Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 28 2006 Entry

September 28. Thursday Night.

Hi Journey.

BizTap today. I really do enjoy going, especially when I pickup the scent of a new client.

I was leaning up against the bar at Korova’s, beer in hand, surveying the scene. Not many prospects walked through the front door, but I was quite early.

“Crystal Trino?”

He’d blind-sided me, approaching from the far side of the bar.

“Afraid so,” I said, extending my hand toward him. Short, light and handsome, with a suit cut overly tight in the shoulders, so that the sleeve of his left hand hitched up about a half-inch too high above his wrist. Either he had a wretched tailor, or he’d bulked up his traps a bunch since he’d bought it. They were nicely sloped shoulders. “And you are…”

“Jeremy Frem. Branch manager for the Colfax branch of First Unified Bank and Trust.”

“Bridgette sent you,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes, but quite frankly I expected somebody a bit….”

“Older?”

He laughed. “No. Jockier, I guess. If that’s even a word.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You mean, like I’m horsing around?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, like you are supposed to be this lean, mean running machine. You know, a jock.”

“What, I don’t look lean to you? I’ll admit, I start to pack on a few pounds in the fall, but hey, I haven’t tipped the scales above….”

He set his drink on the bar and raised both hands above his head. “I surrender. Take me away.”

Contrition: I love it in a man, even if it’s mock. Besides, no use pushing this one over the edge. He was too cute for that. I made a pistol of my forefinger and thumb and drew a bead on his glass, and clicked my thumb forward, hammer-like. “OK, I just blew away your beer. Call us even.”

“People usually call me odd.”

“Not when they want a loan, I’ll wager.”

He laughed. “That’s when we hope they aren’t wagering. Or at least that they’re not heading out to Vegas, loan in hand.”

“How’d you know it was me?” I asked.

“I checked out your website. Your picture’s on it, you know.”

“I’m going to give my webmaster a big kiss for that, next time I see him.”

He arched his head back and pulled up his eyelids wide in mock horror. “You’re dating your webmaster? I’ll never have a chance.”

I just shook my head. This guy was a real geek, but he had such an easy, charming air about him I was unexpectedly drawn to him. “No, I dated my web designer; my office manager married my webmaster. Complex, I know.”

“Sounds like every small business I know. And believe me; I know quite a few, in my line of work.”

“I’ll bet you do. You guys must get real bored, slaving away in a bank all day,” I said.

“You have no idea how I hate the words: ‘How would you like that, sir: tens and twenties?’ I hear it and I want to puke.”

We bantered on for ten minutes, and then mingled with other people as Korova’s started to fill up. Jeremy promised me he’d help set an appointment for me to see the president and the branch managers of the other two First Unified branches that were slated for a makeover.

I really owe Bridgette; at least a nice dinner. She did a wonderful job of setting me up for a great sale. OK, maybe not a sale, but at least a pitch. And the way my team’s been firing on all cylinders lately, I’m confident we’ll win way more than our share of closes.

Maybe I’ll just tell Viv and Dana there’s an extra 15% in it for them, if they bag this one.

Malcolm Tonnect wasn’t about at all. That didn’t bother me much. He hadn’t called for a couple of weeks; maybe he found me as outrageous as I found him tedious. Not that he’s a bad sort. Still, I wouldn’t have minded seeing those eyes of his again.

But I also wouldn’t mind seeing those shoulders of Jeremy’s, without the suit.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 26 2006 Entry

September 26. Tuesday Night.

Hi Journey.

I don’t like to go and even remotely play like the heavy Journey; but sometimes when you’re the boss you just have to make what my dad would call a command decision.

Viv asked me to boost her base yesterday. I said no. The only one I plan on handing out a raise to right now is Joni, and it’s not because she’s pregnant. It’s because when she works harder--and smarter--all she receives is part of the bi-annual bonus. There’s no commission tied to her production, the way there is for Shelly and Dana and Viv.

What I did agree to do with Viv was re-evaluate the commission compensation, and possibly build in a bit more margin for Dana and Shelly and her. We’re probably overdue for a slight altering of our structure, anyway.

She took it OK; didn’t pout, and didn’t back into a defensive posture right away.

