Here: I write. Alot. I have reviewed and compiled 256 snippets and/or makeshift chapters, numbered each, and now I am seeing how they 'fit' together. In other words, which belong at the beginning, in the middle, at the crumbled end: how shall I reveal my characters, the setting, the insights and the transformative events and lessons? My friend Susan said, "Oh, you mean that book you started two years ago?" She is such a wise guy, and I know she is encouraging me in her own way. It is Susan who looked at some of the artwork in my house and said, "That needs to go! Nobody smiles in those paintings! Put that part away for good." She is right about that too.
Change of topic: I haven't said much about my beloved old girl Stella lately. She is so noble and brave. The muscle mass in her right rear leg has atrophied to the point where the leg often cannot hold her and she is prone to falling. This has cramped the length and joy of her walks and sometimes JB and I look at one another wondering if the time will be soon that the joy of her body massages and cookies and now chicken in her meals will be enough. We have this contraption that wraps around the lower part of her body and it has a handle so we can hold and keep her legs up. But we haven't used it yet. It is a clear announcement that she will no longer make do on her own walks, and in her own way, and ours, we're not ready for that yet.
.JB and I fell asleep on the couch last night, dressed and accessorized. Who cares?! I wrote this morning, we met with a realtor to rent out this place for a couple of weeks this summer (a financially responsible thing to do). We walked to the corner for breakfast (marianne and lo, yes, there), I have been blogging and cursing blogger for the comment problems, and tonight we will have pizza and salad here with old friends.
It's a good thing I walked along the beach yesterday and across town the day before because writing is so sedentary!When I'm in the zone, I have to remember to move.
The town is hopping with visitors kicking off the sart of summer. The bay inlet is still pristine, not yet traces of fuel oil from the motor boats just past the jetty. The sky blues and pinks and oranges are spectacular, the ocean glistens with thousands of tiny pearl lights bouncing of it, the art galleries are wondrous and stimulating, the folks here are jovial and easy going.
I have alot of history here, most of it awesome. August of 2008 was my the lowest. I don't talk about it too much anymore, and I can tell my emotions and armor have shifted for the better. But some things I think we're meant to carry. Maybe they build character, expand compassion, soften the unexplainable.
Two days ago, just before dusk, I saw dozens of gulls flying and gliding with the wind. The wind must have been perfect for them because they moved their wings effortlessly, if at all, banded together toward where?--maybe their perfect spot on this thin strip of beach.
But there was one gull who had fallen behind and was struggling mightily to keep his/her wings moving. S/He was obviously hurt and giving everything to keep up with his tribe. I wanted to help that gull. I stood on the sidewalk and I looked up and my mind flashed through the possibilities of how I could rescue that gull. Even though I knew better.
I was witnessing something between a gull and nature and it could not be my business. I was reminded again of what I continually need to know: there are times when caring and trying simply can't and won't make things my way. I don't like that I've been taught this lesson, but it's one I know I need to know.
Oh, and did I mention we're not here alone?