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Archive for the ‘Friends’ Category

Old Rockers … and I ain’t talking chairs, no matter how much we need ’em!

Posted in Friends, Fun, NaBloPoMo, Older women, On getting older, Seychelles, The USA from the outside in, tagged , , on November 12, 2008| 5 Comments »

I seem to be focusing a lot of my writing here on men these days … Gee! Go figure … and continue to be in the mood to do so.

So …

For NaNoWriMo, I’m working on a semi-autographical novel … to be tied to the one Stan is writing when November is over, if I manage the deadline, which I’m doubting … and in the process of constructing the bones of the book I’ve come to the point in my life, in my early 20s, where I worked as a roadie for a rock band in California.

Spider Kelly was a talented collection of smart, bitingly witty … for the most part … beautiful men, with whom I lived and worked and traveled for the good part of the 70s: Michael, John, Tony, Kit and Dusty … and to a later and lesser degree, Jeff.

With my well-known prodigious memory, I have no problem conjuring accurate images from the time … conversations, addresses, names of pets and girlfriends, clubs we played, insults we slung like grenades (all HiLarryUS!), lyrics and bass riffs and the heft of a Hammond B3 and its companion, the Leslie.

For additional inspiration, I pulled out a DVD sent to me by one of the guys a few years ago of a reunion they had, and I missed, dammit, back in 2004.

Wow.

I’d not watched the thing in at least 2 years, but was once again transported to the days of my misspent youth. At more than an arm’s length past 50, John still swings his bass and crouches above the mic just like he did at 20-something, and underplays his tremendous astuteness with the same shy-guy shade of a smile. Michael steps up to his vocals with the same sexy casual swagger and belts out those familiar words with every bit as much heart. Tony’s fingers haven’t slowed down one bit, and his “concentration face” … and smart-ass comment look … still flickers with the bloom of youth. Jeff still can’t remember the words to songs (and he’s the lead singer). Dusty, finally in ear protection, stretches between songs with the same arms-to-the-heavens reach and misses about all of the banter … due to lack of said ear protection back when it would have made a difference.

Prompted by this trip down musical lane, I wandered back to their website, gazed at photos from another life, listened to songs I haven’t heard for yonks and signed the guestbook.

I have, over the years, been in touch with Dusty and Tony by email, but lost all my addies in the latest ‘puter crash, so was right pleased when I thought to look up my boys on facebook and, lo and behold, found Dusty.

Amazingly … and I’m so far past doubting the fates that I’m more pleasantly surprised than actually amazed … Dusty had joined up just that morning! Of course, I friended him, and we’ve been catching up. (He actually emailed me, too, AS I was watching the DVD! How much do I love the times we live in?)

Michael, bless him, emailed me the same day, and to be sharing life details with him again is just too wonderful for words.

We’re all getting old now, but still rockin’ … and, more importantly, still friends, and how great is that?

I am now, and always have been, one lucky girl with the great proportion of men in my life. Sure, I’ve had my share of assholes and heartbreak, but weighed against the lifelong connection to so many wonderful friends of the male persuasion? I win, time after time after time.

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Gnomes, men and Daisy Duke … the last in the series

Posted in Children, Expat Living, Friends, Fun, Island life, NaBloPoMo, Older women, On getting older, Seychelles, WTF?, Younger men, tagged , , , on November 11, 2008| 3 Comments »

This is, I promise, the last post on what should have been the mundane job of leveling the road that leads to my house in the bush, but ended up providing blog fodder for days.

That’s the thing about island life; you just never know the entertainment value of a day until you’ve lived it since so much can go wrong or HiLarryUS or climb to the pinnacle of WTF without one whit of warning.

You’ve already read about the Magnar in my life and how handy he is when a girl needs a Norwegian nag … or road work … and seen the photos of the work. You’ve also read of my preference in lawn ornamentation.

So what can possibly be left to this tale? My utter and complete humiliation, of course.

You see, although I didn’t have to fork out any cash for the amazing amount of work done resulting in my drive now being flat and negotiable, rather than a rutted goat track that caused any car not an SUV to bottom out numerous times on the way up and on the way down to my house, there was a price to pay: I had to dress up in stilettos and hot pants … a la Daisy Duke … and drive the bloody excavator.

To be fair, I really did want to swing that big sucka around a bit, fondle the knobs and feel the power of a huge hunk of MAN STUFF at my fingertips, but in yellow polka dot 4-inch heels and with my skinny legs dangling?

Not what I had in mind.

Unfortunately for me, that was EXACTLY the picture that came immediately to Magnar’s mind … I should’ve predicted such an image dawning, knowing him as well as I do .

So, for all you readers who are needing a good chuckle today, here are some photos. (There’s a video on my facebook page if you really want a laugh … ) Please, be kind in your comments. (Remember, I do moderate … )

(By the way, the kids are with Mark this week, so not subject to the trauma of seeing their mother being so incredibly silly. They won’t read this blog for a while, so I’m hoping they’ll be prepared by the time they do.)

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Garden Gnomes … pfttttttt … not in my yard!

