441: Want



I want five days of peace and quiet, a good night’s restorative sleep, my significant other, a ceiling fan, Egyptian sateen cotton sheets and a good supply of dark, bitter-sweet chocolate.

Then, I want about six uninterrupted hours of mind-blowing games that have absolutely nothing to do with a computer. Give and receive. Rode hard and put up wet. I want to be so tired after, that it will be all I can do to sleep. So tired there are no dreams. And no snoring, either.

I want at least two hours in a 104 degree scented, jetted hot tub, with wine coolers, or hot brandy toddies – either way. Cuddle buddy and some more chocolate. And no swimsuits, either. Terry cotton robes and slippers, massage oil and warmed hands.

I want a sparkling blue day by the pool, with a thick, thirsty towel on the lounger, and deliciously silky water with that thick hot layer on top and the cooler layer underneath.  Strong arms towing me around and sleek limbs intertwining in that perfect, bathtub water. And sun tanning oil. Lots of coconut-scented tanning oil, even if we are not tanning.

I want fresh-cut and ground pesto with whole wheat crackers, jalapeno jack cheese cubes and sliced Granny Smith apples, honey for dipping and whipped cream in the can for fun. Maraschino cherries with the stems.  Jack Daniels whiskey and Amaretto, sangria with orange slices.  No ice.  Honey-baked Virginia ham, spiral-sliced.  Hot chocolate a la Simone Evans, with Benedictine and cinnamon. Fresh, unsalted almonds.

I want hot beach sand, cool ocean waves and a cooler full of iced beer with lime. An ocean-pearled sunset and a campfire, with marshmallow S’mores and both red and yellow-meat watermelon slices. Ten pounds of sweet black cherries, fresh and crisp, tart and juicy. The salt taste of man on my tongue, and the dark scent of musky, warm man all over me. Slow, nibbling kisses that taste of me. That mustache.

I want gentle fingers that tickle and tease, and have no concept of time passing, merely cognizant of pleasure given. I want to bury my nose in the scented places and breathe in that glorious, signature scent that no one else has, and that cannot be bought in a bottle. I want a shower of warm water and thick ropes of soap, slippery hands and steamy mirrors. The shock of ice and the gentle heat of second-hand hot sauce.



227: Running Into a Brick Wall

Our school is putting on a performance of Annie, the musical, in a few months. As the resident art teacher, you’d know that I would be asked to help out (read make) the sets for this play. One of the requested backdrops for various scenes is a brick wall for the orphanage that Annie lives in for a time, before she is rescued by Daddy Warbucks.

This is Morocco. They have fabric stores, but they are all in larger cities at least an hour’s drive away. And there is, of course, no budget for this play – it IS a school, remember??? So, where do I get fabric for the backdrops? I go to the local souk, the flea-cum-farmer’s-cum-yard-sale weekly event that is held here in Ifrane on Saturdays and Sundays. The bigger souk held in my own town of Azrou (which I’d rather go to because it is cheaper), is held on Tuesdays, and guess when our school, in its infinite wisdom, chose to hold its weekly faculty meetings in the afternoons after work, effectively preventing ANY of us from EVER being able to go to the souk there?

Anyhoo, I went to the souk I CAN go to, and purchased four white sheets, hoping that would be enough. Then we went to the auditorium where the play will be held, and I got to spread out the sheets on the floor to see if they would be enough – no. EACH one of the three backdrops required for this play will need four sheets – 12 sheets in all. So, I went to the souk again the next Saturday, and bought four more – all that were offered. It IS a flea market, and what’s there, is what’s there each week – no guarantees. This still leaves me four sheets short. I am short-sheeted, no pun intended.

I still got started on the work, though, since I hate to leave stuff until the last minute. That is why it is so annoying when someone brings me something in the morning that they tell me that they need by the afternoon – of the same day. DUDE. Did you not know for some time that you would need this, and you waited until the last possible minute to ask me to do it??? I’M BUSY – do it yourself. I have a previous committment. Not sure what this committment was, but I got one, and because of it, I am not gonna drop everything else to do this little job for you that you waited until the last minute to get to me. I did not give birth to you, so I have no vested interest in helping you out.

I have completed one sheet’s worth of brick wall, and have sewed on (by hand) the second width of wall, and started painting the bricks on it, too. Bricks are boring. I work on the computer until I get bored (I AM ADD, after all) and then I paint bricks until I get bored with that, then I go back to the computer. Slowly but surely, the brick wall is taking shape, and I am getting my papers graded at the same time. If I can only get the students not to “help” me paint, I might actually finish this brick wall on time.