Names for those wrinkles

Names for those wrinkles

"Have you names?" The voice was firm and solid, but the source escaped the man. At first, he thought to ignore the question. A meandering flight attendant no doubt. But, the voice and the question grew.

"Have you names for those wrinkles?" Well there you go, more revealed as to the direction of the un-unsourced question. Alex was looking into the small hand mirror, the one that is pock marked or wearing short of the silver that makes for reflection. Who ever was asking ... about his wrinkles had a nerve. The words were on his tongue when a bird half the size of his palm lighted on the huckleberries. The Titmouse was a sweet enough creature the wizard had seen many of them pushing here and there, riding winds. Looking at the tiny bird it became apparent. The Titmouse would know no wrinkles, Alex Santiago said in reply, "I know each and every one of them and with each line there is a story."

"I thought as much. We watch you. You know that don't you? Our light and hollow bones make it easy for us to flitter. We remember some of what we see, but mostly we have to come back and look again. We don't have much space for wrinkles." The tiny face and eyes seemed to blink. But I may be tossing my thinking onto its. "To know those wrinkles as well as you do must mean you are ... very attached to them," the bird concluded.

Alex enjoyed these encounters best of all; birds were a wonderful source of honesty. Rubbing his face the wizard traveled the indentations and saw the old barn, and the sign that hung across the weathered face of his former life as welder. The boy had done great things with their partnership. Smiling to himself Alex thought to feel again, this time the face was etched with laugh lines. As he slowly relaxed the lines smoothed though they were still there, he could feel them, his near timeless face wore laughter differently. Dani is one of those who can see the mostly invisible roads as clearly as any other. She sees me just as clearly. This time the wizard was laughing out loud, sending the Titmouse and her companions scattering. He wasn't expected, but most of his visits were spontaneous rather than planned.  Alex craved a bite of shortbread and ... he stopped mid-thought as the image of his beautiful wife rippled across his face. The gift must have arrived. Wool and dog-hair socks. Laughing aloud once again, Alex counted the blessings again. How many years had they been together? Nearly twenty. And, he was more than ninety-five years by calendar time. He was the wizard but it was his wife who could tag weather in advance with the accuracy any book-maker would put money on. How many blessings was that?

The long summer had moved into a soggy near cold late October. Dani wouldn't wait to open her mother's package. It was Thursday, a work night. Still. The socks would tempt her. The weather conspired. From his perch in the maple behind D-Square Alex Santiago could see the brown paper wrapping opened on Dani's coffee table. The dark roasted Kona beans were already in the grinder. He listened to the sharp whirl and the tamp on the grinder lid as the dusty beans settled into the espresso maker. Seeing his step-daughter in her zone of comfort this way, the wizard decided he'd wait. To see her this way was enough for now. She did not need meddling, not just yet. With a zip of his coat, he was gone.

Dear Ma, I LOVE THEM! Your needles have been busy. So deft! Is that what keeps you flexible rather than brittle, and warm at heart in spite of all that rubbish and rhetoric about being old? I love that you mixed the wool with the dog hair. Yes, I can feel the difference, someone taught me to notice things like that. I love that they are big and floppy and if I tug them, up they reach. Up and over my knees. I'm tucking into my cozy chenille robe about to slide into those Birki's and will be out the door to feed the chickens who don't have a Ma to knit them floppy socks. The dark Kona roast is bitter and rich, the perfect top-it-off gift for the near-snow white knit.

Thank you my love you are the perfect fit!

Dani

 

Before she finished the second cup of devilishly rich espresso, Dani pushed SEND on her laptop, found her robe and slipped into the navy blue Birkenstocks. The chickens expected a treat before settling into the tractor Dani moved around her backyard. She counted her blessings. How many was that?

