Here is my "Rockin' A Hard Place" Blogtalk for Valentine's Day Weekend, which I delivered at the the "Postcards From Whidbey Island" variety show Feb. 11-12 in Coupeville.
Ah, yes. It’s a
great, big love fest here on the Rock on the eve of Valentine’s Day. You notice it everywhere. Grown women giggling over some slightly
naughty Hallmark Valentine’s Day cards while picking up their prescriptions at
Linds. Grown men awkwardly whispering “They’re
for the wife!” while paying for a bouquet at the Red Apple. Coupeville High students complaining there’s
no privacy for their hormonally overheated love life in this small town. Coupeville Elementary students on a sugar-induced
tear from eating too many of those disgusting, heart-shaped “I Love You” candies.
Indeed, from Deception Pass to
Clinton, an unmistakable scent of romance is in the air all over the Rock . . .
or is that just low tide I smell?
Sometimes I can’t quite tell.
A year ago
when I talked about love on the Rock at the Postcards show, I mentioned that we
don’t go in much for gushy, sweetie-pie stuff around here. We’re not the kissy-kissy type. Too cold.
Too damp. Too Scandinavian. Too much trouble. When
you see a couple walking slowly down Front Street, holding hands and resting a
head tenderly on a shoulder. Well, you
just know they’re tourists. The kind that
spend the weekend. The daytrippers just
buy an ice cream cone and a latte, then leave.
But something about spending a night on the Rock just gets ‘em goin’.
The other
evening we had dinner at Christopher’s.
We were celebrating Terry’s birthday.
And, like any good Rock-dwelling couple out for an evening, we ordered .
. . we ate . . we talked about
gardening, our chickens and dogs, and the rain . . . we paid with cash . . .
which is SO yesterday . . .and we left.
Home comfortably by eight thirty in robe and slippers. A perfect night out. No muss.
No fuss. No gush.
While we were there, however, I couldn’t
help studying the young couple at the next table. She wore a knit cap, a wool scarf around her
neck, calf-length leather boots and VERY tight stone-washed jeans. He wore a knit cap, a wool scarf around his
neck, calf-length leather boots and VERY tight stone-washed jeans. She listened intently and smiled as he read
her something from his iPad. Obviously
not from these parts, I could tell.
They exchanged loving glances as
they ate an appetizer plate of Penn Cove mussels. Terry and I, being good Rock dwellers, had skipped
the appetizer because we knew the entrée came with a salad. The young man slowly poured her some wine
from the expensive bottle they ordered.
It sparkled in the candlight. Terry
and I, on the other hand, had ordered house wine by the glass . . . which was
cheap . . . but fine, just fine. The
young couple had many questions for the server about where items on the menu
came from. Free-range? Line-caught?
Grass-fed? Pesticide-free? Non
ovo-lacto vegan? Terry and I, of course,
were more concerned with how long it would take to cook. Well, c’mon.
You know how we all hate driving on the Rock after dark.
As we left, the young woman was
cradling her wine glass in both hands and staring into his eyes. He leaned forward to whisper something that
made her laugh. I don’t think their
entrees had even arrived yet. I knew they’d
be the last ones out the door. And I
remember thinking it could not have looked better if Island County
Tourism had staged it for a glossy tourist brochure on the Mukilteo Ferry.
We do know how to sell
romance here on the Rock, don’t we? Even
if we don’t buy it much ourselves.
Part of what sets us apart in
the romance department here is how we use words like “love.” I spent most of my adult life in big cities
like Los Angeles and Dallas, so I know a bit about how people back in America
talk. But I’ve had to get used to
Rock-speak since I moved to Whidbey Island.
Let me give you a couple examples.
A man in Dallas might give a
good friend a hug and say, “Dawg, I love you!”
That’s spelled D-A-W-G. On the
Rock, a man might give his best friend a hug and say, “Dog, I love you!” That’s spelled D-O-G. A woman in America might gush to her
neighbor, “I just adore you, Rose!”
On the Rock, a woman might simply gush, “I just adore you, rose.” Referring, of course, to the bareroot Queen
Elizabeth she just bought at Bayview Nursery.
And songs about love can take on
quite a different meaning here. That
Cole Porter classic, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” might refer to being stung by
nettles while walking in the woods.
“When Your Lover Has Gone” may be about getting up to catch the five
a.m. ferry. “In the Midnight Hour” can
be a reference to the power going out during a windstorm. And, on the Rock, “The Man That Got Away” can
only refer to the Barefoot Bandit.
We are a lovely bunch here on
Whidbey . . . and maybe that’s because we have so much to love.
Last weekend, when the weather was
so clear and so beautiful, we took our dogs for a walk from the Prairie
Overlook to the Jacob Ebey House. At the
Overlook, we turned to our left and saw Mount Baker. Serene and majestic in its regal robe of
winter snow. We turned to our right and
saw the Olympics. Their jagged icy
fingers pointing skyward in praise of the sun.
We looked down on Ebey’s Prairie.
That tranquil farm space that looks remarkably as I imagine it looked a
hundred years ago. And we looked up at a
winter sky so incandescently blue we could see it even with our eyes closed.
“Amazing” is all I could say. “We are so lucky to live here” is all Terry could
respond. And Charlotte and Addie, our
Basset hounds, simply wagged their tails in agreement.
Not poetry, I realize. Certainly not gushy. And it would never make it as a verse in a Valentine’s
Day card. But, with all we have to love
here on the Rock, who needs Hallmark?
Anyway, I promised Charlotte and
Addie we’d go for a walk along the beach so they could catch the scent of low
tide. I better not keep ‘em
waiting. See ya!