I suppose I should be grateful for that, but actually Journey it just worried me a bit more. It probably means she has something else on her mind.

Or up her sleeve.

Bloom team meeting went well today. Everybody liked my idea to create a contest to send a client to the The London Design Festival. Everybody except Joni. She suggested we send them to Dining by Design at the Merchandise Mart in Chicago, instead.

That’s my Joni, always the frugal one. But the team voted her down. Lord knows I love Chicago, but for a contest it’s much more enticing to send a client someplace she can’t merely drive to in a day or fly to in an hour. So, London it is.

Nothing back from Sid, yet. But I only mailed my letter yesterday, and I suppose it won’t even hit his mailbox in Manhattan any before Thursday or Friday. I can wait.

BizTap meeting on Thursday. Bridgette rang up yesterday, begging off from attending. BizTap isn’t as important to her these days, especially with all the national sales reps she oversees at the paper company. But she does like to keep her hand in with the local networking. She confided in me once that you never know when you might find yourself out of a job and need some quick local help to land something, fast. A kind of bridge job, I think they call it.

Anyway, she had a lead for me on a local bank that’s thinking about overhauling three of their branches. Apparently they like the way the First Charter Bank came out, and one of the vice presidents knew Bridgette and asked if she knew of any design firms that could do a good job.

Wouldn’t it be sweet revenge if I could win that business back for Shelly? I know one thing, there’s no way in the world we’re going to let Derrick, Isaac, Robinson and Trent beat us out on this one. I’d practically give away the work, just to get a local bank as a client.

Hey, I said practically--I haven’t completely lost my mind.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 24 2006 Entry

September 24. Sunday Night.

Hi Journey.

Exhausted, Journey. I have just always somehow inside myself felt that if I worked hard enough and kept grinding away at my small-shop dreams then one of these days it’s going to get easier and I’ll really have a chance to relax.

Maybe someday, but not right now. The good news is there is too much work pouring in. We’ve signed up six new clients this week, and pitching another five next week. Shelly’s done a stellar job churning out new ideas, and Viv and Dana each drug themselves out of the office past Nine three nights last week. Everybody except Joni came in yesterday morning, so it’s not like I’m slugging it out alone.

Well, OK, I am on Sundays, I guess--but I certainly don’t expect the rest of them to be at the shop on Sunday.

Good thing I slept in last weekend. My mind’s a bit tired, but my body is rested up. The legs didn’t scream a bit when I popped out of bed this morning. I did manage to slip in a quick run before Sunday school this morning. I skipped out on church, though. I hate to do that; it sets a bad example for the kids. OK, truth-time, Journey--you know it’s really because I worry that their parents and the elders will think less of me and maybe even ask me to quit teaching the class.

That would slay me.

But once in a while you simply have to put work first. Dad rarely made sales calls on Sunday, but I remembered a time or three when he went and pitched somebody on a Sunday after he and Mom hauled us to church simply because there wasn’t any other time to meet with the people, especially if they were Adventist or Jewish.

But, he tried not to make it a rule, and so do I.

So business is good. And our four-way call between Carm, Mom, Casey and me went well Friday morning. Casey was pretty upbeat about rounding the quarter-century mark. Mom seemed juiced-up on joy. Maybe her Wednesday night honesty-rant with me was just the catharsis she needed before getting on with all four of us. One thing about Mom; no matter how upset she was or tight money was when we were growing up she always made our birthdays special. We might have been in a catfight with her the day before and after, but the birthday girl dwelled in Notre Dame for the day.

Of course, most of the conversation was about the bookend Cs’ moves. Neither one has a date 100% nailed down, but each of them will be packing quite soon.

And I just finished typing a letter to Sid. Here’s what I wrote, Journey:

“Dear Sid,

Hope all is well with you. There’s a new factor in that case you were working on. It looks like another defendant is about to be arraigned.

Nothing much else new on the home front; we do have a new client, though. A big one--it’s a hotel. They need their entire lobby repainted. I’ve priced it locally, but want to toss a couple of national bids into the mix; keep the local boys honest and all that.

I’ve heard of a really good company that specializes in this type of work. They’re out of Iowa, if I recall. Would you be a dear and see what you can dig up for me?

Love. Crystal.”