Mix-Master

Dani DeSilva had a great memory and an even grander facility for possibilities. She loved piecing images, faces, bits of conversation, a line from the novel she was savoring. Pinning. Loosely held together not permanent. The winds were particularly attentive to this one's broad application of spinning webs. Her artful way of seeing through the lens of her grandmother's camera left plenty of room for what they added were the dreams often missed, or forgotten. But really it was the woman who was the Mix-Master and this was her season. The winds and the weather were still warm for late October. Both had watched and listened as Dani applied the potential to the rich only great-grandson of sugar barons. She didn't have that information, yet. What she did have was the sense of something not yet right.

"Every thing is sacrified, at some point," The wind was not being rhetorical, but as the stand of maples released their leaves into a tumble and glide of orange and gold it was a shiver that reckoned the truth of the comment.

"Easy for him to say. Always on the move, no idea what a rooted life entails." There was no malice in the maple's observation. Rooted was what she knew and life on this planet had given her many memories. Wind played a part in those memories. They brought news. They tickled the tips of limbs, danced often with the limbs of the old ones, cautioned them with the gossip. The book of tree-skins the rich boy carried would stir things in him. The young woman had flipped a switch. The winds and the weather would keep talking about things. And when the trees talked it was an invitation that beckoned to those schooled in hearing. The maples behind D-Square were part of a city block that still lived with old maples along the sloping bank the climbed to the streets behind it. So the invitations were more frequently heard and accepted as quality conversations. A long-standing pact among the resident humans made it an All-Species Friendly Neighborhood. In fact, Maple Head was the global heart for ASFN a grassroots movement with its beginnings nearly as old as the photographer.

The city was not her first choice for home, but it worked well as a conduit of foot traffic for her business spurred by the funky mix -- tough and savvy small businesses -- that hung in there in spite of the odds against them. The International District, once simply China Town was home to Pho and Kim Pop as well as the famously infamous Golden Dragon Restaurant. Famous for its duck and infamous for the hell's kitchen law that still ruled the Black Market. Dani liked the fit she had in her neighborhood. Languages flavored her everyday, and because of it the people who sought her out came with many stories some long and consistent, others fractured like broken glass. But most were a still forming, or melting from one old to new or new to old. Tonight the only story Dani wanted was the one that began with her sister's palm. Family and a favorite meal from small kid time was  comforting. The thing going on with Mr. Sweet was more than a little disturbing, but she had no wish to ease the feeling. She felt the tentacles of creative tension knotting just behind her piko. Birthing pains baby. Her grandmother was always talking to her, and Tutu was never wrong. Dani instinctively rubbed her belly. The simple and complex connections between the concrete on one side and the worlds just above the Earth's atmosphere were lay lines Dani saw and heard as clearly, if not more so, than directions on the back of a cake mix or a message on her phone. Noticing the star in Olivia's palm surprised her. Was that the birthing pain her grandmother was pointing at?

Cowlicks

Luc Baldwin was born to rich parents. They weren't really old money, but there had always been lots of it. Entitlement so finely woven wealth did not leak. Unless you were a tracker of spiritual legacy the source of original wealth mattered little in today's world. Thing was though, the cowlicks that whorled on the back of Luc Baldwin's head knew where the money began and even in braids the stubborn patterns would have their way. Dani was one of the few people who got close enough to track that legacy, and she was very good at keeping secrets and better still at maintaining The Borders. The cowlicks? She's never seen them. But the lines and matching whorls that lived in the man's palms were maps she read with keen and respectful agility.This was a man who could, and did, say one thing today, because he meant it, and tomorrow reverse course and say exactly the opposite thing. Cowlicks are those wild-hair territory that show up on human heads in unexpected places. Or, perhaps it is as the Ancients of India say, it is the sacred God -- the cow who has licked your head leaving the hairs with minds of their own.

The shortbread was rich, and the plate was empty."It's a good thing you have a constitution of a horse Mr. Baldwin," Dani teased knowing Luc would bike an hour back to his gated lake-side complex once he left and could afford to eat the plateful of confectionary. "A race horse, bred to win. I like the race and ..." Dani held Luc's left hand and finished his sentence, "You like to win. Now what bit of that story do you question. Or have you changed your mind about racing or winning?"

