Posts Tagged ‘John Updike’

A Day Off

July 10, 2017

To remember.

Nothing striking or out of the ordinary.

But just a lovely day.

A sweet day.

A day when the fog actually lifted and I saw some sunshine, surprisingly late in the day too, it cleared off around 6:30p.m. and was clear all the way through to sunset.

Albeit chilly, it was such a welcome reprieve from the constant summer fog that I made up my mind right quick to get out into that sunshine and eat it up.

I deserved a sunshiny walk on the beach.

I did a lot today.

Laundry, grocery shopping, cooked two separate meals, both lunch and dinner so that I would have plenty of food prepped for the week and then some to toss in the freezer.

I made a sort of jambalaya, my own edited version, with shredded roast chicken, shrimp, Andouille sausage, pork, corn, black olives, onion, garlic, brown rice, crushed tomatoes.

Super yummy and I froze 3/4s of it.

I ate a big bowl for lunch, put a couple of containers in the fridge for meals and I also roasted a chicken for dinner–I happily ate salt and pepper roasted chicken with tarragon butter and brown rice that I seasoned with turmeric, Spike, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper–savory rice.

I love cooking and I love having a full fridge at the beginning of the week so I don’t have to squeeze in a shopping trip to the store when I am in the middle of a full tilt boogie schedule.

I also went to yoga and got my sweat on, super challenging class, I fell in one of the poses.

Splat!

On my belly and just laughed out loud.

So I feel, so what?

I tried the pose.

I am certain I will fall again, as long as I can laugh at myself, though, then I’m ok.

When I start taking myself to seriously then I know I am in trouble.

I met with a lady as well and did the deal and read and talked and fuck.

It was so good.

I called my person and had a good long check in.

I called a friend who’s going through a hard time and suffering a big loss.

I had a really nice and connected day.

I also took a car over to Cheap Pete’s and picked up my two prints that I brought back from Paris.

I am super happy with the way they turned out and I spent some time re-arranging the art on my walls to accommodate the new pieces.

I don’t have much space, but I think I arranged things well and I’m very pleased with the additions to my collection.

Very pleased.

I really do like my home.

It does feel like an extension of me, of my personality.

It is tiny, but it’s me and I am grateful for all the things I have and all the ways I get to express myself.

I also like that wherever I look there is something pretty to rest my eyes on.

This is my sanctuary and I adore it.

Sure.

I want more space.

But that will come when it comes.

I am experiencing this deepening of faith in places I never knew I needed to have deepened, seeing experiences and suddenly have the knowledge that though I did not know it at the time, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Seeing what I needed to see.

And being seen.

Regardless of my ignorance.

I was seen.

And all the things that have led me here were all the experiences I need to have.

So being in this little in-law at the edge of the city, by the edge of the sea, for whatever length of time I am supposed to be is quite fine by me.

I am happy.

I am warm.

My home is sweet and I have precious memories of every foot of it that make me smile when I least expect it.

I have been smiling a lot recently.

I repeat.

I am very happy.

And yes.

Life is full.

But I had such a restful day.

Yes, I did do a lot, but I found all sorts of down time too.

I read a little bit from a novel, novel that, reading something that is not psychology related, a John Updike novel I had gotten last year for my birthday.

My birthday is in December.

Ahem.

I don’t have much down time for pleasure reading, and sometimes I feel that I shouldn’t even, but in the end it was too delicious to not.

I also read a few more letters in the book of Chopin’s Letters that were sweet and nostalgia inducing.

I love the old language used, laced with bits of French.

Lines that caught my attention I underlined and starred, the turn of a phrase that I found enchanting or a sentiment that I echoed and felt stir me.

“I kiss you heartily.  Remember me as I remember you.”

And this.

“I wrote it only to arouse a pleasurable emotion, such as greetings usually produce.”

How often have I written something just for the pleasurable emotion of the writing?

So often.

And.

“I press you to my lips and say goodbye till we meet.”

And.

“Give me a kiss, My Life.”

I love how he capitalized “My Life,” how important the person to whom he is writing becomes as I read the letter.

I sat in the sun on my back porch and read these letters and glowed.

Then.

Yes.

I decided it was time for a walk on the beach and it was as I had hoped.

Deserted.

The all day long fog and chilly breezy had deterred most of the city from even bothering with going out to the beach.

I saw one tourist family picnicking.

A father and son in wetsuits with boogie boards.

A couple walking a dog.

A paddle boarder out in the surf.

And me.

There was no one there.

Me, the sand, the ocean, God.

It was beautiful.

I walked the surf, rolled my jeans up, they are still a little damp hours later where a high tide splashed me, stuck my flip-flops in my basket bag and collected seashells.

Yes.

I did.

I collected shells.

Shush.

That’s the kind of girl I am.

I write poetry and collect sea shells and I am just fine with that.

I get to be many, many, many things.

And now that my well is replenished.

