Jocund day stands tiptoe


This is in France. I am not in France. But this is what I mean when I say
that I felt as though I was floating inside a Monet. If I had let go of the
Earth while gazing into this morning's sky, I would have ended up here.
(The image is The Cliff, Étretat, Sunset, held by the North Caroline Museum
 of Art,which is pleasantly ironic seeing as how I am *in* North Carolina.)
OK, this caption has gone on long enough. 

I'm trying not to lament that I have finally gotten my groove now that it is nearly time to leave the beach. I spent the first several nights here up late, mostly to spend time with my sister, who is a night person, including the night Z and I both stayed up so my sister could bleach streaks into Z's hair. These are vacation things. These are good. But I not a night person any more. The morning holds much more mystery and allure for me. Waking late, often second only to my sister, has been disorienting and slightly dissatisfying to me. Yesterday I managed to be up at dawn. This morning even slightly earlier. I am at peace.

Being up that early meant I got to do a little yoga and hold my baby nephew and chat with my mom, all before watching the rise of the hot pink orb of the sun and the multicolored lightening of the sky behind the layers and layers of  clouds until it felt for a moment as though I was floating inside a Monet painting. After the sky resolved itself into grey and the ocean into an expanse of mottled dull green, I took a long walk on the beach (for the first time this week). When I got back the children weren't even up yet.

Reading: Without a hint of irony, I am spending my vacation reading a book called Overwhelmed, about harried, fractured, too busy lives and the problem of "time deficit." I'm reading this over time with a group. They discussed the section on Work in my absence last weekend. I am just now starting that section, and without hurry making my way towards the Love section that we will discuss in a couple weeks.

 Writing: I've gotten remarkably little writing done this week. That is OK. As with the reading, I am embracing my vacationing status.

Dinner: Last night we ate out. I had Campari and soda with a twist of orange before, then she-crab soup and chicken paillard with a glass of vinho verde.

Soundtrack: The local oldies station plays stuff from the early 80s. The oldies music channel on the TV plays everything from Smokey Robinson to Conway Twitty.

Random thing: Sitting and watching the sky this morning, I also got to see one of the lovely, sleek, yellow-eyed beach grackles drinking from a puddle on the roof of the fishing shop next door. He stood perfectly mirrored by his reflection, beak touching beak as he leaned down to drink, both images fanning their tails and arching their necks to call cha-cha-cha-chirrup into the sun.

Final note: Today's title is from Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 5

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sick Days

Image
I'm on day 2 of being sick, after spending a day with a sick O, and I am fighting terrible feelings of self-doubt and lurking failure. This is a normal way to be when sick, I suppose, but it comes at a time when I was already struggling against despair. Why despair? Because I am genetically predisposed? Because I am working too much and I'm worn out? Hormones? Yes. Yes. Probably. Because the BiP is more a fantasy than a reality at this point? (For those keeping track, NaNoWriMo feels to me more like NoNeGoWriMo ~ Not Never Gonna Write More.) The last is probably the clincher. Whenever I lose track of my writing I get desperate. This is an ongoing dance I do with myself. Commit to the writing ~ do the writing ~ neglect the writing ~ hear the writing whispering recriminations ~ avoid the writing ~ loathe self and others ~ eventually get back to the writing (repeat). Wouldn't it be nice if we could lose steps 3, 4, & 5? Hope in a Prison of Despair , pre-raphaelite painting...
Read more

Bait Fish

Image
David made fun of me when I told him, two weeks ago, that I had "started writing the first post" for this blog. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked, knowing perfectly well that I do. I probably threatened to throw something at him. I erased that fragment of first post. It was too mannered and laborious. It was all about what I want this blog to be about. It was all about my anxiety of influence re certain other writers (namely George Eliot), and about the wonder of coming upon a manuscript of Middlemarch in the British Library about 5 million years ago, and the little paperback reproduction of her quotation-filled blotter I bought in the gift shop. The paperback looks like this. (I haven't actually read it.) Miraculously, I was able to find it in less than 5 minutes, despite the shocking disarray of my bookshelves ... it was on the attic stairs. ( more on bookshelves in some other post ) In the intervening two weeks, I have made a list of possible topics fo...
Read more

Under 20, dammit

Image
Anita Loos photographed by Edward Steichen presence of photo explained below, as though a picture like this requires an explanation. This exercise in blarg-- blerg-- uh, blogging is enjoyable, but I think I have been breaking my 20-minute rule rather regularly. So, the challenge now is to keep it under 20. And, somehow, it took me 2 minutes to write that first sentence. No wonder it is taking me so long to write the tome of tomorrow ... that's my official new name for it. Tome of Tomorrow, or ToT for short. No more of this BiP or E(ndless)BiP or what have you. Reading: Continuing on with the Lurie. Looking forward to beginning something new tomorrow. Also, the writing letters chapter from Bird by Bird Writing: Muchly, at the hospitable Donkey. Dinner: O and I made a nice succotash with shallots and a splash of half and half to perk up the frozen limas and corn. My mom made a second night of Yorkshire pudding, because she could. If you have bothered to render suet, you might as wel...
Read more