Shimmy and Shake for me Sweetheart

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"I don't know," Lou hedged as Lizbeth dragged her - all but kicking and screaming toward the lodge. "It is Sunday night..."

"And how is Sunday different from any other night for you?" Lizbeth mocked gently, pushing her on to a bar stool near an open display of cosmetics.

Lou's feeling of alarm began to escalate. "I really should be working," she said desperately.

"You've been lounging all weekend," Lizbeth reminded her, pulling out vials and brushes. Her red brows pulled together thoughtfully as she considered Lou's pale hair and even paler skin.

"Which is why I really need to work now."

"I'm not going alone which means that you are coming," Lizbeth announced with an air of finality. She took out a tube of liquid and began to rub it into Lou's protesting face."

"It's not as if I'm the only one who lives here," Lou objected sulkily. Her defenses were weakening even as her skin was coated with the unfamiliar.

"Who helped you with packing and shipping during the Christmas holidays?" Lizbeth reminded her. She deftly began to brush powder on to her victim's face. "You said you owed me."

"I meant, like packing or an extra helper for work," Lou protested, resisting the urge to sneeze.

"Not for going out on the town and having fun?"

"But it's all the way in New Orleans, and we'll have to stay over..."

"My friends have a spare bedroom and it won't kill you to have fun for a change." Lizbeth brushed on rouge and hesitated for a moment over an array of eyeshadow.

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"I don't know how to dance," Lou moaned. "How can I possibly be your back up?"

"I'm back up too," Lizbeth sighed heavily with the air of one who was repeating herself. "My friend in New Orleans will do the singing and real work. Jenny is sick so we need another back up so it will look even. You just imitate what I do and try not to look so miserable."

"But, why me?" Lou wailed - glancing with a sense of dawning horror at her unrecognizable countenance.

Lizbeth smiled in triumph. "You fit into Jenny's costume."

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Magick and possibilities

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Magic shimmered in the air.

The sun slid into the thickness of the live oak trees on the edge of the swamp line. Lou yawned and swatted at a mosquito. Lizbeth bent over the spread of tarot cards on the lodge veranda with a serious expression on her heavily freckled face.

"The Ace of Wands is heavily significant," Lizbeth pronounced with great earnestness. "It indicates that you should act quickly. Things will go your way."

Lou nodded wisely as if she understood this. What important matter had she asked about again?

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"Another ace is a good sign," Lizbeth continued, with a reassuring smile. "The Ace of Disks could refer to monetary prosperity or to the accumulation of skill in your chosen craft."

Considering she'd chosen craftwork as her life pursuit, Lou thought the Ace of Disks sounded like a good omen.

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Lou frowned at the next card. A skeleton holding a scythe definitely didn't look like a promising card. She didn't think she wanted to hear the next bit of her fortune.

"The Death card is not usually a predictor of approaching death," Lizbeth reassured her hastily as she noticed Lou's glum expression. "It is a card of change, or even just a warning to be careful what you do."

"But the Ace of Wands indicated that I should act quickly..." Lou protested.

Lizbeth smiled enigmatically. "The future is the great unknown. The cards can only show us possibilities. As always, what happens is determined by your own choices."

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Lou nodded, trying to look wise. "What about the next card?" she queried. "The woman with the crescent moon?"

Lizbeth looked excited. "The moon is full of possibilities." She held up a finger to indicate caution. "It does warn of possible danger and hidden enemies, BUT, it is a card of strong magic and creativity. Your future should be an interesting one."

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Lou sighed - her tarot card reading just seemed to muddle the future possibilities. What happened to the woman in the tent with a crystal ball who promised tall, dark strangers and a future full of travel?

Lizbeth pointed at the next card in the spread. "The Magician is a wonderful card. He personifies the truth inherent in the Tarot - that all things are possible. You have the potential to do great things. The magic is within you. You only need to direct it into fruition."

"So overall, "Lou asked. "Pretty good fortune?"

"Definitely," Lizbeth assured her. "There is always a little negative energy in most readings." She winked. "But, if you play your cards right, things should go well!"

Morning Mist

Mist lingered over the grass as Lou walked quietly up the path to the lodge. Everything was quiet.
Her pink wellington boots were the only spot of color in the dark gray of the morning.

She needed coffee. She had a small assortment of items to pack and ship out later in the day.

She would need to speak with Valentine and see if he was heading to the mainland.

Being so isolated was a mixed blessing. She could concentrate on life and her work without distractions but, in an age where everything moved at supersonic speeds and people wanted their purchases NOW, relying on an ancient man with an even more ancient pirogue might not be the smartest business decision.

Sometimes - Everyone gets the blues - Even Cowgirls...

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I believe in nothing, everything is sacred.
I believe in everything, nothing is sacred.

-- Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

Lou stretched lazily. It was a beautiful day. She had claimed a hammock at the end of the veranda and settled in with a Tom Robbins books. The hard part was choosing which book to enjoy. Lou had read them all - Jitterbug Perfume, Skinny Legs and All, Still Life with Woodpeckers, but she was in an Even Cowgirls Get the Blues kind of mood.

The sky was overcast. The air was humid but pleasantly cool. She immersed herself in the amazing prose and forgot about work and orders and even the beautiful beads and copper chain waiting for her in her camp.

Sometimes, everyone needs a little self-indulgence.

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We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.

-- Tom Robbins

A peacock strutted around the corner of the veranda - letting forth its eerie cry. Lou smiled lazily. She almost expected a whooping crane to come coasting in.