Posted in Expat Living, Family, Friends, Island life, NaBloPoMo, Seychelles, Younger men, tagged , , , , , , , on November 10, 2008| 11 Comments »

Not a gnome, but a garden ornament, nonetheless

Not a gnome, but a garden ornament, nonetheless

When I do lawn ornaments, I don’t mess around. Gnomes or bunnies or Santa and his reindeer have no place in my garden … although I could do a plastic flamingo or two if anyone wants to send me a set.

No, for me if it’s not the size of a dinosaur and purple … ack! Shades of Barney! That’s too scary, even for me, Barney being far too reminiscent of a bad acid trip that would put anyone off psychedelic drugs and children’s programming forever … I won’t provide display space.

Okay, regular readers know that there’s a reason I have a piece of earth-moving equipment festooning my acre of paradise, but I have to admit to loving the illusion that it’s just here because it looks good and adds to the ambiance of tropical island living.

Shit! If I could afford it, I’d now be ordering a John Deere … although customized beyond the boring green they always come in … to complement, and a 737 to adorn the bottom of the garden.

But I do have Magnar to thank for the festoonishment … and how do I do that?

I almost bloody kill him, that’s how.

We took him out to dinner at Antonio’s (actually, Maria’s Rock Café) last night in appreciation for the Sunday he sacrificed on behalf of my road, then had him up for a beer afterwards. Being Magnar, he was annoyed by the fact that the light on my stairs was nonfunctional due to a broken off bit of bulb that was stuck in the thing, so he grabbed tools and proceeded to do the necessary repair.

“Is the switch off?” he asked.

Being trained to ALWAYS do what he tells me to do, I checked carefully, and, yes, indeed, it was OFF.

“Can you please double check that it’s off?”

Yep, and yep.

In the kitchen prising the tops off two Seybrews, I suddenly heard a loud pop, a yell and a tumble, so ran out to find my Magnar shaking and stunned and in pain.

I’d completely forgotten, you see, that said fixture has another switch to it under the house, so he’d just stuck a metal tool into a live socket while standing on a chair at the top of a flight of stairs.

After hugging him with all I have to hug with and assuring myself that he was as alright as he could be under the circumstance, I ran upstairs and burst into tears … a turn of events that had him right amused. (I have my entertainment value, as well, you see.)

There are many people in this world who I would not be the least bothered by the lack of, but Magnar is so far from that category that the thought that I could have been the reason for an early check-out just about killed me.

He continues to comfort me by insisting that dying from such a stupid blunder is “95% impossible because you always fall, so let go”, for which I am thankful.

Less pleasant, however, is his determination to take the piss out of me until I can laugh about it.

That’s going to take a while …

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A typical Sunday in Seychelles … wazzat?

Posted in Expat Living, Family, Friends, Fun, Island life, NaBloPoMo, Seychelles, tagged , , , , , on November 9, 2008| 4 Comments »

The birds are singing, the sun is shining and all’s right with this part of the world. All’s also just a wee bit strange … no surprise.

I spent more than 5 hours skyping with my sis … we’re trying to decide on matching tattoos, amongst other topics … and am now watching Magnar chew up the dirt on my drive with a big, purple machine. (Wish the kids were here for this, as they’d be totally captivated. They are already taken with Magnar, but watching him swing that big bucket around would totally impress.)

We’ll be off to Antonio’s for dinner … I’m taking Magnar out in gratitude for him taking his Sunday to make my road safe for my new car … a cafe carved out of rock with a pirate ship in front of it, and since I’ve been so busy doing strange and wonderful things, I’m getting out of writing a lot by posting photos.

Enjoy!

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It’s an island … and a ‘guy” … thang

Posted in Children, Expat Living, Family, Friends, Fun, Island life, NaBloPoMo, Older women, Seychelles, Uncategorized, Younger men, tagged , , on November 8, 2008| 6 Comments »

Kids are with their dad now, so smelling kid-free time like night-blooming jasmine wafting through the usual mac & cheese and Ovaltine-tainted miasma, I prettied up and let Magnar drag me to a party last night. A real party, with fascinating grownups drinking and dancing and generally carrying on to the tune of interesting conversation backed by the beat of shared and diverse experiences.

Home around 4am, we didn’t get up until 2:30 this afternoon, when, in typical island fashion shit started happening …

A JCB showed up to level my road, a job that’s been waiting for months now. Apparently, Magnar’s plan to show up with an excavator tomorrow (a photo op with hysterical undertones I’ll share when it’s happened) prompted a pissing contest between men with big machines, and our very own Irish builder (Not O’Reilly, but a Rogan) deciding that he’d better get here first … said something about me chewing up his balls … and getting the job under way. Goodie!

Some fiasco broke out at the top of my road between men, a water pipe was broken, the earth moved (or at least a good amount of dirt), and Magnar was called in to smooth things over … road, feelings, whatever needed smoothing … while I stayed well out of it and let it be a guy thing.

During the course of all, I found out why I can’t get a gardener. Seems there’s a ghost living on my road, so no one will come down here. Hmmmmm.

Island life! Gotta luv it

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