Twenty-Four
Stalling for Time
"Dearest kind gentlemen: Please lower the toilet seat in consideration of our lady patrons."
Life is filled with seemingly arcane items that keep popping into your thoughts, and one of mine is the notice in the bathroom at the Java and Clay. In a world where so many are happy to hammer you over the head with rules and regulations, this little ceramic sign is an oasis of civility. It invites men to be courteous, and offers them the chance to feel like Arthurian knights for the simple act of lowering a ring of porcelain. And I would bet that it actually works. It’s a chilly Friday in late January, a week after our blessed ski trip, and I’m meeting Ruby for another session. The Java and Clay is a particular favorite. The back forty is a full-blown workshop where patrons glaze pre-made vases and platters and pick them up the next day, fully kilned. The front is more like someone’s living room, including a large gas fireplace with stone facing. When I come here solo, I end up on a stool before the front window, which affords a vista of Harborview Drive and the Jerisich Dock. The bonus is an occasional bald eagle sighting – once, a mere thirty feet above the sidewalk, as if he were headed to The Tides for a sandwich.
My everything bagel goes off in the toaster just as Ruby pops through the door, looking all Debbie Reynolds in a white jacket and sienna scarf. She’s also had her hair bobbed, which multiplies her cuteness sevenfold.
“Girlfriend!” she cries, and we go for a greeting with all the trimmings: wraparound hug, continental cheek-kissing, everything short of high-fives. She fetches a cappuccino, then joins me in matching armchairs before the fire.
“God! I just want to live here. It’s so much nicer than my place.”
“Tish-tosh!” I try to say with a straight face. “I’ve been to your place.”
“Yes,” she rebuts. “But this place is in Gig Harbor.”
“Point and… match! The hair is darling. I just want to adopt you.”
“Thanks! I wanted it real short for my Mexican cruise.”
“Excuse me? I mean, excuse me?”
Ruby bats her lashes, all Betty Boop. “Yay-ess! Harry got a nice fat bonus, so next week our ports of call are Vallarta, Mazatlan and Cabo.”
“San Lucas?”
“Yes. We’re on a first-name basis.”
“Extraordinary! I’m jealous already. Does the ship have karaoke?”
“You have such a one-track mind. And yes, they do. It’s the first thing I checked.” She rubs her hands together, all Cruella DeVille. “A whole new crowd of victims for my siren call!”
I laugh, in a perfectly normal manner, but then I’m drifting, my gaze fixed on the rust-colored hands of the mantelpiece clock. And then Ruby is saying something that fades in and out of my frequency.
“Channy? Are you somewhere in the 253 area code?”
I shake my head around, all Rin-Tin-Tin.
“Um… um… sorry. I’m a little wary of these stories today. Well. Mine, mostly. This might sound silly, but, as we got further and further into our little meetings, I began to believe that, if I told the story exactly right, maybe this time it would turn out… differently.”
Ruby takes in my anxiety, folding her hands over her knee. “Would it help if I went first?”
“Would you? Oh! I forgot my bagel. Hold on.”
Ruby laughs, all Fran Dreischer. “Jewish food for a Jewish tragedy. Oy gevalt! I’ll go visit the restroom.”
“Be sure and put the seat down,” I say. Disappearing around the corner, Ruby flashes one half of a puzzled expression.
Next: Scootie Surprise
Purchase the book at: http://www.amazon.com/Outro-Michael-J-Vaughn/dp/1440111405/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1231020486&sr=8-1
Image by MJV
Stalling for Time
"Dearest kind gentlemen: Please lower the toilet seat in consideration of our lady patrons."
Life is filled with seemingly arcane items that keep popping into your thoughts, and one of mine is the notice in the bathroom at the Java and Clay. In a world where so many are happy to hammer you over the head with rules and regulations, this little ceramic sign is an oasis of civility. It invites men to be courteous, and offers them the chance to feel like Arthurian knights for the simple act of lowering a ring of porcelain. And I would bet that it actually works. It’s a chilly Friday in late January, a week after our blessed ski trip, and I’m meeting Ruby for another session. The Java and Clay is a particular favorite. The back forty is a full-blown workshop where patrons glaze pre-made vases and platters and pick them up the next day, fully kilned. The front is more like someone’s living room, including a large gas fireplace with stone facing. When I come here solo, I end up on a stool before the front window, which affords a vista of Harborview Drive and the Jerisich Dock. The bonus is an occasional bald eagle sighting – once, a mere thirty feet above the sidewalk, as if he were headed to The Tides for a sandwich.
My everything bagel goes off in the toaster just as Ruby pops through the door, looking all Debbie Reynolds in a white jacket and sienna scarf. She’s also had her hair bobbed, which multiplies her cuteness sevenfold.
“Girlfriend!” she cries, and we go for a greeting with all the trimmings: wraparound hug, continental cheek-kissing, everything short of high-fives. She fetches a cappuccino, then joins me in matching armchairs before the fire.
“God! I just want to live here. It’s so much nicer than my place.”
“Tish-tosh!” I try to say with a straight face. “I’ve been to your place.”
“Yes,” she rebuts. “But this place is in Gig Harbor.”
“Point and… match! The hair is darling. I just want to adopt you.”
“Thanks! I wanted it real short for my Mexican cruise.”
“Excuse me? I mean, excuse me?”
Ruby bats her lashes, all Betty Boop. “Yay-ess! Harry got a nice fat bonus, so next week our ports of call are Vallarta, Mazatlan and Cabo.”
“San Lucas?”
“Yes. We’re on a first-name basis.”
“Extraordinary! I’m jealous already. Does the ship have karaoke?”
“You have such a one-track mind. And yes, they do. It’s the first thing I checked.” She rubs her hands together, all Cruella DeVille. “A whole new crowd of victims for my siren call!”
I laugh, in a perfectly normal manner, but then I’m drifting, my gaze fixed on the rust-colored hands of the mantelpiece clock. And then Ruby is saying something that fades in and out of my frequency.
“Channy? Are you somewhere in the 253 area code?”
I shake my head around, all Rin-Tin-Tin.
“Um… um… sorry. I’m a little wary of these stories today. Well. Mine, mostly. This might sound silly, but, as we got further and further into our little meetings, I began to believe that, if I told the story exactly right, maybe this time it would turn out… differently.”
Ruby takes in my anxiety, folding her hands over her knee. “Would it help if I went first?”
“Would you? Oh! I forgot my bagel. Hold on.”
Ruby laughs, all Fran Dreischer. “Jewish food for a Jewish tragedy. Oy gevalt! I’ll go visit the restroom.”
“Be sure and put the seat down,” I say. Disappearing around the corner, Ruby flashes one half of a puzzled expression.
Next: Scootie Surprise
Purchase the book at: http://www.amazon.com/Outro-Michael-J-Vaughn/dp/1440111405/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1231020486&sr=8-1
Image by MJV
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