Mendelopacious

mendelopacious (adj.) - indicative of great joy because of or relating to Mendacious and Penelope; to experience mendelopation (n.) or excessive happiness due to the presence of Mendacious and Penelope; of or relating to the act of mendelopating (v.) or spending quality time with Mendacious and Penelope. ex. A mendalopacious week was experienced recently, filled with mendelopation over mendelopating with both Mendacious and Penelope.

Mendelopacious outing with Mendacious
Huntington Beach, California

Mendacious and I met once before when Penelope married, but it was well before blogdom blossomed and we were fully aware of the nature of our soul connection. This time, however, I knew when I spied her through the glass - "This is Mendacious!"

We hugged the lovely sort of hug one shares with one's wayfaring soul upon meeting for the first time - a sort of strong, instant embrace filled with warmth and knowing and connection. And I climbed into her car and agreed to adventure and the promise of margaritas. We talked in this way that felt like we were picking up with a conversation begun many lifetimes ago, as though we both remembered the precise moment we left off, paused and began again.

There were in fact margaritas and a trip to the beach where we plopped down in the sand and made strange shapes from shell bits. We talked of the sand and how it is different from the East Coast. This Pacific sand is worn and natural and raw. It is integral sand. East Coast sand is admired and visited and enjoyed, but West Coast sand is habitual and used and incorporated. Mendacious, in all her tall vivacious glory, belonged here with this earthy, essential sand, and I heard the waves in the way that I hear all water - like a soothing lullaby. I spoke to a seagull and Mendacious understood and we talked of art and love and family and place and my still unattained passport and, of course, Penelope.

And we were mendelopated.

Mendelopacious outing with Penelope
Lake SinclairPenelope Pices met with a soon-to-be-31 Cancer at a lake in middle Georgia. Whereas Mendacious and me were known strangers among unknown strangers, Penelope and I were old friends among older friends. We sat in rocking chairs and watched the water sparkle hotly in the distance while the flush-cheeked Lo. Co. children climbed and gamboled around the porch. Back and forth, the chairs. Back and forth, the words. Back and forth, the stories. Back and forth, the snark.

And we picked up the thread just where we left off, knitting our tales, sewing our lives together; two vastly different patterns that most would never consider complimentary but somehow, upon closer inspection, matched in a lovely sort of mismatched way.

At dusk there were sparklers, and we drew our names in the air with fire - we two water signs - and laughed at the smoke and the crack and hiss and the familiar burning smell until the sticks went dark. And we laughed at the otherworldly fire-blurred pictures of ourselves.

And a mendelopacious time was had by all.