The usually confident man ran his right hand over his forehead, "I've been having dreams. Every night I have the same, or similar dream. My father is in it, but he's not really like Dad looks today. I just know it's him though. We're in this shop together going through racks of clothes ... jackets, coats. Denim studded jackets." Luc's eyebrows pinched in a look that made Dani laugh. "We talk about the feel of the fabric. He says he'd like to get matching coats. Some nights it's the same shop. Other nights like last night, the shop had no ceiling. I can feel warm breezes and see clouds racing. We have never shopped for clothes together." Luc drove the point home pulling his hand free to motion with both hands. "Never buy jackets off the rack." He stopped, aware Dani was reaching for his hands. She was slowly pressing the soft part of his palm between thumb and index finger. She was listening, but more than that she was seeing the dream.

Rather than give her interpretation of Luc's dream, Dani DeSilva knew the proper thing to do was open space for Luc. He knew the meaning of his dream. And, from her angle Dani suspected this was one of the big dreams that didn't slip into the waters of the collective dreams. This one was Luc's. "You've never said what your family did to have the money they, and you have. People talk, and there are lots of stories, but you are coming to a woman who takes photographs that tell stories all on their own. You return almost monthly wanting what I have? My business. And. And. You ask me for stories I read in lines that mark your palms." Defensively, though not very, Luc countered, "I pay you for your stories, even offer you more than you ask. An E.O.R. Equal Opportunity Reader." Luc was punting here, but little did he know how close he was to the truth. Dani DeSilva was bred to give every one she met an equal opportunity. For a moment she remembered how her mom had nicknamed her an E.O.E. Equal Opportunity Eater who could be a vegan with vegans, while relishing a plate with juicy burger and fries if offered one.  Luc Baldwin is not your mother. The voice reminded her.

"There is another piece of this dream that comes just before I wake up. I'm ..." Luc hesitated to choose the words. "I think I'm flying and as I look down at my bed I can see myself, lying there. It's me in my bed. But if I close my eyes and cozy down I'm flying above an old clipper. A sailing ship. A large one. I see men climbing the ropes. A man and a woman are on the deck. The dream fades again. I try to see what's next. But just like the rest of this dream, I don't see anything new. I've dreamt this dream every night every night since I last ate those Sweet Sisters Shortbread".

"You remember, that's the important part Luc." Luc shrugged suspecting she was probably right but still hadn't the slightest of clues as to what it meant. Dani drew her index finger through the middle of Luc's hand. "This line that runs deep through the center of your hand, both hands, but the left one is deeper than the right. See that?" Luc was curious, always curious about the maps Dani DeSilva read in this palms. Skeptical in most encounters with people, he was oddly trusting when it came to Dani, and looked at his palms. "Yeh, I see them. This one runs right through my Heart Line." The basic lines of palmistry included the line that went from left to right across the top third of the palm. Luc's Heart Line stopped just below his middle finger and was a line 'with feathers'. Dani had used that description to point out the light but visible etchings that she read as a heart that could be flighty. When he asked what that meant Dani said, "You like to wonder into short flights of fancy, but at your core your heart is true. See how deep and otherwise uncomplicated that line is? Once you find a love this will last. You love women!"  When he'd first heard this Luc nearly laughed himself out of his chair. The woman was poetic with her discoveries.

