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The Day I Turned 68

Monday May First. I woke up and got dressed. Put on a bright white crumply thick cotton smock and pale blue stretchpantsbellringingbottoms. My torso fully supported upright by a pair of strong bare feet.

Joe had claimed this May First as a day off work. We had plans to day trip to the Olympic peninsula, hopping multiple ferries to explore Port Townsend all day. We really needed to get out skeedoodle baddha bad, break out and feel free letting the wind pass through our hair, to explore, sight see, see sites and have some long overdue just plain free spirited jump up and down hip hip hooray out there fun.

Enjoying my morning’s ginger lemon tea together with Joe, I discovered online, the ferry was out of service. The ferry workers decided to strike all day today. The disgruntled ferry crew have been stopping service lately with no notice or back-up solutions leaving islanders stranded. On this strike day the whole day on this very Intl. Workers Day day this meant, no islanders going to work, kids not going to school, no mail, no doctor’s appts., no deliveries, no ambulances, no Pt. Townsend road trips, no nothing not no how. The county ho hum finally notifying the held hostage island population about 3 ? hrs after today’s first ferry should have been running. Poof. Gone. No ferry ride for you. Good luck with Dat islanders. And by the way, deal with it. The fallout of the ferry fight between the county and crew is being transferred upon the sturdy islander’s sturdy shoulders. This year’s 70% increase in ferry rates does not include raising the ferry crew’s wages which is what the fight is about besides last minute unfair treatment to crew scheduling.

I went on continuing on with my day as if it were and it was and it is, and will be, I know this to be true, just another glorious day on the island. Every day here is truly really magnificence personified. Paradise. Heaven on earth. Love home. Fine By Me. So so very aok. I Be Home Now. Only a slight change of plans to this seasoned islander.

I went outside and clipped some foliage for a flower bouquet. A turquoise Mason jar holding some various lacy greens besides my one and only lone tulip the color yellow orange that solely made it through the dear deer spring time chomp fest. The one single brave lone bulb which survived the munch that munch that even went way beyond just the casual crunch but nose diving way underneath the munch deterrence barricade chicken wire supposedly munch proof that was covering all the other didnt make it out alive sacrificed munched up at one time once tulip munch Poof. Gone. blossoms. All so very Munched up. Appreciating the lone surviving tulip ever so much more. The collected bouquet truly an ahh beauty. That yellow orange tulip rocked. Besides rocked my world. And rocked my day.

Up in the studio, coated some more canvas panels with gesso. Rocked out with rock and roll with a library cd of late 60’s hits cranked up loud. So apropos. It was so aptly appropriately properly fitting proper really revving it up so really relevant and so so very apt. Here I was in the house of the rising sun surrounded by a groovy kind of love with incense and peppermints in Macarthur Park no less. That was moi !! And yes ! Didnt have the recipe for the melting cake that was left out in the rain. Oh No !! It took so long to bake it.

On a hmm whimm I decided to make a coffee, a concoction I stopped partaking in ages ago. I made a double strong brewed to perfection expresso with frothed steamed to perfection milk. Wow I thoroughly savoured and enjoyed this most delicious of charged up cuppas of high octane vvvroom caffiene along with a cinnamon nutmeg ginger cloves cranberries walnut pear muffin. Wow. No other expression fit the combination of the two twogether. Wow wow wow again. Followed by an exhuberantly loud yum. My brain proceeded to quickly zzzoom fire fizzle electrical synapses synapsing at a faster pace and rate than the normal neutral hum. I got out my projector and echoed an image to canvas with pencil, an image that I completely adored all the way, and moi ? I was off and running. On fire now. Aflame. This bloomin' flower bouquet image had a perfectly sumptuous composition and a pleasing palette of lights and strikes of colors so well balanced. Arcs arching out. Buds and leafs reaching outwards as if rolling out a red carpet from the canvas to viewers to shake your hand in a warm reception of why hello there.

My mind turned its concentrated attentions to some of my mom’s once time personal treasures that are now gathered about in my studio. I grouped together her special ceramic hand thrown giant pot with hand prints next to her silver Atlas female person supporting a candle overhead candle holder now holding a lit candle and single mom flame. Nearby on my chair’s back, a handwoven yellow orange weaving of sun rays sun face sun smile grinning it is all mom. Her solar turning crystal sending forth prisms of spectrum rainbows that she identified with way back when - rainbows - only, and not with now how it signifies the current status of gay.

