice i'm going to imagine myself on my back deck...

it is a late june day, it's warm, but not too hot. as is the friday ritual, we are sitting on our back deck drinking, me with a cider, and everyone else with a beer. sitting on the deck with me, soaking in the sun is cameron and kate and john and dave and yves, others drop by, come and go, stay for a beer or two and then vanish again, but the four of us are steady, we're all there when camille arrives, we're still there when she leaves, we're all there when di arrives, we're still there when she leaves, the pattern continues with many excellent and fun people. we've been there since 4, and we'll be there until midnight or later, it's just our way.

we admire the garden, the colours, the textures, the trees, all of it.

we can hear the trickling of the neighbour's fountain.

we turn on the big chill soundtrack which always seems like the ultimate soundtrack for summer.

the music choices range from skydiggers, lowest of the low, sam cooke, and as the evening draws on and candles are lit, ella and louis aurally grace our deck...

we talk about politics, we talk about sex, we talk about books, we talk about sex, we talk about work, we talk about sex, we talk about friends, we talk about sex, we talk about all sorts of things, but always our conversations make their way back to sex eventually.

we laugh uprouariously. we mock each other. we giggle. we talk and talk and talk.

it's my idea of a perfect night. it's a night i've had many many times on my back deck.