That’s the cool thing about Sid, Journey--he’ll throw his heart and soul into a little spade-work for me. Of course, I don’t need his heart and soul as much as I need that laser-like intellect.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 21 2006 Entry

Hi Journey.

“Yes, Mom, believe me, I know it’s crazy. And I couldn’t agree with you more that Egypt seems to be a complete 180 from the South Pacific. But Mom, it’s her life.”

“No, Crystal. It’s not just her life, it’s mine, too. I know you can’t own your kids, but she owns a part of me; a piece of my heart. Lord, but sometimes I hate not having you kids around for a birthday. It’s a lot easier mothering them when they’re five than twenty-five.”

This was last night, J. I was at Whitby, just home from a long day. Mom phoned up and let fly with a mono-rant about Casey’s newest move.

“You always seemed to take her geo-shuffles in stride. What’s different about this one?”

“What’s different?” she asked shrilly. “What’s different is this isn’t some three day teenage jaunt to Chicago; it’s the MidEast. Don’t you read the news, Crytstal?”

Two thoughts barreled into my mind one atop the other: Not if I can help it and Mom, you are starting to tick me off. But what I said was: “Sure, but Egypt’s not exactly a war zone, Mom. Not like Iraq.”

“The whole world feels like a war zone right now.”

“Yeah, but Mom, that’s just the way it feels, not the way it is.”

“Tell that to all those military parents that have a boy or girl coming home in a box this year.”

No. I refused to let this escalate. Five years ago--even two years ago--her constantly trumping of everything I said would have been enough to trigger a shouting match between the two of us. Not today. It’s just not worth it; especially since our relationship has grown so much this past year. She hasn’t been on me about my career in, what--six months? Something else is eating at her, I’m sure of it.

So I just stayed silent for a few moments. I honestly didn’t know what to say, or what hidden catalyst had set her off like this. She didn’t speak, either. No matter how long you’ve loved somebody, the dead silence on the phone line gets uncomfortable after a few moments.

“Mom, is something up down there in Venice? Something up with Dad?”

“He’s worried sick that the conflict is going to explode all over the MidEast and catch up our youngest in it. And I guess his fear’s infecting me, too.”

“But he’s been scared for her before. Why is now so different than before?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because up to now she’s always played tourist or stargazer or archaeologist in safe zones. But now, I just don’t know,” she sobbed into the phone. Yes, Journey, she was sobbing. I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s how worried she was over Casey. And I remembered what Mattie told me, about how I’d have to be there for Mom with Sisi’s being in Japan.

I can’t wait for those Siriso’s to get back to the USA. Selfish? Sure--but I’m not strong enough to shoulder all the load of taking care of Mom by myself.

“Mom, it’ll be OK. She’s watched over, you know that. She always has been.”

I heard her blow her nose into a tissue. “That’s what I used to think about Chris, and that’s what I’ve been telling myself for twenty plus years about Casey. And I used to believe it; part of me couldn’t believe God would dare take two from me. Except down in my heart I really didn’t believe that at all--I’m not that special. Nobody is. No, I just faked myself into thinking I believed that convenient placebo of a self-lie, almost like I was psyching myself up for a game. Well after two decades my psyche’s spent and I am not up for this game at all.”

“Wow,” I said softly. “I never knew.”

“Of course you didn’t. How could you? Think I could just cry and freak out in front of you and your big sister every time the baby of the family decided to spread those wings of hers? No way. I wanted you all to be independent, to stand on your own. And your father and I wanted all of you to be tough. If I had broken down every time I was scared for Casey then you and Carm would have just overprotected her and worried yourselves sick over a force of nature you can’t even begin to hope to control.”

“Is that what she is, a force of nature.”

“Oh, Crystal,” she sighed. “Mattie taught you much, but there is so much more to learn. We’re all a force of nature.”

“Sure, but some gales blow stronger than others, Mom.”

She laughed at that, as if my gawky humor blew her fear off course. We spend another ten minutes talking on the phone. We discussed Casey’s birthday and agreed to try a four way call with everybody early our Friday morning, which would be late on Casey’s Friday night, but still the 22nd. And of course we both went on and on about Carm and Company’s moving back to New York.

I felt needed tonight, J--needed by Mom.

