::fragments::

I was a little girl last night, running from room to room, being chased by two parents who looked like something from Leave It to Beaver, only blonder, and everytime they caught me in a room, I screamed and cried and stamped my feet.

I was served a salad by an older woman in her cafe. All the vegetables and fruits were boiled, and I was peeling an eggplant, whose skin came off beautifully, and whose entire body was like the texture of an orange with its peel off. I was amazed vegetables could be prepared this way.

I was in another Olympia-that-isn't-Olympia, though I had been here before. We were checked into a hotel by the ocean. I unpacked all of our belongings and when I walked deeper into the room and went down a short hallway I realized there was a whole other bedroom with a fantastic view of the ocean. The waves were huge. I told S. that we needed to move our stuff, because surely we would want to use the bedroom with that view. The rooms themselves were old, as though they were rooms in a big old house, with furniture that had vintage floral prints. There were mantles and grandfather clocks and luxurious bed frames and ottomans.

Besides being preoccupied about when I would get in touch with Pat and tell him I was in town, our cats had traveled with us. I was worried they'd get out. They did get outside, but found their way back and seemed comfortable. I was a little anxious about keeping track of them. I remember seeing them come back from a little dirt path--they walked in an open white wood gate.