July 13, 2009

A Row Of Cottages



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One of those formal posed shots over lunch: G Marie’s friend K, Marie, and friend Maddie. The flash was off and grain won; I apologize. 2009.



Himself: Makes sense when he speaks

Herself: Deeply touched by the day

Surprise:: Marie wore yellow. Her sister brought yellow flowers, and G bought a bright yellow cake. What delightful serendipity.

Reading: Skimmed that last one.

Balance: Not eating dinner.

Marie invited an old friend, Max, to the meeting yesterday as a surprise. G knew about it. I could hardly believe it when I saw him. Almost jumping up and down. Later in the hour, Max spoke not only about how proud he was of Marie, but of the neighborhood we all lived in for so many years.

There is a little row of Sears, single wall construction cottages. The big cottage was on the corner, and mine was next. Max lived next door me and we shared a driveway. There were two more cottages marching their way up this block long street just off the beach, and everyone in every cottage drank and did drugs.

Max moved away to find his fortune. G moved in with me, and we got sober. When we moved up to the big house Marie moved in to the cottage.

Drinking and drugs and madness…was my story from that small cottage. G, Marie, and Max have their horror stories. Each person living in each of those cottages have truly frightening stories to tell. Most of the friends I drank with from that time, died.

All of us from that group of cottages lived.



After a very slow lunch, we head for our cars.



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Portland Union station Work has been sorted, and I’m home to sort my own things now.  I’ve gained roundness.  G says we are Mr. and ...