Part of me wants to run far away.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 19 2006 Entry

September 19. Tuesday Night.

Hi Journey.

Joni’s easy to deal with, but Brady? Well, with him today at first I wasn’t so sure.

Brady came over to fix Dana’s computer. The whole time he was working on it I felt a sub-zero tension between Joni and him. Shelly and I both instantly tiptoed on eggshells.

And Dana wasn’t even in the office when Brady swung by to check if her spyware was updated; she and Viv were out on a pitch--together for a change. Honestly, Journey, I think he really just conjured up an excuse to stop by and see Joni. But he blundered when he bee-lined it to Dana’s machine as soon as he came in.

Hell hath no fury like a pregnant Joni scorned…even if it’s inadvertent. OK, especially if it’s inadvertent, because Brady should have known by this point in their pregnancy to at least glance into Joni’s office and toss out a quick “hi-hon” before he started messing around with his first love.

The hard drive, Journey, not Dana.

Thank the Lord for Shelly. She was sitting at her desk, talking on the phone with Dirk. I guess they call that undertime in a big company; here in our small shop we call it chatting up the boyfriend. And Lord knows as much weekend-time as Shelly puts in, I’ll never get on her case for spending a few minutes rambling on with Dirk.

“Hey Brady,” Shelly said.

“Yeah?” His tone was pleasant, but he didn’t pull his eyes away from the screen for a second as his fingers pounced from key to key on Dana’ keyboard.

“Truck your butt over here and check out this crib.”

And to his credit he froze his fingers in mid-stroke and walked over to her desk.

“Nice Jenny Lind set, eh?” Shelly said, pointing at the screen. But she also swung around in her chair so she faced away from Joni’s office, then cocked her head backwards ever-so-slightly toward Joni. She tossed Brady a quick wink and a slight smile in one motion.

He bobbed his head up and down agreeably. “Yes. And I love cherry wood. Reflects the light wonderfully.”

My heart soared. I guess computer-techies aren’t always lunkheads after all.

Of course, Joni had tracked his movements since he appeared at our entry threshold. She pushed herself back from her desk with both hands and walked over to Shelly’s monitor.

“I need some coffee,” Shelly said as she excused herself.

Brady and Joni surfed through a variety of cribs until Shelly came back with a fresh mug. As she passed my office on the way to the coffeepot she smiled proudly. I gave her a quick thumbs-up while the other two were both dreaming of their family’s future.

Peace was restored.

I didn’t even call a Bloom Team meeting today. We can discuss the contest to The London Design Festival next week. Too many client calls and presentations and proposals.

Went for a short run tonight; wore long sleeves but not brisk enough for anything more than my shorts.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 17 2006 Entry

September 17. Sunday Night.

Hi Journey.

My body offered a deal on sleep today. “Get with it and bag at least twelve hours in bed this weekend, or else…” my legs said to me yesterday morning at six as I was rolling over to shut off the cell phone alarm before heading down to CoHo. Of course, my legs don’t speak in English; they speak in Pain. My right calf wrenched itself into a paralyzing Charlie Horse. “Back to bed. I’m on strike,” my calf said. “Get some sleep.”

So I did. Slept in until noon and then just spent rest of yesterday surfing the web. Journey I so horribly wish I could just jump on a jumbo jetliner and fly to Heathrow for the London Design Festival this week. Instead I just browsed their website. Most of the photos were from last year’s festival, but then I happened across a listing for Patricia Urquiola. Of course, that spawned more hopping across the web, and soon I was at the Artelano furniture site, sifting through images of delightful chairs that would fit perfectly in some of our Brentwood client’s homes.

And suddenly I wished Casey was here with me so I could wade through the French version of the site. Sure, the English on the site seems quite good but since it’s a French company I’m sure the vibrancy of the descriptions must be better in the mother tongue

Of course, Urquiola is Spanish, so the soul of her chairs shines through, regardless of language.

And then it hit me: What if Crystal Designs sponsored a contest for a getaway-for-two to the Festival next year for our clients? It could certainly be easy enough to set up. I’d simply enter every one of our clients automatically and then send out an announcement. Or as an alternative we might even create a contest form on the newsletter and ask people to send us an email or give us a ring to let us know they’re interested in being entered.