Dani was fascinated with the connections she was seeing between Luc's dream with the clipper ship and the Fate Line that was flashing like purple neon. "Your Fate Line runs right through that solid heart line. There's something in your destiny that will move you smack in the center of her family legacy. Something to do with love, maybe betrayal even. Fate Lines don't appear in everyone's hand, and some readers call them the Line of Fortune. I'm reading ..." Dani stopped for emphasis, and to consider how she phrased what she was about to say. She knew the power of magic and the responsibility to share what was shown to her. Dani picked up her gut instinct and asked again, "You never have said how your family is so rich. Before you tell me ... 'cause I'm not asking you to tell me. Not really. What I'm asking is for you to be open to the possibility that your being here today with your hands out." She paused again and those deep clefts, the dimples that carved ancient spaces in both cheeks were glowing. "I'm saying you might be on to something your Fate Line is teleporting you. Wait here, I've got something for you." Dani's apartment, which Luc has never seen was up the stairs. To get to it you had to go outside. Years ago, when you first leased the place she thought about opening up an entrance from within the gallery but her instinct said wait. She was glad listened to the voice. Having a separate entrance kept work downstairs, and home upstairs. Border protocol was important. Dani pulled her keys from the tiny pouch she wore on a soft leather strap around her neck. Just two keys and one shiny stone. Light-weight but a medicine pouch with all the protection she needed. With an easy turn of the key, the dead lock opened quietly the door opened in and jangled the wind chime placed just inside. "I'm home!" Her cat was glad to hear it. Lotta was a small blonde cat who had found Dani the night she signed the lease on the apartment. Her golden eyes blinked awake, but sleep was far too delicious after a night out. Meooww. Dani rustled the drowsy kitty's head on her way to the bookshelves that lined both sides of the beautiful old window at the back of the apartment. This end of the large open room looked down at the tiny but bountiful garden where Dani kept her hands in dirt. She found what she'd come looking for, slipped her middle finger into the top of the spine and collected the book. "Later Lotta. We'll go for a work before dinner, I promise." The cat liked a routine though sometimes, things came up and she (the cat) did have her own door and a fire-escape that took her on adventures leaving Dani to fend for herself on occasion. Still ... the walks had been a forever treat so she let out a Meooww and followed Dani to the door.

Luc had poured himself another cup of coffee careful to drink it while standing over the sink. He was leaning with his hip up against the old wood cupboard when the front door of the gallery opened, bell jangling and Dani with her dimples tucked away had a book in her hand. She waved it like a flag. "Flying Cloud ever heard of it?"
"Nope, sounds like the name of an important chief."
"It does, doesn't it. It's not. It's the name of the fastest clipper ship during Victorian America. It was built in New York, and held the record for a cross-Atlantic journey until 2000."
"Wow, must have been some ship." Dani handed Luc the book. A rendering of the clipper was on the cover.
"I was a very beautiful ship built when the tall trees of the New England past were looked at as the Costco for rich and powerful merchants. You know to get something from here to there meant you had to travel by water, and that did not mean packing your manufacturer sink from China to San Francisco in a cargo container. Flying Cloud was built with a cargo hold that could house the chickens, pigs, and ice to make a thirty day voyage around Cape Horn from New York to San Francisco. But that's just the front line story Luc. The real story, at least for me when I first read it, was the story of the navigator who charted the courses from New York to San Francisco. Here is where the story really gets trippy. And ... Luc I think this story, have clues to the story you're after."

Luc knew enough about Dani DeSilva to know her intuition pointed to something. Any of his questions or skepticism would lead to more questions because of course, he was asking from his head. Dani read his pause, "The only way to it, is through it. Read the book young man." Her gestures were dramatic and playful, making her even more beguiling. Yeh, it was an old-fashioned word for hooked but there it was. Without prying into his family secrets, Dani allowed the man with cowlicks a challenge. Connect the dots. He was willing to explore the connections, he was a gambler at heart, a heart with feathers. "I take the challenge." Luc had a check written and folded in his shirt pocket. He handed it to Dani.
"No. Read the story first. When you're done with the book, give me a call we'll talk again. You can give me a check for both the readers then. But. No calling or pestering me until you're finished reading. Deal?"
"Deal."

Coffee and Vitamin C

Twenty-five years ago Dani DeSilva developed her first roll of film using instant coffee, vitamin C and a couple other common ingredients. At the time she was pretty sure it was the magic from the mysterious Inn that did the processing. Hundreds of rolls later, Dani was positive it was the magic though in everyday conversation she called it her trade secret. D-Square was both Dani's business , and the name of the gallery where her unusual prints captured the attention of art lovers round the globe. Her clients not only bought her art, they stayed for coffee, shortbread cut into shapes of ducks, stars and moon and then Dani DeSilva held their hands and told them stories about themselves. Like her talent for reading lines, the hands as well as feet, this woman loved what she could do well, and that truly put her into the flow with little resistance. She was forty-one, never wished nor sought a four-year college degree; apprenticed on farms and community gardens when she finished high school. Family ties with tradition and culture made her very aware of what hands and feet do. Magic was one of those traditions, the culture for its practice? That will unfold as the story does.


