3 splinters in my back

My OCD is out of hand. I scoured the house while you packed this morning and I didn't let you out the door until you kissed the door 3 times, then the lamp that I turn on when coming home at night 3 times, then me 3 times. 3 days they take you away from me. Your plane touched ground in NY 18 minutes ago.

Had to venture down to Big Sur Friday night without you and then our friends took off Southbound early Saturday morning leaving me all alone in the woods with Birdie. The friend's whose place we stayed at both took off early as well. They each came down to the barn separately and touched my shoulder before they left and then I stood and embraced them for a short while. They both make my eyes light up. They are an older couple with wise souls and young spirits.

Saturday morning was a quiet experience for me. The permanent smile was surfacing and I was shedding the layers of filth of city life off of my soul and inhaling the lightly scented air deeply. At one point I leaned back against the Barn to photograph the trees and 3 splinters dug deep into my skin. They are still embedded there, they hurt when I lean over but I decided to keep them in my skin, the pain reminds me of that wonderful place I can never seem to leave dry-eyed.

I thought I was alone that morning after all of my friends had left, but the other guest - the Swedish actor/filmaker/screenwriter was up at the Creek House working on a new script while I played Birdie for 4 hours down at the Barn. It was hours later when I finally glanced up there and realized that the he was there, so I picked up all of our wine glasses off the wooden floor from the night before and headed up to see him at the Creek House. My first impression of him came the previous night when I walked into the Library lawn and saw his face on the huge screen, his arrogant character repelled me. Then another short film came on and there he was again, only this character made me slide to the edge of my chair.

Saturday afternoon Hubby finally arrived to pick me up and I invited you to join us for brunch down the road. Afterwards I went and watched your movies again so Hubby could see what he missed and he loved you too. Then Hubby fell asleep as I played him the new tune I learned to play that day. His mouth opened and he was fast asleep but his feet were moving to the rhythm of Birdie. This fascinated me so I played slowly and softly and watched him sleep until tears spilled down my cheeks out of nowhere and I kicked his foot with mine from where I stood and said "please don't die baby!" and he woke up briefly and said clearly "I won't", then rolled over on his belly and I continued to play while looking out the window.



We walked up the trail to where you were working and you came out and stretched your arms then we all went inside the Creek house and you made us a damn good cup of coffee. When I commented on your films, you gave me all 3 of them and I was feeling dizzy and had to sit. Then I had to walk outside and you Swedes both politely spoke English because you were still within ears reach of me - even though I ventured off to photograph the woods.

We were glued to you until the sun went down. We didn't want to leave. We lit candles and bundled up. You kept writing down things I was saying on a piece of paper, taking notes. You wanted to use these snipits of my life somewhere in one of your movies. I told you about my phase when I refused to use my voice to communicate with anyone and instead had to have my typewriter with me as a means of communicating and would only type what I had to say and would then wait for whoever was in my presence to come stand behind me and read my words over my shoulder. The first phase was all in fun, it made my interactions with others so intense and beautiful, plus it weeded out all the stiffs who didn't get it.

That phase surfaced twice in my life. Couldn't muster up a voice, and during the second phase it was because I was deeply troubled and heartbroken. The second phase was after the Greek admitted cheating repeatedly on me. I just sat for days at my desk at my typewriter and when anyone would call for me or come to my room to talk to me I would move my fingers over the keys and communicate. Tears ran freely those days. Sometimes I would take the page out and drop a tear on it then put it back in the typewriter and type a word over and over again on the paper until it would softly crumble away.