And then, of course, the lucky winner would jaunt off to London to attend next year’s show. Afterward we could have a great client party and have the winner present a little slide-show overview of their trip.

I think it’d be just smashing, J.

Of course all the costs and can’ts cascaded into my mind immediately. Too much money, hassle, time away, lack of focus from our core group…blah, blah, blah.

Nevermind. I shoved the accountant’s half of my brain aside and let the promotional wheels turnabout at high speed for an hour. Tuesday I’m going to bring the notion up at the Bloom Team meeting.

Guess my legs didn’t lie--I needed to rest. This contest is the first truly good idea I’ve had in a month.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 14 2006 Entry

September 14. Thursday Night.

Hi Journey.

My big sister has to know I hate to be sitting around doing nothing. So when the Skype bell clamored up from my laptop’s tinny speakers this morning I scrambled to plug in my headset even as my mind wondered if it was Carmen or Casey.

“What are you doing up?” Sisi asked.

“Grinding through some fresh designs for a couple of new clients. I needed some caffeination-inspiration. How about you, Carm?”

“Packing,” she said routinely. “We’re coming home.”

I slapped my cup of Haitian Bleu Voodoo to the floor as my hands burst up and away from the keyboard in a double-fisted victory salute. Fortunately, nobody was sitting near enough to hear as I let out a war hoop she could’ve heard in Tokyo without the internet phone.

“When?”

“About a month.

A sudden terror fastened itself around my neck. “Did Percy get let go?”

“No. Better. He’s turned his division around. Sales are up 50%. His Japan manager is squealing over Percy’s leaving, but the big boys back in corporate in New York are screaming louder, and their voices are a bit closer to the CEO.”

“Don’t you have people living in your house?”

“The tenants have a year lease, but there’s a clause in it that states we can give them two months notice if we are reassigned back to the States. Benefits of marrying a lawyer, you know. We may be in temp quarters for a while, but I don’t care. I’d just about winter in a tent at this point,” she said.

“Maybe you Siriso’s can swing through Egypt en route,” I suggested.

She laughed. “As usual, Casey’s ahead of us both when it comes to travel. She’s arranged a two day stopover at Narita on her way up from Noumea. It’s one of her usual roundabout routings.”

“First class, I’ll bet.”

“That’s our girl,” Sisi said.

“Yep, and I’m afraid Cora is going to imitate her. All she can talk about is Egypt and Auntie Casey and why can’t we go to live there, Mommy? And when is Auntie Casey coming back to Japan to bring me some more jewelry?”

I pulled my face and voice into a faux-pout. “What, Cor doesn’t want to work on designs at oh-dark-thirty like her Auntie Crystal? I’m shattered.”

“Yeah, I can feel the cuts from the ground glass all the way over here. Look, I need to go. Still need to call the folks. Only reason I let the cat out of the bag with Casey before you was because she and I were IM’ing when Percy came home an hour ago and told me.”

“OK, just make sure you let me know once you call Mom so I don’t accidentally steal your thunder.”

“You got it,” she said.

“Love you, Carm.”

“I love you back. Can’t wait until I squeeze the breath out of you, Crystal. You better be there in New York to help us unpack. Bye.”

I wouldn’t miss it, J. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 12 2006 Entry

September 12. Tuesday Night.

Hi Journey.

Casey says it’s quite easy moving so often. But I’d go crazy if I had to cram everything I owned into a backpack and a duffle and cart it halfway around the world. She hasn’t nailed down a move date, yet, but probably sometime in the next month. Egypt. It’s just nuts. But, that’s my little sis.

Note to self: make sure to Skype Carm soon to discuss. Better include Mom on the call, so she doesn’t feel left out. I haven’t phoned the folks in over two weeks. And no, J, “busy” doesn’t cut it as an excuse.

OK, guess what the new guy does? He sells paint. Paint! When she told me that in her last email, my fingers burned to type right back: “Run away. Run away fast!” But I was good.

And he doesn’t exactly sell just the paint; he is a painting contractor. And he has a very eclectic clientele: upscale hotels. That’s why he was there in Noumea; he and his crew were repainting the lobby of the Ibis.

