By some turn of the wheels behind the curtains, I ended up arriving home early from work. Early enough that I was able to get dinner made and safely tucked into my gullet, and still had time to do some actual loafing about. Or Scobberlotching, if you prefer. Great! My problem? I didn’t want to stay home. The evening was nice and I had a lot of stuff swirling around in the centrifuge that is my head. Time to head for the lake for some fresh air, evening sun and to work some of the cramps out of my brain.
I now have a “go pack” of sorts, to schlep my writin’ type stuff with me, whenever I get the urge to write al fresco. I still have the backpack I used for some of college years, a spiffy black number I bought on Main Street. I don’t know for certain how I managed to hang on to it for so long, but it now has new life as my tote for notebooks, pens, sketchpad, camera and other stuff I can’t seem to do without on these little trips.
So I made it to the lake, parked the car and hiked a short way over to one of the picnic areas. I found a table tucked away in a quiet corner and set up shop. Open the backpack, spread the stuff out on the table, perch the glasses on top of my head and get to work. It was while sitting there tapping my cheek with the pen and savoring the summer breeze that I realized: I am a dork. Short white socks, a t-shirt tucked in for crying out loud, with a backpack full of notebooks and pens and paper…Don’t believe me? Well, dork that I am, I took pictures. Behold the majesty!
There are potatoes on my shirt. At least The Captain’s had fish.
Sigh. As a saving grace, I was not wearing my goofy, beat-up, green baseball hat. I took comfort in having my version of the Blankie on hand, so as to write.
Be still, my heart! What light, on yonder table breaks…?
Where the rubber hits the mental road
Tool O’ The Trade, GumboGeek-style
Reading about writing about reading about…
As IB says, “This is where the magic happens”
That is what it is all about: that moment when the idea forms on the tip of the brain, like that little drop of nectar on a honeysuckle blossom. The pen caresses the page, the mind opens wide and the thoughts dissolve into words on the page.
Just like that, it’s love…