Tuesday, September 18, 2007…Just Another Day in Paradise

As I sit here and attempt to get ready for a short day of writing on our site, I can’t help but think about the summer’s passing and arrival of fall.  Where did the time go?  Did I sleep through it?  Was I so concerned about other things (be they useless or not) that I managed to float above the warmest season and land in the midst of brisk mornings and falling leaves?  But as I always say, if you spend too much time wondering where time has gone, you miss the current.  Maybe I spent the summer wondering where the time went and therefore forced myself into missing the whole damn thing.  Ah, but that must be a thought for yet another day.

So I sit here searching for some sort of inspiration, a muse if you will, to set me forth onto the right path.  I believe I have all of the necessary “calling” tools…burning insense, a patchouli candle lit in the next room…perhaps the reasoning behind my ”loss for words” lies in the mystical box in the next room- the televison, and it’s completely useless  words of “no wisdom” that permeate the parlor… Ah, I need to find the remote. 

Last night I tried my absolute hardest to relax and clear my mind so that today I could embark on a mental journey to carry me into writing a proverbial masterpiece.  I poured a bath filled with aromatheraputical mineral salts and of course, bubbles.  Lots of bubbles.  Bubbles were coming out of bubbles.  So I put my hair up in a funky headband (that reminded me of a distinct “I Love Lucy” episode I saw when I was 6), sat in the steaming hot water (filled with bubbles), popped open my latest read from Anthony Bourdain and as I watched a single droplet of water wiggle it’s way down the page, I began to think.  How can I help my friend become amazingly successful with her new yoga studio?  Why is my son banging on the bathroom door when I specifically remember an additonal such room in the house?  Is my daughter posting yet another “bulletin” on her MySpace page? Why am I attempting to read an obviously non-waterproof book in the tub?  Do I really have nothing better to do than lie in bubbles? So then I began to read the preface of the book and began to realize what I love so much about the written word, especially ones that are crafted together by such a master as Anthony Bourdain.  He went on and on about a family he was hanging with somewhere around the Hudson Bay, and how they were devouring a seal which was caught and slaughtered by both himself and a member of said family. So I began to think once again: “AB can certainly paint a visual picture in the mind of his readers.  Maybe this book was sent to me as my inspiration, even though I am not a fan of cooking, especially not of seals and the extreme culinaries of the uncivilized (or sparsely civilized) areas of the world filled with those who need to eat this stuff for survival. But the words are there in their glory.  Will I master this craft and be able to create such a memoir for future generations to read?  Will my life actually warrant such an endeavor?  Will my friend who speaks in such a colorful manner ever record his stories and one day hire a transcriber to create his memoirs?  God, I wish he would.  Will my bubbles survive long enough for me to finish the first chapter?  Where did my son go?  Is there only a half day of school tomorrow? Am I ever going to paint the living room…after all, I did buy the paint last week?  Did I pick the right colors?  Yoga starts tomorrow night….where are my yoga pants?  Oh God, all that laundry to do…and tomorrow is in fact a half day of school.”  So I got out of the tub, aggrivated that the bubbles had not dissipated completely and I wasted them…all as I brought to life a failed attempt to relax and clear my mind.

I’ll try again tonight via yoga….