Yes !! mom was here !! of course she was !! because 68 years ago to the day she was doing all the work, rolling out the red so to say carpet for my arrival. This was really Her Day. All the sacrifice of 9 solid months carrying around a big Baddha tah rah rah boom de yeah basketball sized baby inside. All the sacrifice of that. Followed by the pain of ka-boom dee boom dee yeah the birthing a child. That was me 68 years ago weighing in at a hefty over

10 + pounds of baby fat when born built like an ox and as healthy besides stubborn as one. Her bell ringing doctor Dr. Bell had warned my mom. Arline, he said, if you ever give birth again, get here as soon as possible when the time has come today there are things to realize because I came flying soaring out nothing but net with hardly any or little warning and hardly much of any kind of labor. Why hello there. And yes I am. I am all the way definitely my mother’s daughter. Krisstalore all the way.

Dad was thrilled to hear of my anticipated arrival. He handed out cigars to his neighborhood gang dudes beaming and proud. What a tad strange ritual wouldnt you

say ?? Dad announcing to his buds : Ittsa girl !! Little did he or mom know what the future held in store for them at the time.

The bitty 2 + inch long footprint of the foot with all 5 toes intact ink-stamped on the birth certificate belonged to yours truly. Same foot. Same feet. Now. 68 years later. Same same. Only now, the soul a tad toughened up, a titch larger in size, and a kajillion added miles to the mileage going to many destinations odometer. And yes, definitely not so pink, pristine, or so eww ittsy bitsy cute as the baby footsie wootsies that emerged ready for action ready to go 68 years ago.

Let me tell ya, still, after all these eons, they eternally hold me upright on demand without a shut down strike or complaint as I walk run pedal hike paddle trudge schlep trip march climb trip over things dance stumble leap jump up and down and journey through life. 68 year old feet. They have carried me long and far and high and wide.

On and off the beaten track.

Ice skating on Reeds Lake, roller skating Saturdays at the roller rink, pirouettes, pivots & pleee

-ays in pink ballerina satin toe shoes because mom said I walked like an elephant and this might help me

tu tu become more lady-like (?) pushing the pedals of tricycles, phat Huffy bicycles, 3 speed Sears bikes,

10 speed Schwinns, and the 21 gears on the touring Motobecane speedster.

Jumping down hard on pogo stick pedals counting up to 100 idiotic hops all in a row. Double Dutch jumping rope. Hours jumping on a giant trampoline at the end of my block stretched level with the ground with a hole underneath for the Baddha bounce. My feet dazzled me with hop scotch. And, whoa, hey, what the heck is goin' down here with all all all this inane jump jump jumping for joy ups then jump jump jumping down all these hopping hippoty hippity up then down activities (?) Must have been a jumping jack loop I was growing through. A phase in time. I get up and nothing gets me down.

Might as well … jump.

All sorts of pedal pushers & brakes for these feets don’t fail me now. Dad’s Ford Mustang. My Vw vroom squareback driving cross countries camper car. Two Sentras an old 1967 solid tank vroom vroom Volvo a 1941 bread van converted to camper a motorcycle thru the desert. At least 10 times to the moon and back frequent flyer miles pedal pushing the paddles spinning wool on all my many spinning wheels. Same feet ladder climbing stair climbing on hand milled Doug fir beams three floors up still now today. The feet that climbed inside the Statue of Liberty’s head or diadem. Climbed Himalayan peaks. Laced up hiking boots helped me get to magnificent open spacey places. Mostly tho alotta flipping flops flopping flapping fwapping flip flops slapping sandals. One to barely two inch too high for me high heels not my thing yet black shiny patent leather mary janes B&W saddle shoes penny loafers adorned with a copper penny besides forever in love with brightly beaded supple cushy leather mocassins. Feet covered in hand knit wild electric neon colors socks, sheer silk nylons held up by ugh garter belts can you believe that shit and they used to snag zip vvroom run no less, bright orange mod hep so rad hep we be fab fish net stockings, Jack Purcell Red Ball Jets Ahh deee das nike red wooden clogs clunky red rental bowling shoes.