"How do you do it, really?" Luc Baldwin was an acquaintance, an unabashed cynic with imagination fed by old money.  "Magic,  shmagic. What else is in that canister?" Sticky like rice, he was also her biggest competitor with his eyes on expanding his business to include D-Square. Dani DeSilva liked that she could see his motives clearly. No smoking mirror or split to the reflection, this man was greedy. But, he was honest. She liked that, and dealt with the tall and seductive man with braids as she did gin and tonic. The latest prints were haunting. The grainy texture of coffee processed film was always present in her photos. She loved the look, felt at home with the earthy sense she could smell even after the prints were dried and mounted. What was unusual about the art she stilled on paper were the images that made themselves known to her alone, until she met and sold the photograph. That was when the magic grew ... when the image showed again.

Just minutes before Luc Baldwin walked through the old wooden door of D-Square, Dani called her sister to double check on the star that had shown up in her sister's palm. "Nope, like the rest of me, every part of me was the same-old same-old. Why?" Olivia was used to her sister's trade secrets and respected how Dani kept her feet planted firmly even when the ancestors or their maps of potential showed up in unexpected places. Rather than explain what she'd found, Dani shielded and changed the subject. "You and Katy are coming for dinner tomorrow night right?" "No change on our end. I picked up some of that goat cheese while we were on the island. How about a little fondue?" "My mouth's watering. Do you have the pots, and the little fire pots for keeping 'em hot?" Details were Olivia DeSilva's trademark, "I called mom this morning. She still has those things. Remember?"  It had been a long time since Dani heard the word. When they were girls it was their mother's favorite treat meal: chunks of crusty French bread with thick melted cheese along side a pot of melting chocolate with bananas and strawberries. "Yup, yup, and yup! I loved fondue and haven't had any since. And those long forks did you ask her about those?"

"She still has those, too." Dani let out a deep and satisfied sigh. Knowing some things stayed the same made her happy. She said, "Pat was lucky with his hook. Trout with mushrooms stuffed with onions and garlic. How about that?" Patrick Sweet was not an official boyfriend, but he could be. The grandson of family friends made him nearly a brother. But something was sizzling just under the surface. Olivia thought of teasing, but didn't. "It's a date then. Take a look at the photos over fondue and trout. See you tomorrow. Love to Katy!" Dani closed her old flip open cellphone, another of her relics.


Face to face dealings with Luc Baldwin always left Dani jittery. He was too close to her at the moment, his braided black hair way too sexy , and his timing distracting. She wanted to ask "How is it you know when I've fished out a new roll of film?" But didn't. Instead Dani held her hand out between them, "Trade secrets. And besides," she knew he was also here for a reading, "if I told you what other reason would you have to keep pestering me?" There was way too much of an opening in that question. Dani bit on her lower lip something she did when her words flew in a direction her mind would have edited. Luc had his hands around Dani's wrists, "Let me count the ways." He was teasing and it was working. "Cut it out. I'm the palm-reader. Down boy, down." Dani pulled the door to her developing room shut, and pointed in the direction of the nook and kitchen she used for readings. A small kitchen with stove and oven was big enough for baking the shortbread. Open shelving held spices, glasses, mugs and small plates. A tiny refrigerator was tucked next to the single but deep sink. A narrow rectangular table made of oak filled the center of the nook. At one end a basket with a roll of textured cloth was tied with a length of black silk thread. The kettle steamed, but did not sputter or sing. "Coffee or tea?" Dani asked. "Coffee please." Luc never did get into the habit of tea drinking though being half-British it seemed almost counter-genetic. A canister of freshly-ground beans filled the small kitchen with the smell of caffeine. Dani prepared a small pot of French roast for Luc, and pulled a tea bag of Lemon-Ginger for herself. A small dish of shortbread stars sat on the counter. "Help yourself." Luc had his manicured right fingers around a cookie without hesitation. Dani reached for the jug of coconut milk she always laced with vanilla. The art dealer nibbled the ends of the star slowly, considering just what this odd and beautiful woman did to make him give up his desire to collect more. The thick white swirled, the smell of vanilla and coffee tapped switches in the man. And, she reads my lines like a book written with words I don't see. It's my book.


