| Current mood: | wistful |
| Current music: | soft jazz |
halcyon's end
The Holidays and Halcyon definitely ended today—not with some stunning climax or a beautiful denouement, not with a triumphant "new beginning" or a plaintive, blues-wailing ending, but just with a slow, steady rain and the quiet business of taking-down lights, cutting the trees so that the middle school can have the trunks, and grinding slowly back up the hill for a regular week’s work. Yes, the Spirit shone forth on Epiphany; and, yeah, I feel both that the seasons and calendars have turned pages and that Suzy’s right—I do stand on the cusp of something spectacular. It’s a long cusp, tho, Suz. I’ve got a long-long road to travel and a lotta lotta work to do before all these fine promises come to fruition and fulfillment. It ain’t like Carl Sandburg or Robert Frost or some other American sap stading at the crossroads and brooding on the promises he has to keep; it’s just me standing at the four corners of Lyons Valley Road and Skyline Truck Trail, knowing I’m gonna keep running up and down these hills for quite a few days and nights before I finally can close the pasture gate and retreat to my next house at the beach. Still, I have faith that, when the cusp’s run its course and I’ve done the work, the beach house will be there, and the girls and I will fill it quite satisfactorily.
It’s okay.
I’d be lyin’ if I said I don’t get impatient. My blogs probably show that I get cranky and frustrated, I get fearful and I fill-up with loathing, and I fade in and out of my better self. Still, I gotta believe that my blogs also show my determined streak. I keep bloggin’ and sloggin’ away, and stuff gets done. And, yeah, just for the record and mostly for the sake of my own integrity, it does matter not only that stuff gets done but how it gets done. If it ain’t excellent, it ain’t finished. I couldn’t violate that principle if I tried—seven generations of Chicago pedigree have prgrammed it into my genes and jeans.
The work yields the satisfaction; the journey yields the joy. It really is okay.
I really am one of those characters who values the journey more than the destination; the roadside attractions typically beguile more than the magic kingdoms, and I frequently prefer singing oldies in the SUV to enduring "It’s A Small World" when we get there. Dorothy Parker wasn’t speaking just about Oakland when she claimed, "There’s no ‘there’ there." Most of Orange County and Los Angeles qualify for that description, too; the trip from here to Phoenix only becomes fun when you the long speedway between Casa Grande and Buckeye; the trip from here to Big Bear is only fun when you hit Highway 18. There’s way too much "not there yet" and not nearly enough "here we go!" Not a complaint; just a fact. And the very best always comes at the end, when a mocha and I fill the front seat, the dashboard lights osftly glowing and jazz playing faintly while the tired little campers fold-down the rear seats and dream dreams of all they didn’t quite do but will claim they did anyway. It’s not only that I don’t mind being sherpa, cabana boy, room service, concierge, fashion advisor, and personal tour guide when the girls and I go adventuring; it’s that I really thrive on knowing that I can do all that stuff for them. If only I had a partner—not to share the burdens or the work, but to share the joys and laughter, the silly inside jokes and the expressions that mean nothing beyond the confines of the car and hotel rooms. If only there were someone in classic 501’s, hair pulled-back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, flashing big, luminous eyes and a beautiful smile, both of which would signal, "Yes, honey, it really is just as wonderful as you think it is." If only…
But I can hope that, somehow, by some miracle still in the making, I’m on the cusp of that, too.
Meanwhile, there’s a story to finish, a novel to revise and then press to completion, a bunch of stuff to do for the fourth and fifth graders…and the softball season starts with tryouts next Saturday. Even with all the rain, I seriously doubt you’re gonna find moss on my south side.
Thank you, new friends who seem like buddies I’ve known forever, for checking in, reading all the way through the wall of words, and quoting the stuff you like, responding with comments, encouragement, and good wishes. I think everybody knows how thrilled and honored I feel that you visit me here; I think you know, too, that I’m devoted to showing my gratitude in the quality of my work—here where you can see, and out there in the big world, where maybe some day you’ll hear about it. Holdiays are over but the year’s young, and I’m looking forward to all the adventures it’ll bring. Thank you, friends, for tagging along with me and letting me tag along with you.
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