A few of Katydid's children ran by, bickering among themselves. Little Peter followed behind, decked out from head to toe in the Sponge bob gear he'd scored at his birthday party.

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Using words to describe magic is like using a screwdriver to cut roast beef.

-- Tom Robbins

The sun was sliding into the thick darkness of the live oaks which marked the edge of the swamp-line. Lou swung her legs over the edge of the hammock with deep reluctance.

Even with the passing of the full moon, it was never a good idea to linger out of doors after dark. Strange creatures lurked in the southern Louisiana Bayou.

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The bottom line is that (a) people are never perfect, but love can be, (b) that is the one and only way that the mediocre and vile can be transformed, and (c) doing that makes it that. We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.

-- Tom Robbins

Merrily and Montresor emerged from the lodge, still bickering. From Merrily's mutterings, Lou believed that their argument had moved on to great philosophers of ancient Greece.

Aristotle versus Plato - the fun never stopped with those two.

"Still lounging?" Merrily asked, frowning in disapproval. "I hope you have your portion of the grocery bill covered this week, Lou."

"Have I ever not paid my portion?" Lou responded mildly, finally swinging out of the swing and landing with a gentle thud on the wide wooden porch.

Montresor smirked. "It would do you good to relax a little, Merrily", he commented. "At least, Lou knows how to stop and smell the roses."

Lou smiled slightly, even though she knew Montresor was only trying to be contrary to Merrily. A few kind words from him and she responded like a grateful puppy.

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Humanity has advanced, when it has advanced, not because it has been sober, responsible, and cautious, but because it has been playful, rebellious, and immature.

-- Tom Robbins

Merrily's countenance became even more thunderous.

Interceding to distract her, Lou queried, "What are you two doing for dinner?"

Montresor wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'm game for anything, Lou. My place or yours?"

"I was thinking about potato soup," Merrily offered, grudgingly. "If you're willing to chop..."

"Sounds lovely," Lou responded. "How are your knife skills, Montresor?"

"You know my battle record," Montresor answered. "You shouldn't even need to ask."

There are many things worth living for, there are a few things worth dying for, but there is nothing worth killing for.

-- Tom Robbins

Bad Boys without a Heart of Gold

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Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.
Lord Byron

The rain stopped. A faint few drops sounded from the dripping trees to her roof top. If only the sun would peep through the dark shroud of clouds. Lou missed the sun.

She retrieved her coffee cup from her bedside, wrinkling her nose at the dried residue on the bottom.
She really needed better household habits. Before she could drink her fill of morning coffee, she would have to rinse it in the sink at the lodge.

Lou found her wellies, wiggled her toes into them and gazed up at the long path to the lodge. Her shoes would be coated in thick swamp mud before she reached the lodge door.

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.
Lord Byron

A hint of raised voices sounded from within as Lou struggled to take off her knee high rain boots and slip into the bright light of the lodge.

Montresor's deep morose voice sounded out with an edge of biting contempt. "Wordworth?" he demanded. "Are you completely mad, woman?"

"What's wrong with Wordsworth?" Merrily responded, shrill.

"How can you compare 'Tinturn Abbey' to 'Kubla Khan'?" Montresor responded.

"Debating the romantic poets again?" Lou queried - Merrily and Montresor had spent far too many years within the ivory towers.

"It's hardly a debate," Montresor growled. "More like a slaughter."

Every day confirms my opinion on the superiority of a vicious life - and if Virtue is not its own reward I don't know any other stipend annexed to it.
Lord Byron

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Lou restrained herself and wisely did not roll her eyes. She crossed to the coffee machine and tried not to notice how thick and muddy the coffee looked. Montresor must have been the first into the lodge that morning.

She claimed a stool across the room from the two "literary" experts and fished her mini-laptop out of her messenger bag. Expertly, she plugged the laptop in, ensuring she would have a charge in case she wanted to do any work in her camp later - she would have need of the battery.

She scrolled through her email and logged into her etsy account, sighing when she heard Merrily appeal to her to settle the argument.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
Lord Byron

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Montresor laughed without humor. "Why ask her," Montroser complained. "She wouldn't know decent poetry if it bit her on the arse during the night of the full moon."

Merrily shook her head. "You are so convinced of your own superiority. You just won't listen to sense."

Lou sighed. Montresor was rather too good looking - otherwise she would never forgive him for his constant dismissal of her taste in literature or art or even movies.

He who is only just is cruel. Who on earth could live were all judged justly?
Lord Byron

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Lou hated to admit it, but she had a mad crush on a man who would never, could never, return her infatuation.

He was dark. He was morose. He was romantic. His visage was noble and aristocratic with just a touch of the perpetual bad boy.

How could a woman resist that?

Too bad that he had been dead for so long...


A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and when it is over, anything but friends. - Lord Byron

Endless Rain

The rain was incessant. Since the afternoon of the birthday party, it seemed as if the rain would not stop. It's wasn't torrential. It wasn't a downpour, but, Lou who generally liked rain, was beginning to tire of the incessant drip on her tin roof.

Feeling the dim start of a headache, she opened her front door and looked out. A thick wave of humid air pushed into her camp. Perhaps a walk to the lodge was in order. She could check in online and have some ice coffee. Woe betide Montresor if he has used the last of the ice without refilling the ice cube trays....

A quiet evening...

Lou felt bone weary. She had done nothing but sit quietly all day.

She painted. She beaded but her heart was not engaged with her work.

How could partying with a group of small children be so exhausting? Katydid must have the physical reserves of an amazon.

The evening was overcast and rapidly advancing. The less she did now, the longer her to do list for the morning. She couldn't ever rouse the energy to care.