I did ask her if he had meltaway eyes. No answer from Sis on that one, yet.

I’m all in, J. Had to back-up Dana on two pitches and Shelly on a third today. Plus, Joni was out sick so I stayed extra late to get out three invoices. Treated myself to a long run.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 10 2006 Entry

September 10. Sunday Night.

Hi Journey.

The cemetery in September is quieter than summer, and so there was an opportunity for intimacy yesterday during my visit with Mattie.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I said as soon as I settled into my blue fold-up camping chair. The day was cool, with just a slight breeze rolling across the grass and the headstones. Wyuka is an old cemetery, and most of the headstones stand upright instead of lying flat on the ground. A third of these vertical veterans are of an old enough vintage that they’ve started to list a little. One day they’ll all be flat, like the owners that lie underneath them.

Mattie’s doesn’t tilt at all. Not yet. Her Joel’s only been parked here for twenty years. Still, a-leaning is inevitable; no matter how solid of a foundation you provide for a tombstone, the ground underneath always slides away.

“Casey’s pulling up stakes again, Mattie. She’s moving to Egypt, of all places. I know it’s crazy, but apparently she’s done with whatever gig really really called her to New Caledonia. I’ve been corresponding with Sid. We’re talking in a sort of code--juvenile, I know--but it’s ‘cause I’m afraid somebody’s after my sister. Somebody like the CIA or Interpol or an outfit like that; but so far Sid hasn’t been able to come up with anything definite. Quite frankly Mattie I’m scared that she saw something overseas or was simply on a bus or a flight with the wrong people. And sometimes I wonder if she might just be in trouble with some terrorists.”

There. The truth’s out, and with it some little trace of that fear I’ve kept pent up inside of me for so long. It’s one thing to jot down your feelings in a note and FedEx them off to a good friend like Sid; it’s another to hear yourself confess them out loud at the graveside of somebody you love.

Talking about the terrorists and the threat to my sister dredged up thoughts of tomorrow, J. I don’t want to think about it--I tend to turn off the TV retro-specials and the radio. Tomorrow-minus-five is all they’ve been talking about on KAAZ talk radio lately. I’ve just had to switch it off in the Corolla when I drive back and forth from the shop.

“The Corolla’s still holding up, Mattie. You’d be proud of me; I’m not vampiring any extravagant-living funds out of my business. Not at all. We had enough for bonuses for all the staff at Fourth of July time, and I even paid myself a little bit this time. Started a down payment fund for a house. Of course, the folks would loan me the money--give me the money is more like it--but I’d rather they just enjoy it. Anyway, you know I want to earn it on my own. Mom and Dad are well, Mattie. They are back in Florida after the Japan trip, but they seem to be enjoying themselves.”

I sat there for a while, talking, mostly just a monologue about business and family. I dumped off a lot of my worries about Dana and Viv; let her know Joni was pregnant. Mattie had never met Joni but had talked with her on the phone at the shop when Joni had answered. After a while I pulled out my newest book, the one with the scarlet cover. There were a few surprises inside, Journey. But just now the phone’s ringing and I have to go.

Goodnight, Journey

P.S. It was Dakota; she just wanted to chat. She couldn’t sleep, remembering tomorrow-minus five. It’s a lot more intimate for her, being in New York. I listened for an hour. Friends, you know, J. Friends.

And oh, I forgot--they did have lilacs to put on Mattie’s grave, J. ‘Nite.

Crystal Trino's Journal Sept 7 2006 Entry

September 7. Thursday Night.

Hi Journey.

I am very tired. Anxiety weakens me. I won’t die (OK, at least I hopenot to) anytime soon, but death has weighed heavy on my mind lately. First the Chris dreams--and yes, J, mercifully they are gone--but now I’m deluged with memories of Mattie.

Tomorrow is that girl’s birthday. Odd to think of my mentor as a girl, I know, but that’s how I’ve pictured her in my mind of late. I see that little girl at the Akron library, surrounded by maps and atlases and almanacs and encyclopedias and journals from the Royal Geographical Society. I see her in that library in Akron brimming over with joy at the wonders yet to be found in the child’s undiscovered world. That’s the way I picture her in heaven, meandering about among the Lord’s marvels.