I will go back to being a nanny and a therapist.

The week is full.

But full in a good way.

Thank you Sunday for your gifts.

I feel that Monday and I shall be great friends just from the beautiful reprieve I had today and all the things I got to do to take care of myself.

Luckiest damn girl in the world.

Seriously.

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Making it One Gig at a Time

February 4, 2013

I had my first of the long baby sitting shifts today.

I actually got done 45 minutes early, which was a relief, even though I ended up hitting the Metro commute traffic twice in one day.

There was commuter traffic on the trains this morning, but mostly coming in from the Periphery, not so much heading out.

I got up at 6 am

I did the deal.

I wrote my three pages long hand.

I ate a good breakfast and had two cups of coffee before scooting out the door.

It was still dark when I left this morning and it was dark upon my return.

I soon must to be in bed as well.

I am not fond of the hours, but I am fond of the fact that I just put 100 Euro towards February rent, which was due four days ago.  My roommate knows that the money is coming, I expect my tax return any moment now.  But it is still really nice to just fork it over, in good faith.

I bought some groceries and I will get paid for tomorrow and I have another gig starting on Wednesday.

I actually have a really full week.

Twelve hours tomorrow, nine hours on Wednesday, meet up with a friend from San Francisco in the evening–he’s coming in via Thailand and I have not see in him in years it feels like, he’ll be in Paris for a couple of months doing work, it will be good to get a little San Francisco flavor here.  Then meet with a ladybug Thursday morning, do the deal at noon, then off to the suburbs on the other side of town to see Corinne and the new baby.

Friday brings a distinct repeat of Thursday with a different lady and then a meet up at Shakespeare and Company with a new friend who may be interested in starting a writers group.  We were supposed to meet last Friday but her husband had to have an emergency root canal.

That shit scares me.

I have nice teeth.

I would like to keep them.

Small aside, really what is the deal with dental floss and why isn’t there any in the store?  I found one, ONE, container of dental floss in the toothpaste aisle.  Flossing, Frenchies, it is important, especially with all the coffee and cigarettes and red wine being imbibed.

I have stellar, rock star teeth in comparison to a lot of the folks I see.

Even on the television today I noticed that.

What is it with a certain economic status, the couch is shite, the flooring scary, there is not any wall decorations pantings or posters hanging on the walls, but my God, there is a state of the art, huge, flat screen television with cable and dvd player and speakers and God only knows how many remotes.

Poverty equals huge television apparently.

I remember a movie that Spike Lee did that I don’t think got paid much attention and it probably should have, called “Bamboozled,” and one of the scenes shows a bunch of squatters in a tenement in with a miraculous amount of cables and wires and McGyvering of extension cords bundled to a television.

I always think of that, checking out through the television and how strapped to the television the impoverished are.

I have not owned one in about fifteen years.

I do watch some television, I won’t lie, I like to down load stuff, but I cannot remember the last time I watched a commercial all the way through.

The French television stations were interesting as I flipped through, the enumerations of MTV channels, the sports shows, the cooking shows, the fashion show channel.

Now I was down with that.

The Paris Spring runways are happening and it was just beautiful clothes gliding down runways with designer disco music playing in the background.

It was like watching Project Runway with none of the drama.  In fact, it was rather soothing.  I watched for a while, but mostly I just read.

Baby sitting equals getting paid to read while naps are happening.

I finished the David Sedaris book, and I started in on The White Review I had gotten from the boy with the Irish eyes.

Said eyes, I noticed yesterday are not actually blue, but more like a sea glass green.

Stunning.

He loaned me The White Review, a collection of essays, poems, articles, and interviews–with the interview of Will Self that we had discussed last week, and I swapped him the newest Will Self-Umbrella.

I will most likely finish the Review tomorrow and I will get started on the Chuck Pahalniuk I picked up last week.  I think, if I do end up going to Shakespeare and Company Friday I am also going to pick up Irvine Welsh’s Skag and if I can nail down a copy of it, finally, Stephen King’s book On Writing.

What I appreciate reading, and why I am just now getting it I don’t know, but….thank God I am allowing myself the ‘pleasure’ of the work, is Will Self reiterating what I have been hearing more and more of, to be a good writer you have to read.

I just used to think I was copping out, checking out, losing myself in words.

And while there is some, possibly a great deal, of validity in this, there is also just the pure joy I get from reading and I know that when I read a good book, Faulkner’s The Sound and The Fury was a huge inspiration when I was writing the last full length manuscript I wrote.

John Updike’s complete works carried me through the rough draft of Baby Girl.

John Irving’s oeuvre brought me through the rough draft of The Iowa Waltz.

Self used a word I had not seen in print in some time “pernicious”.

I fucking love it.

I love words.

I get off on words.

I have two solid hours tomorrow to get my read on.

Ready for it.

And now I basically have to get ready for bed.

So I can get up and write again.


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