The morning after Full Moon

Given the rain and winds last night, I decided to take the ferry instead of driving around over Deception Pass. Unfortunately, my luck did not hold out and so I missed the eleven o'clock ferry, having to stay parked in the waiting area for the midnight one, somewhat due to driving a covener home to her apartment in Mulkiteo. Its always fun to steal a little more time with the coverners, so I don't really mind that.

"As I sat in my car, ostensibly listening to Public Radio International and reading yet another KBLH book (Never give up, never surrender), I realized I could hear bats flying overhead, squeeling above the howling wind. Its amazing how wierd the world looks, trapped in your car for an hour, during a storm. Everything is just slightly darker than it should be. Traffic and street signs bow in the wind and vibrate with annoyance. The spinning sign over Ivar's would rush forward in the direction of the blow, then push slow and hard against it on the other side. Birds were a rare sight, and it wasn't until we were docking on the other side did I see a few soaring over the currents of the pickleforks, frozen in the air.

There's a culture to the Washington State Ferries - one that takes experience to learn. Unfortunately, I have daytime running lights, so my car refuses to shut off its headlamps while I approach the ferry and I usually get at least one condemning look from the poor guy who is struck blind while trying to direct me onto and off of the ferry. I usually raise my hands in the universal "what can I do?" fashion to let them know I didn't forget. The night crew is always my favorite - they direct traffic in a sort of dance, wriggling around and using their hands, legs and feet to point the way. I suppose they do it to keep warm, but its quite the sight. Reminds me of traffic cops in NYC, there's an amazing amount of dance involved, the rolling of arms, a kick out to let you know to turn, etc. The day crew is all business, running the ferries every half hour. But nights are hourly, and there's time for antics and mischeviousness.

I can barely make out the lighthouse and make a note to take a walk down to it next time I do this. But its dark, the bars are open, I've seen at least one drug or prostitution deal go down and I'm wisely a bit wary of the long dark road to the beach. I've got an athame, but that's hardly the weapon of choice on the docks, so best to stay put for now.

When the ferry finally pulled up, I found myself loaded near the front of the ferry in the center of the beast. I usually take note of the ferry, itself. There's three of them on this run, for every two running one is out for routine maintenance. The Kittitas (aka Catass or Kittybut), the Chelan (aka Shaitan) and the Cathlamet (aka Cathy). Since its the Kittitas' turn for maintenance, I'm rather put out as I love the Kittybut. The deck lights go down, folks settle in for their twenty minute nap, a few adventurous folks wander out to the front of the ferry to enjoy the sight and sounds. I sat in the car heaing about the new book "Cinema Nirvana", which I cannot decide if its great fun or wishful thinking (Witta, anyone?).

The sky is too dark to see the moon and I'm disappointed. The whole point of the drive home after the coven's Full Moon is to enjoy the Lady, Herself shining overhead. I can just make out where She's hiding behind the dark veil of the sky. But just barely. I notice instead, the dogs in the vehicles around me - the Springer Spaniel in the BioDiesel Jetta, the golden lab in the Suburban pacing back and forth. There's a small terrier in the car behind me, I see it jump back and forth over the front seat, waiting for her parents to return.

The ferry bucks over the storm-tossed waves. Its not much, but just enough to unsettle the stomach of those proned to seasickness. Luckily, my system loves a good rodeo, so I'm game. Its a lazy, sensual twist of the sea and I find myself being lolled to sleep while I hear about how Jaws represents the eternal Hunger in us all, how the three men who go out to catch the shark represent the schools of Buddhism. Its all I can do to stay awake, trapped as I am in a car in the dark with leftover cookies.

But suddenly, I feel the screw under the deck kick into reverse, and I realize we're passing the pillons of the dock. There's one captain called "Stormin' Norman" who has a tendency to charge the Gates, especially during bad weather. So much so that he's damaged the dock more than once. Norman, it would appear, is not behind the wheel this night. There's a fair amount of adjustment going on as the ferry struggles to thread itself into the dock gate while the wind and sea want to push it down to Seattle. We're in. The dock hand throws the rope, the ferry men atttach the ferry and suddenly we all realize the van in front of me is manned by a sleeping driver.

This is always funny. I have no idea why, but we're always amused. Usually, there's a sort of realization that comes over the driver that they are being watched and you'll see a head slam forward toward the steering wheel as they attempt to start the vehicle, put the driver's seat to an upright position, disengage the emergency brake and lurch forward all at once. Not this time. The ferry man comes over and removes the blocks from the van's front wheels and the driver finally wakes up, but poorly. Several minutes go by as the ferryman nods politely, encouraging the man to wake up and start the van. At this point, you can see the knowing smiles in the vehicles around us. Twenty minutes is a short trip, surely, but just enough for a good nap. We've all done this, and we know what the poor guy is going through. Finally, the van lurches forward and the ferryman pats the van consolingly on the side as it goes by. We're all released, zooming through the terminal, taking note of where the bomb sniffing dog is (as there's a tendency to let him play during the long night shifts).

Up the hill of Clinton, through Langley and into what I think of as Deer Land. I see dozens, munching grass by the side of the road. The sad acknowledgement of those killed by other drivers by the side of the road. Its foggy out, but I do try to keep the minimum speed limit - I'm leading the charge up the island from the ferry. Cars peal off in their own directions until I'm alone on the road, another twenty minutes in the dark, under the firs and pines. Me and the deer for miles. Then the llama farm, I can barely make out their confused tall heads as they wonder if someone is coming for a night check. Continuing North past the Kinsgtone Ferry exit, listening to the trajedies of gun violence in Brazil.

Up through San Juan De Fuca now. I pass the church, its an old mission style which looks vaguely foreign in the Pacific Northwest. The museum at the end of the dock, the gallery, I live just north of San Juan De Fuca, so I always feel a thrill of almost home when the road curves from north to east. I'm not thinking of Brazil, I'm reviewing the night's lesson on Chakras and wondering anew at where this is all heading. Turning off into our neighborhood, laughing to myself about Glencairn signs (the Valley of Tombs) where I live. A few more turns and I'm home, amazed to see hubby has left EVERY Halloween light on, including the cauldrons in the windows.

I hear Tracker, the Basset Hound howl and scratch at the door. The Border Collie whines, I can hear her brushing against the furniture in my office before her black eyes and white teeth shine out under the blinds at me, tail thumping furiously against my desk. For a moment, I'm unsure whether the cat in the window is the vampire cat decoration or our own long-haired black cat Fudge. Turns out to be Fudge, one hopes the two aren't in cahoots."

I open the door slowly, the dogs are dancing with joy.

Mommy's home.