The Night of the Towel

How grateful I am for lovely times with lovely friends.

I am at present house sitting for Marc and Floyd and as such have been gifted with the perfectly timed retreat: a respite granting me the wonderful ability to escape the spin and clash of Portland life with a provincial calm.

Last evening I was accompanied by Taylor who always seems to be a quietly strong leaning post, a listening ear, and a fellow thinker.
We sat in the hot tub until the wee hours discussing how our minds work in both similar and contrasting ways. I love him quite sincerely and have no end of gratitude for his presence in my life.
May it be one of lasting and ever-growing inclusion.

Tonight the scene was a bit more cooperative. Kat, Eva, and Carrie all spent the evening with me, a vegetarian pizza, several garlic bread sticks, and a bottle of pinot noir (it tasted of wild, grassy, late Summer sunsets and thoughtful rainshowers on hot bales of freshly harvested hay).
No sooner had the four of us arrived we all clamored to get into bathing attire.
Imagine the excitement when we all realized we had coincidentally chosen black swimsuits.
Imagine the face of the pizza man when he was greeted at the door by eager smiles, bare skin, and svelte abdomens.
He had trouble keeping his thoughts entirely holy I'm sure.

We made two rounds of soaking and countless topics of conversation the ingredients for a perfectly delicious night and by the time it was all said and done we were cuddled affectionately together on Marc and Floyds enormous king sized bed watching I Love Lucy.

Throughout the night I kept considering just how ineffably lucky I was to be surrounded by such beautiful, bright, bombastic women. It was as if I couldn't help but constantly notice what it was about each of them that made them so special to me.
Kat with her impish smile and little artist's hands.
Eva's juggernaut humor, perfect limbs, and contagious alacrity.
Carrie's big brown eyes, beautiful spirit, and ready laugh.

It was all so incredibly perfect.

We spoke of birds exploding from the ingestion of champagne, whether or not "butthole" was one word or two, and the contemporary phenomenon of the Towel.
You've never heard of it? That's alright, it's really no big deal, just vintage and esoteric. Hipster really.
I miss the Towel.
I don't know if you're aware of this (it really doesn't matter) but I was actually the one who first discovered the Towel.

Anyway it's over now.

I've driven Kat and Eva to their respective homes and returned to my quiet borrowed nest.
I procured Carrie from the living room couch where she'd fallen asleep prior to my leaving and tucked her in for the night while I stayed up just a few moments longer to record these thoughts.

Reflecting on the whole evening I would have to say that this was one for the mental scrapbook.
I'll doubtlessly think back on this night for many years to come.
The Night of the Towel.