You Sunk My Battleship, Herman!

   My Mona is terribly, awfully marred. Ona knows how hard I worked for my Mona. 730 nights I was suspended in a pitch black slumber tank, naked but for a nylon mask called a "love helmet" snug around my head and neck, lips spread by a tube providing oxygen. I had to prove myself, earn my Mona. Sleeping like a fish suspended in warm, viscous fluid with no light or sound takes willpower. I would dream of my Mona, her flaxen hair, wrapped around my head, neck, shoulders, arms, and torso, sealing her to me, mouths locked together, all through the night.
   Monas are delicate creatures. They have no free will of their own. Monas live to cook, clean, and pleasure. Such a beautiful, guileless creature may be granted to only one of hundreds of suitors vying for her companionship. Ona saw fit to grant me one after my 730th night in the tank. I had shown myself worthy.
  We lived in harmony for many months and one evening, after dinner, I brought out one of my favorite childhood games, Battleship. 
  "What's that?" Mona said, stroking her hair. Her voice high like the mew of a kitten.
  "Come here," I motioned for her to sit on the couch. She swept up her gown and sat gingerly beside me. I opened the board and gave her the battleship piece to hold. She held the grey plastic miniature as if it were a pearl.
  "What does it mean?" Mona asked.
  "I'll show you," I said. I mimicked a game for her and she watched every movement as if I was dissecting a frog's heart. And then, we played one game.
  To my surprise, she was quite good at Battleship. My Mona ascertained that I almost always placed my Battleship along the edge of the board, while she never had a reliable pattern, or a discernable tell. We played one game every night for two weeks. I quite enjoyed the ritual. And then, she won her first game.
   "D4."
   "YOU SUNK MY BATTLESHIP!" I cried.
   Mona yanked her hair from her face, her blue eyes bulged in confusion. I went to her side and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, stroking her arm, I reassured her that winning was a happy thing.
   Then three months after she won her first game, I came home from work and Mona asked me if I wanted her to make dinner? 
   "Of course," I replied. 
  She stood in the middle of the living room in her white gown.  Her yellow hair neatly braided away from her face, her downy eyebrows and long blond eyelashes were as angelic as before. Her eyes, however, normally dreamy, were alert to something I could not decipher from the placid expression, like a skim of porcelain serenity, on her unblemished face. 
  I should have known something was wrong when she asked me a question. Monas do not ask questions, they are not Bridgets or Tonas. It is not in their engineering to question, they intuit. She was asking me a question about a duty she was specifically created to perform and I should have returned her to the castle the very next day, but I did not want to spend one more night alone.
   A week later, I came home and found my Mona sitting on the floor in front of the battleship board. She was clearly in the midst of a game. 
   "You're playing Battleship all alone?" I said. There was a thundering BOOM inside my head. It is rare, but possible for a sore suitor who lost his bid to a Mona to find yours and deprogram her.  It takes a tremendous amount of skill and access to the sensory machine in the Castle, but it has been done before. 
   I heard the bathroom door open and a Tona walked into the living room. The strange Tona looked at me and walked out our front door without a word. 
   "Where did that Tona come from?"
   "302C."
   "Who is her suitor?"
   "Max Tripplehorn." 
   The name did not ring a bell, but I was far less alarmed at the sight of the red-haired Tona than if say, Max Tripplehorn had walked into our living room. I sat down on the other side of the game in progress.
   I asked, "Whose turn is it?"
   "Yours," she replied.
   I wished then that I had taken a look at her board, but that would have been cheating. The Tona was losing from the looks of it. The only thing left was one hit on her destroyer and one on her aircraft carrier. I had to make my next move count.
  "What was her last hit?"
  "A4."
  "Has she called A3, A5 or B4 yet?"
  "Yes."
  "Were they hits?"
  "D4," I said.
  "You sunk my Battleship, Herman!" Mona cried. 
  I pulled the cord of my imaginary horn for victory! 
  Mona stood up and announced, "I have to make souffle."
  We ate her expertly prepared souffle. After dinner Mona washed the dishes, while I watched the news. Since we had played Battleship, Mona prepared for the slumber tank. She is practically sewn into her gown with its yard or hooks on either side of her bodice and satin ribbons laced along her arms. I decided rather than reading, I would watch her undress. I placed a comfortable chair opposite her dressing mirror with a perfect view. 
  Her fingers move like a concert pianists' playing Mozart. Once unbound, the satin gown falls to the floor revealing her fine collar bone, her pomegranate breasts, and soft, smooth belly. Naked in front of the mirror I saw her do something shocking. My Mona smiled at herself. I saw it with my own two eyes. I could not miss the uplift of her rosy lips, for I was watching her intently.  Mona smiled at her own beauty. The shock of it made me gasp.
   "Mona," I was breathless."Did you smile at yourself?"
   She turned to me, the smile now gone, she answered simply, yes.
   
To Be Continued

Greener green

                   Slippery when _.

_ my whistle. 

                  Sopping _.

_ lands.

                _ behind the ears.

All _ . 

 Mt. Lemmon (Tucson, AZ)

     I am saturated. The green is greener here in Portland. The air is plump with moisture, not dry and jagged against the cheek, like in Southern Arizona.

     We are home for the time being. What a gift to wander around the continent with my pet. We have been hosted so well for the last six months in my parents' winter home in Green Valley. And now, we are cozy in a craftsman house in Northeast Portland, thanks to the generosity of a good friend. In the coming months I will write, work for money, and explore this beloved Pacific Northwest city.

Swan Island (Portland, OR)

     When I was here last June, I experienced Portland's shiny and bright side. As of this writing, I will have been here for 52 hours. I have spent that time in a dark and mossy cave.  The sky is always clouded over. The back porch is slick with moss and the ground is mushy. I have to wear layers now. Being this soggy will take some getting used to, but honestly, I am enjoying it! 

     I wonder, what kind of cave dweller am I? Am I a lumpy pile? Am I a dirt eater? Am I the kind that scales walls in search of a hole to sunny China?

     And so, my life has a new backdrop. But I am still the same girl who climbs mountains in monsoon to reach a radio tower, sweats from her eyeballs, and writes with courage, by wonder, and for love.