How Do I Feel About Writing?

In a Teaching Composition class, Dr. Deborah Dean, asked us to write our feelings about writing. Simple enough. Simple, unimaginative, explanation. Then she asked us to make a collage depicting how we felt about writing. I like this, I thought, playtime. In college! As the students began, there was a light hearted buzz.
As I looked through magazines in search of the images that would visually describe my feelings, I noticed the room was quiet except for the subtle snips of scissors. Everyone was engaged.
As I found the right interpretations for my feelings, I translated the images into new metaphors, "The glowing fire in the hearth reminds me that writing is an intimate experience. We cuddle up before our intended work; there is an energy source, and it brings warmth and comfort. Good writing draws you near it; the possibility of good writing draws you to the experience of trying."

Cell-less

It’s been two week s since I became cell-less. It is not intentional, though that seems like an idea of merit: new information that cell phones alter the brain?

I am cell-less because I have lost my phone. It has been disconnected and I await the arrival of my new phone. It has been too nice without it and now I look around the airport and the people connected to their cell phones look like two-year-olds with pacifiers.

Booty

River booty. I am river rafting down the Salmon River. The perfect trip. My husband, three of my four children, solitude, nature and someone else cooking the meals. One of the river guides is a muscular, handsome sixteen year old whom my six year old daughter has attached her self to. When given the chance, she snatches from his head a wonderful faded, khaki, safari hat. Perfectly worn, the combination of sun, water and wear, I understand why she goes for the hat. Or is it really theboy? Last day of the trip, we are docked, unloading and saying good-bye. My six year old is wearing the worn khaki safari hat. "Hey," I say, "give that back to John." John hears me but he wants her to have it. I insist that he take it back, but off he paddles, "It's river booty."

Beach booty. There is a long stretch of isolated California beach between two points of civilization, high-priced condominiums and a campground. One morning, a patch of turquoise blue catches my eye while running the beach. I turn around and pick up the sand encrusted bag. I wipe it off and find a soft suede pouch that reads Tiffanys. No way. Savoring the possibility of its contents, I keep running as fast as my imagination. Is it a large diamond, an emerald studded bracelet? A scorned lover's note is inside; she has reclaimed her independence by tossing his gift into the sea. There's a beautiful bracelet inside but the real jewel is the note.

Road booty. One morning I am home with a project of stapling six hundred pages. I don't have time for this but it has to be done. My first whack at the stapler and the staple emerges crooked and weak and the stapler is jammed. I pry it open to discover there are no staples. Still in my pajamas, 7:45 in themorning, I am driving my daughter to school. I pass in the road a shiny object that looks like a…no it couldn't be. I back up and closer to the shiny object, open the car door and lift with awe and reverence an office quality, brand new stapler full of staples. It's hard to imagine how a stapler landed here this morning; someone will miss it but if I leave it in the street it will be smashed unusable to anyone.

Give-Back Booty-Another beach walk, another day. I find a cap, dirty, filled with sand, Cayman Islands is embroidered on the front. I lovingly wash the sand out. It fits my head perfectly and has been worn to perfect softness. It is my favorite hat for years. One day, on a boat ride off the coast of Belize, the boat unexpectedly picks up speed and the hat is whipped from my head. I watch it fade into the wake. Easy come--easy go; hopefully, someone is feeling lucky.

The Discovery Channel--Live!

As we left the overly-abundant opulence of Hearst Castle, we made an unexpected discovery. There are no advertisements, no discount tickets, just a fascinating brush with nature. On Pacific Coast Highway 1, just 7.7 miles from San Simeon is a small stretch of beach named the Piedras Blancas Seal Rookery. It is a year round home to California’s enormous, Dr. Seuss looking, elephant seals.

Our arrival was mid-July; my husband and I were drawn to the northern California coast to drop our daughter off at EFY Santa Barbara, do some ocean kayaking and visit friends in Santa Cruz.

We pulled off the highway, enticed by a small sign announcing the rookery. Would we really be able to see, in their natural environment, a herd of elephant seals? We were joyously greeted with the sight and smell of hundreds of these sometimes-5000 pound beasts.

The Northern Elephant Seal or Mirounga angustirostris migrates thousands of miles twice a year to this small stretch of protected beach. Yet, there is year round activity and like all courses of nature, there are seasons for breeding, birthing, molting and even a male-dominance contest season. Our mid-July discovery was molting season, yet there were seals of all sizes including pups. We witnessed several sea battles though they seemed to be practice sessions.

Unless you are a die hard, wild animal-nature lover, the Piedras Blancas is not a Disneyland, a fabulous beach destination,-- nor a drawing card of its own. But it is one part of several that make a great vacation. Next: Santa Cruz Island or Channel Islands National Park.

Honestly, everytime I open up a well packaged box and find foam and cardboard used to protect the merchandise, I get a thrill.
My thoughts are, "This would make a great Barbie bathtub!" Look at the photo above: it looks like a faux stone barbie garden bench. The photo below would make a great hot tub!

Every Man Is Still A Little Boy

Little Thoughts on a Sunday Morning

Sunday morning on NPR there was an interview with evangelist Jim Wallis. I was moved by his quote, "hope is believing when there is no evidence and watching the evidence change." (It may be paraphrased). I am thankful for thoughts that provoke my contemplation. I realized that the evidence may not be what changes but our perception or our mind and heart's willingness to accept the previous unacceptable.

As I drove down the hill Sunday morning, I remembered the snowstorm the day before when my car couldn't make it up the hill. I didn't have the necessary 4-wheel drive to make it. My life is like climbing hills and my lack of 4-wheel drive was a moment of clarity that made me want to always have the right tools to climb the steep hills. Some of those tools are: prayer, scripture reading, love, humility...