The Holy Moly Days, Molly

December 25th is a sweet day that began knowing our son was safely tucked under all the warm clothes and bedding we could gather. A friend has loaned us her cot and the kitchen heater works after four days of electrical power outage. Those amenities: the instant gratification of heat at the twist of a dial, and a place to sleep. Expectations. Oh how we do expect them.

Christopher is outside now puttering with his hunting gear, Pete is seated beside me playing with his new beard, and the bright sunshine and rousing acrobatics of Birds at high level morning excitement has moved the day ahead.

We chopped and baked and cooked up a delicious omelet of mushrooms, mizuna, leeks and lox. Slices of oven toast rosemary focaccia and thick slices of bacon were our Holy Moly Brunch. Our niece Molly sent us homemade marmalade and a tin of cookies. The marmalade made it all the way through the day, but the cookies?

 

 

Yesterday, we left the Island early and caught the 5:00 am ferry for a drive/ride to the airport to pick up our son. It was one of the smoothest sail and drive entry into the Holy Moly Days of this year coming to an end. The traffic was light, and the longest wait we had was in the Cellphone Lot at the airport as Christopher waited to pick up his bags. 

We stopped for breakfast at Easy Street in West Seattle and had a fine and funky time with the city folk who work and eat in this Record Store-Eatery that's been on the corner of California Ave since 1988. 

Once we'd filled up on food and stories, gossip and strategies we were off and back onto the freeway headed north for the ferry again. It was still early morning. The Hawaii traveler was out like our lights were after the big winds, Pete was our steady UBER driver, and the mom in the big red storm coat sighed huge sighs as the Holy of the Moly Days unfurled.

Once back on Whidbey we headed into Langley to stock up for that brunch we would eat, and on the way we trailed a couple goats on leashes. Usual company in a rural town. And stopped for some eye candy at the traders' shop Music for the Eyes. There are a billion things to see, touch and play with and rings are among the treasures you can find. Last week we were in Music for the Eyes to be entertained by the Altai Kai the throat singers from the Republic of Altai.

What a trip. What a treat that was. My throat chakra and my Mongol ancestry was definitely tuned up after the hour of throat massage packed into the cozy den with a full house of fans. It's amazing what can be done when the message and the media (throat singing in a tiny space) press on the holy and the joy that is more than constricted old scales of limitation.

For sunset we headed for Double Bluff for a very awesome beach walk, playing with the sticks climbing over logs, skipping stones and hefting heavy things (that would be the boys at play) and basically having a great and simple fun time with each other. Take a gander at this.

We have a few days to be together, the three of us, so we'll be making hay while the holy and the moly remind us these are the presents that matter.

When I get to frett'n
About things out of hand
I hope I'll remember
These holy
These moly
These holy, moly
Days.

Yes. A reason to keep these blog posts coming: a place to set down the present that matters.

 It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.

Krishna Murti

We survive and thrive and keep lusty even when rusty. Happy Holy Moly Days!

xoxo Moki and Pete