Yet thee best : bare feet

Walking the sands of the Pacific&Atlantic Oceans Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes Lake Superior jumping frozen waves cold crashing slapping waves against the torso sand underfoot in Lake Michigan toes sinking into warm white sands of Yucatan’s Isla Mujeres the hot smooth white marble no shoes custom walking approaching slowly in the distance taking your breath away Taj Mahal on foot from far away sizzling your souls on cement at a Las Vegas poolside don't forget to leave flip flops flap jacked upside down soles skyward sno-skiis clipped on cross country skiis strapped on hiking in suction cup mud flip flops disappearing underfoot. Last but not least : the visual treat of acres of vivid colors :

Tippy Toeing thru the Skagit Tulip Fields.

These feet have taken me places.

Later met up with Joe and we had seltzer and a plate of Chinese style hourdevoyagers in other words snacks with hot mustard barbeque pork steamed bao buns with some greens and avacado. Sesame seeds sprinkled atop on top. We surprisedly found ourselves by surprise in bewilderment all of a sudden bringing up on the big screen the red carpet parade of getups from the get down ! Met Gala crowd. Each one surprising. Pure outrageousness. Fun. We proceeded to critique' and shared commentary for each and every head to toe ensemble exhibited.

Not only were the clothes hmmm shall I say rather unique, we also observed how all entrants stood and poised and posed in the parade.

The way way overly theatric ‘struck’ pose uprightly uptightly way to stand on one’s feet. The stance appearing quite disconcerting, strange distorted contorted uncomfortable looking strained stiff and unnatural. Men and women both mimicked each other in this now current awkward consensus standard for how one now holds one body uprightly wrong. Everyone primitively apeing robotically A-Eye-ing along. Like this : hips thrust stuck way out way way forward. Shoulders slump curled way way back and down. Chest thrust out. Neck forced forward with jaw jutting out. Arms and hands hanging loosely somewhat unattached angled down by their back sides dangling like floppy no bones or muscles not part of the body. Looked like a luke warm not cool sort-of crude unsophisticated unelegant attempt at sophistication and elegance. The majority of all the faces expressed an expression of complete boredom when it was their turn to stop pause let the audience take a long slow gander at the various cloth metal plastic feathered and glittering glitzy ornaments and props hanging off the vying for the most attention getting bodies.

Some displayed finger nail or finger blade or switch blade finger nail embellishment extensions extending into long long nails some with even long chains attached to fingertips dangling to the ground making hands inoperative. Alotta plastic slick oil hair pasted smack dab down gooey flat on the head. Alotta black. Yet overall most all these people appearing not to be having a very good time with the collective facial expressions of what was really going on inside the cranium as one of being in a state of truly the null and the void, empty bored zombie blankish hollow stares. Yet some were scary with severe steely glares fixed off and frozen focused and glaring onto the far distant horizon. Nobody home. The days of standing up straight and smiling are all over with folks. No grins nor grinning. So passe.'

Not recognizing a single soul except for Bill Nighy who we voted best dressed hep hipster wearing a hip long dark blue hip length jacket. His partner mirrored his proportions unexactly perfectly except she was in white. Nice. All hip. None of the hype. One other soul that stood out a head above the whole short crowd smiling a grin ear to ear standing up very straight and tall was Brittney Griner grinning jighnormously looking simply elegantly well put together and very very happy. Havin' a good time folks. Welcome back to the USA. Welcome back to freedom. Massive genuine grinning action.

The channel changed to pick up the White House Correspondences humorous press jabbing dinner speeches we watched old and new followed by more laughs with various comedians. Some with coffees in vroom Corvette cars.

Joe presented me with a single lone lit candle flame held upright in a muffin. Blowing it out I made a wish. A really tad cool ritual wouldnt you say ?

Watching our favorite former press secretary now with her very own show Jen Psaki was how we finalized the grande finale to this very fine mighty fine finest of days. A day this day this one single day noting the annual marker of counting one digit higher in the personal calendar. One year added into one’s roster. I found myself this day in a quiet moment of mom reverie. Also realizing massive appreciation and gratitude for my two feet. Have you thanked your feet lately ?

Love, Kris … and her now, and going strong, 68 year old footsies.


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