Memory lane

In the interest of providing you with SOMETHING to read despite my massive writer’s block, I give you an old journal entry…

Monday, Oct. 11, 2004 — afternoon of housesitting at Nicole’s

I’ve spent most of the day out here on the porch, eating, reading and napping. It’s a glorious fall day, sunny and warm, dry and quiet. A hummingbird occasionally visits, his wings thrumming a deep cello tone, as he (or she) looks for sweets. He finds none and flits away, tsk-ing in annoyance. A dog barks in the distance while another howls. A rooster inexplicably crows, forgetting the time. A breeze rustles through what’s left of the dying sycamore leaves, teasing a few more to the ground. The air smells medicinally clean and fresh, of eucalyptus and pine.

I wish I could stay here forever.

But it’s not my house and I have no money to buy one, nor enough to pay this kind of rent. Oh well, just another case of attachment, the Buddhists would say. Instead of enjoying the wonderful moment, I am bemoaning its end. So just stop it.

I love the slowness of life here. Now I understand how country folks of old could sit on their porches for hours, watching the world go by. It’s better than TV. I wish I could think of something more to write, but the sun is putting me back to sleep.

This would be so good for Robby, if only he’d give it a chance. I hope he does someday — maybe when we go hiking. Will I ever have the energy to drag him and E on an expedition? Is it lack of energy or, as Gramma used to say, laziness pure and simple? Inertia, that’s clear. Lethargy.

I should go do yoga and then take a drive with the camera. Go take the shots I missed on the road to Julian last week when the batteries died: the looming black hulks of burned trees from last year’s huge fire, the picturesque streets of Julian, the sign that reads, “Ass-Kicking Beef Jerky”.

I should, but there’s this inertia thing…