Saturday, June 28, 2014

Jocund day stands tiptoe


This is in France. I am not in France. But this is what I mean when I say
that I felt as though I was floating inside a Monet. If I had let go of the
Earth while gazing into this morning's sky, I would have ended up here.
(The image is 
The Cliff, √Čtretat, Sunset, held by the North Caroline Museum
 of Art,which is pleasantly ironic seeing as how I am *in* North Carolina.)
OK, this caption has gone on long enough. 

I'm trying not to lament that I have finally gotten my groove now that it is nearly time to leave the beach. I spent the first several nights here up late, mostly to spend time with my sister, who is a night person, including the night Z and I both stayed up so my sister could bleach streaks into Z's hair. These are vacation things. These are good. But I not a night person any more. The morning holds much more mystery and allure for me. Waking late, often second only to my sister, has been disorienting and slightly dissatisfying to me. Yesterday I managed to be up at dawn. This morning even slightly earlier. I am at peace.

Being up that early meant I got to do a little yoga and hold my baby nephew and chat with my mom, all before watching the rise of the hot pink orb of the sun and the multicolored lightening of the sky behind the layers and layers of  clouds until it felt for a moment as though I was floating inside a Monet painting. After the sky resolved itself into grey and the ocean into an expanse of mottled dull green, I took a long walk on the beach (for the first time this week). When I got back the children weren't even up yet.

Reading: Without a hint of irony, I am spending my vacation reading a book called Overwhelmed, about harried, fractured, too busy lives and the problem of "time deficit." I'm reading this over time with a group. They discussed the section on Work in my absence last weekend. I am just now starting that section, and without hurry making my way towards the Love section that we will discuss in a couple weeks.

Writing: I've gotten remarkably little writing done this week. That is OK. As with the reading, I am embracing my vacationing status.

Dinner: Last night we ate out. I had Campari and soda with a twist of orange before, then she-crab soup and chicken paillard with a glass of vinho verde.

Soundtrack: The local oldies station plays stuff from the early 80s. The oldies music channel on the TV plays everything from Smokey Robinson to Conway Twitty.

Random thing: Sitting and watching the sky this morning, I also got to see one of the lovely, sleek, yellow-eyed beach grackles drinking from a puddle on the roof of the fishing shop next door. He stood perfectly mirrored by his reflection, beak touching beak as he leaned down to drink, both images fanning their tails and arching their necks to call cha-cha-cha-chirrup into the sun.

Final note: Today's title is from Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 5

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