And yes, I’ll run out to Wyuka and lay flowers on her grave, but probably not until Saturday. I don’t think she’d mind if I I’m a day late.

And I’ll tote along my lawn chair, and some sandwiches and sodas. Winter’s coming ‘round again sooner than I ever want to admit and I think one last picnic at Wyuka is in order.

I wonder if any shops in town have lilacs this late in the summer?

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal September 5 2006

September 5. Tuesday Night.

Hi Journey.

I waited to go out. Waited to go back to the alley behind our shop where that empty red journal leaned up against the wall of my shop like a delinquent waif.

I waited all through Labor Day. You should be proud of me, J--I only spent two hours there at the shop yesterday, culling through some paint swatches for Joni’s baby’s room. I know it’s a good three months away, yet, but I want everything we do for that kid to be so spot-on. Cora’s halfway around the world, and I suppose deep down I feel this new baby can be a surrogate niece (OK, or nephew) for me, right here at home.

Remind me to give Carm a call later this week, OK, Journey?

Joni emailed me the rough draft for this month’s home edition of our newsletter yesterday, so I spent a few minutes correcting a few typos on it. No need for any big overhaul of her draft; she’s turning into a decent writer.

But I snuck a look in the alley Monday. The book was still there, ramroad stiff as a soldier at attention. And it was still there this morning when I cracked open the back door for a quick peak, and again at noon, and yes it still hadn’t moved this evening when I called it a day.

I left work through the back door and looked up and down the alley to guarantee nobody was out snooping. I bent down quickly and snatched up the journal and stashed it inside my briefcase. There was a faint trace of scent about it, pleasant enough, but I couldn’t quite place it as I drove home with the book sitting on the Corolla’s passenger seat.

And now it’s tucked safely under my mattress. It’s mine now, J, and I know it seems silly but I don’t want anybody else finding it.

Goodnight, Journey

Crystal Trino's Journal Sep 3 2006 Entry

September 3. Sunday Night.

Hi Journey.

No dreams! I’m so way glad they’re gone. I wanted nothing more than good sleep these past several nights and at least that dream’s come true.

OK, baaad pun, I know, Journey. But allow me a little levity, OK? The bags under my eyes have almost disappeared. No more cover-up needed.

Good weekend. Spent all day yesterday at shop; blew through paperwork like I was on fire so that by eleven in the morning I was cleared to rough out some new plans for a couple of Dana’s clients. She’s secured two more on her own these past few weeks--closed them mostly on her own with just a little help from Shelly.

Looks like the Viv-Dana tag-team may be history. They’re still talking and taking lunches together, but those girls aren’t glued at the hip anymore.

Viv was out sick Friday. I’m not sure if she really was or not. As her boss I wish she’d just ask for time off rather than lying, but the Friday before Labor Day weekend is typically pretty slow, anyway. Besides, she’s lugged in her fair share of clients in August, too.

I took my trash out late Saturday afternoon. I hate waiting til after dark to tote it out; and I never venture out there in the rain. Anyway, there was an old writing journal propped up against the brick wall of our building, just behind the wheels of the dumpster. It was nearly an inch thick, and covered with a scarlet-colored cloth binding. That cover looked worn but not faded, like it had rubbed lightly back and forth against its neighboring books inside a trunk on a long ocean or train voyage. It was A4 size, very popular in Europe. I looked to be in good shape, as though it hadn’t sat outside long.

I crouched down like a soldier examining a potentially booby-trapped gift. It seemed to be a mere abandoned book. I picked it up. Immediately its weight surprised me. The pages inside were lined, white vellum, and several of them were stuck together; although whether this was from getting wet in the rain or from having pages pressed one atop the other too quickly before the ink had dried I couldn’t tell. I’d need to pry those glued-together sheets apart with a thin-bladed knife, if I was to avoid tearing them.

There was no writing at all on the inside cover or the flyleaf, no trace of ownership. All I had to do was take it inside and it was mine.

I propped the book up against the wall of our building, exactly as I’d found it. After all, it wasn’t in the dumpster. Lord only knew who had stashed it there. I didn’t want to heist some poor street person’s diary.

Tuesday. If it’s still there Tuesday night I’ll claim it then.

Goodnight, Journey