I generally shy away from the title “Artist,” simply because, well, I’ve always grown up watching my sister create amazing things with her hands, since we were children. Sure, I get it, we are all artists inside…yeah yeah, but have you seen Rosa’s art? Have you seen her paintings? Her candles? Her drawings? It’s amazing.
(I was going to insert a link here, but I don’t know one….)
I’ve been corrected before.
“Dance is art.” “Photography is art.” “Writing is art.”
OK, sure. I’ll accept that… but in accepting that, I will ask you to accept this.
Surprise is an art. Adventure creation is an art. Laughter is an art.
Yeah. I said it. If you’ve been victim or privied…maybe privied is a better word than victim…
If you’ve been privied to my surprises, jokes, tricks, scrapbooks, or trips, you know what I mean.
Yesterday was my lover’s birthday. You’re picking up what I’m throwing down, yeah?
So, John and I have spent just about 24 hours of every single day together since November 9th, when I picked him up in Vegas. (If you don’t know that story, get out of the mustard and Ketchup HERE!!!) We don’t have transportation aside of our feet, one long board, and our thumbs. We don’t have cell phone reception, nor an address that wouldn’t require a trip to town to pick up anything delivered to the post office. It would be hard to make an excuse for a trip to town to a person who truly knows EVERYTHING that you MUST do, show back up with a package to store in a small cabin the two of you share. and have no questions asked.
So, how did I get the love of my life on a private night of fishing at the pier in Hana Bay, transportation, equipment, and everything without his being the wiser?
You see, John and I share everything. Emails, Facebook messages, phones, texts. Everything. There are no secrets, no hiding. Nothing isn’t shared. We exist as a single being in many ways while maintaining our strengths and individuality. It’s quite a beautiful union, actually. So, surprises must all be organized face to face with all parties involved.
I like to talk.
That makes things easier for me. 😀
So, the afternoon before Johnny McBirthdayBoy turned 35, after a sunny day spent playing in waves and reading The Fountainhead (Yes, we’ve been working on that book for a W-HILE now. It’s freakin’ 700-something pages!) on a towel on Hamoa Beach, where I announced several times that we’d have to be back by 4:00 to start dinner, we made our way back to the farm barefoot and smiling.
You see, there are a few things here. One, there’s no way we’d be back by 4:00 if I didn’t press it, so I gave myself an out on dinner. Two, even if we did get back at 4:00, we are on Maui Time now, so there’s no way I’d get started cooking within the hour: my a second out. Third, there are only two burners in the kitchen, so if they were taken, I had a third out. I was covered thrice over.
I went so far as to collect the ingredients for a big dinner I knew I didn’t have the time to prepare and bringing them up to the kitchen cabin, before sitting down on the couch in the corner and pouting that the other housemates were making a communal dinner, using both burners (a communal dinner they and I had discussed earlier the same day right before I left to meet John on the beach).
I sulked and reluctantly relented to retreating to the cabin.
Sighing, I said, “Fuck it. Maybe I’ll just spend the night reading you The Fountainhead.” He looked at me like he wanted to help but didn’t know quite how. I grabbed the book listlessly and began to read. We are going through the buildup for the Cortlandt Trial at the moment, so It’s pretty exciting stuff.
I read for a while…Until Eileen’s voice floated lightly through the screen windows, “Rita?”
“Sweet! Thanks!” I turned beaming to John, whose face was somewhere between complete puzzlement and recognition of having been had.
“Rene’s ready?” he questioned.
“Yup. Get dressed. We’re going fishing.”
“What? Now? It’s sunset, almost dark.”
“Wait so…all the disappointment? The dinner? That was all fake?” his eyes were disbelieving, he thought about it a moment and concluded, “You’re good. Wow.”
“So I’ve been told. Happy birthday, lover,” he laughed as I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a fat kiss on his lips.
The night was perfect. The Moon is obviously waxing in all Her glory, sending all the positive vibes she could possibly muster to those open to receiving and multiplying them. We sat side by side, dangling our feet from the side of the pier, meditating by the light of the moon to the soft sounds of water lapping against the pillars; the same water that carried with it the sustenance we sought; the same sustenance that would offer itself to be used for our own energy; the same energy we’d be offering to each other and the Universe in return.
What a beautiful cycle.
I packed us a snack. The day before I had baked mini loaves of gluten free cinnamon raisin bread with a vanilla almond drizzle in preparation, disguised as an experiment with extra dough.
And this is how we passed the evening: eating good food, enjoying energy shared with the Universe and each other, and catching fish.
Out of the blue, John says, “Wait, so…really? Dinner? You never meant to make that dinner? Because if we’re fishing…that means…”
“Wow. You ARE good!” I can see his smile, bright in the moonlight, an image I’ll never forget.
We caught plenty of fish. John began to call me the Silent Killer, since I’d interrupted his sentences a few times with, “Could you hold that thought a moment? I’ve got another fishy. (Insert voice from tough guy in Deuce Bigalow) Hey fishy fishy fishy!”
Rene gave us lessons on what each one was called and how it was best prepared.
We decided to return to the farm after three hours of fishing. We had a quick, yummy snack, and left the fish on ice by the refrigerator. We were exhausted and fell asleep after recounting excitedly what a great master of deception I can be. Or maybe that was just me bragging…maybe I’m still just bragging. 😀
Stay tuned for Part Two of the Binger’s Birthday Series….The Big Day.