The last time I sat on a beach like this was in the summer of 2003, reading Chevalier's A Girl with Pearl Earring. Since then, I have become more self-conscious of how I use my time ... and words.
It is when the waves roll in and out that I feel I have the energy to pick up a pen and start writing. I've got a stroller, a bag full of baby wipes, diapers and $5.00 in dimes.
Seagulls make their way towards us but maintain their distance. Finding our groove, off the consumer belt - like all of Southern California, the thoughts do not stop. "Do we/I have enough of this?" Isolation and consumer spending versus the tense political climate in Israel.
I've been following the sea's angles but not for long. I've sidetracked myself thinking I've been to this military island just outside San Diego known as Coronado.
I'm keeping tack of the pennies, the waves, the permanently sandy bathing suit, the side shot of weather, the coolness of the oceanside.
What have I been doing all these months struggling to find the right words, the right niche of expression, the right glove that fits?
While I cannot write until I am emotionally settled I have squeezed enough travelling time into thoughts.
The sea spaces time and places yet has the lofty effect of putting them in the centerfold.Like picking up after my two boys. I sometimes leave cleaning in the hands of fate, but not when picking up actually settles me down ... maybe not enough time to write but enough time to become a writer of being.
1 comments:
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