The routine for her readings were simple, but always the same. Dani and her friends, or clients, or clients who were friends had their drinks and the signature Sweet Sisters Shortbread before any reading. The recipe for the barely sweet pastry was equal in its magic as was the photographer's touch with a camera. Luc Baldwin had no way of knowing just how much the tradition of magic lived in the gallery, but he had a keen nose for special, and that is just what Dani DeSilva was. The bark cloth in the basket was an exquisite piece a gift when she opened D-Square. Soft pounded mulberry cloth dyed with olena, turmeric root, gave the kapa a golden-red glow. Stamped in the center was a line of ridges in muted green. She never did a reading without the kapa, and always remembered the protocol of asking for permission. Today's reading followed the same rules. Only a few crumbs remained of the Sweet Sisters Shortbread. Dani cleared mugs and plate and put them on the counter for later. "So, Mr. Balwin. You have come with hands and questions." Dani rolled the kapa from its silk string, sat facing the man with braids and reached for his right hand.

Notice

Unless you read palms you'd never have noticed the star. Dani did read palms. She didn't start out thinking "Palm reader! That is what I want to do for the rest of my life." What she did do from the time she could focus her bright golden brown eyes is notice things. Watchful. She is watchful. Daniella's step-father Alexander Santiago was the first to coin her 'watchful' but by then she was sixteen and he was the first wizard to meet her and would be her loyal accomplice on a most unusual path to becoming a palm reader.


Her favorite camera hung from its strap behind her neck, the parade route was a simple one: starting at the top of the usually busy waterfront, queens costumed on foot, or on wheels cruised the shop lined avenue, waved to the crowds of supporters and jeerers. Gay Grays, including some of Island County's finest bakers handed miniature Sweetie Pies from their sidecars, on horse-back the Gilded Lily dared to taunt the rules for a family friendly event with a body suit that defined all the territory. Rainbow t-shirts walked along side the clerk who rang up your chips and deli sandwich, the local naturopath smiled easily from her gauze skirt and tattoos arm in arm with the writer who had donned a pink wig for the occasion. The photographer laughed out loud as she snapped the progression which had smartly spaced the high-pacing Lily well behind the dispensing pie-makers. If she was lucky the boys would have pie left over by the time the parade ended. Dani loved those coconut macaroon tarts.


Finally she spotted her sister. Dressed as she dressed day in and out Olivia DeSilva wore her shoulder length hair loose and topped with a baseball cap. Her t-shirt was silver with white lettering TOM BOY, her cap was black and her jeans were clean, and pressed with creases. Through the crowd Dani whistled, the sunglassed head of near silver blonde hair turned in her direction. Without words Olivia blew her sister a kiss and held out her left palm in a full wave. Click. Click. It was later, when Dani emerged from the dark room that she found the star.

Ready or not

The ink was not yet dried on the last story. Discomfort, loneliness, creative discontent? "Don't tell me what I'm feeling damn it! I just want to ..." She caught her angry tantrum by the ear, poured a glass of water and had a good chuckle at herself. There wasn't anyone there with her. The conversation was just enough to tease her from judging. "This is not a court of law," Pupuka continued. "This is my life and to live it, I write." The sudden late summer squall must have brought with it all the makings for watery splashings. Not yet willing to let there be a void here she is opening up another blog. What's that all about? Impatience. Need for something to water.


Yes, well that may not be a good start, or reason enough to start but there it is. Where to go? Not sure, but maybe there's something.