Life of Wry

About this picture: it was shot a couple days ago at Dillon Beach.  According to my photo-a-day rules, I can still use the photo, even though it wasn’t shot on February 12.  Because, you know, they’re my rules.  And I really like the picture and couldn’t find a way to use it on the 10th when I did shoot it,  so… I’m using it now.  And that’s ok.

Also, it’s unrelated to the content, below.  That is also ok, according to my rules.  It’s a very lucky capture and some pretty colors and patterns, and I wanted to share it. That’s all.

Also wanted to share these:

Seven blunders of the world that lead to violence: wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, commerce without morality, science without humanity, worship without sacrifice, politics without principle.

-Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948)

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

-Carl Sagan, astronomer and writer (1934-1996)

About these quotes:  I didn’t write any of this (obviously), even though this is a writing blog. In my photo-a-day-write-something-everyday blog where I’m supposed to be exploring and experimenting with my own writing, I didn’t write anything, and instead shared something someone else wrote, and that, too, is ok.  I like both of these quotes very much.. both move me, and both make me think.

And… the two quotes are unrelated,  not only to the picture, but to each other.  Hell, Carl and Mahatma didn’t even know one another, unless they met when Mahatma was a very old man, and Carl little more than a toddler, which I doubt.   But they are both incredible thinkers and good, good people.  So they may likely have enjoyed one another.  But, again, I like what comes up for me in thinking about what they each said.  They both offer up a sort of cautionary tale, which is often the kind of thing that speaks to me.  (That could be another post, in itself.) So I really just wanted to share them.

Anyway, I veered a lot today, it’s all a bit untidy, but, again, no rules broken.  Take what you like, move on.

Cows have nothing but time in their day.

Thinking about leisure.  Hard not to think about leisure when you’re driving through the bucolic coastal hills of Marin County, looking at field after field, hill after hill of cows–cows who pretty much just stand around eating grass all day.

I have a lot of time these days, too.

Trying really hard to both appreciate the time I have right now, and not feel guilty about having so much of it.  It’s not like I’m standing around chewing my cud all day…I mean, I do stuff, but I just have a lot of time to do it in. It’s an intentional period of no work: clearing the decks, taking care of long-deferred projects, experimenting with writing, pondering life, work, priorities… thinking about my next move.

Really.  I promise.  I’m working hard at this.  But…

Being a person with a lot of leisure time already, it’s a bit weird taking off for a few days for Dillon Beach.  Taking off what? It felt more like a change of scenery and some time to spend alone with Jim.  I enjoy both of those things, of course, but it was not substantively different than my current day-to-day existence.  The coast is very different from Davis, but my time was not unlike my time at home…  hung out, took walks, did a bit of cooking, messed with photos, blogged, read. Lots of quiet.

Watched more movies and played more scrabble than at home… so there was that.

But leisure really needs to exist in a context of an absence of leisure in order to reap its full benefit.  Otherwise, there’s just not enough contrast.

It’s like swimming in water that is the same temperature as the air around you.  You don’t feel it, don’t get a refreshing hit off of it.  Or going to bed when you’re not tired, or getting a massage when you haven’t worked out, or eating when you’re not hungry.

Leisure is best enjoyed when you’ve worked hard to earn it.

I read this quote the other day that says it pretty well:

It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do. There is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing to do. Wasting time is merely an occupation then, and a most exhausting one. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. -Jerome K. Jerome, humorist and playwright (1859-1927)

 

 

After a few days of howling winds, a hike in the hills, above the ocean, on a warm, still day…  pretty nice.  February’s a good time on the coast because, well, all of the above, but also the ground is lush and wet and the grass new and extra green, and it makes for easy walking–easy on the legs, easy on the senses.   I guess I don’t have to say the water’s all sparkly blue.

The north coast, any time of year, really, is gorgeous.  Or maybe it works better like this: it’s gorges. (Sorry.)

Made for a cow–this place–or sheep.  There are lots of those roaming the hills inland of Dillon Beach, but we didn’t see any on this walk.  What we did see was a small herd of deer.  Most homeowners probably think of them as pests, but it’s still cool to see them, especially by the water.  I thought: nice place to be a deer.

If you peer over the edge of the cliff in the above picture, you see this, and that herd of deer.  I know…   tiny, but they’re there, and they’re bounding confidently along this steep slope.

Here’s what they looked like closer up.

We escaped the wind of the central valley, but found plenty at Dillon Beach.  Hard to tell how fierce the wind is in these photos, but it’s fierce.  These, above, are tiny, shell-created wind sheds.  They covered the beach.  I think the broken shell lodges in the sand and it creates a little protected zone where the sand can build up in its lee.

Then, there were these..not sure what initiated this effect..

Looks peaceful in these photos, but no.  The wind had to be blowing in the 50s, maybe harder.  The ocean was this dazzling, violent churn of white caps.  The waves coming into the beach were wind waves, rather than their usual measured sets, and were so frothy they left these lines of foam on the shore, pieces of which would dislodge and blow around.  The blowing sand was its own storm, but, interestingly, all its drama happened at about 8″ from the ground.  Dunes were forming and reforming all over the place as sand blew hard and steady like river currents, but all at ankle level.  Don’t think I’ve seen that before.

Because every road trip should start with a hot, steamy cafe au lait and the town’s best poppy seed muffin.

Last night’s wicked February north winds took a few prisoners.   Could have been worse, could have been a nice backyard, shade-giving tree, but no, it’s our long dead Moraine Ash that needed to come out anyway.  Here’s Jim,  lumberjacking away.

He left a few branches hanging on the power cable.   PG&E’s on the way.

And it REALLY could have been worse: could have been the lone Redwood in the neighbor’s front yard, about which I wrote yesterday.  That one’s swaying violently in the wind, as I write this.

It’s not like one of my two life’s fears isn’t about being crushed by a fallen tree.  Let me clarify that sentence full of double negatives: I have a huge fear of trees falling on houses.  Saw too many of them growing up on the mean, eucalyptus infested streets of Palos Verdes.  Via La Selva: by way of the JUNGLE.  My street.  Our neighborhood looked like monster tinker toys were strewn around after a storm.

Wind.  Trees.  Willies.

The other fear I live with is cabinets coming off the kitchen walls.  No idea where that comes from.

Anyway.

North wind in Davis.  No better time to leave town.

I’m fond of shooting trees right up their trunks, it would seem.  Something about it…

This giant lives next door.  And in spite of the fact she is a loner, most Redwoods, I’m told, grow best in groves because their roots connect underground and it makes them stronger.  So even though their roots are relatively shallow, Redwoods stand strong when they stand together.

Now there’s a metaphor.

[Unrelated photo.  Shot up into the air.  A gratuitous sky shot.  But, seriously, wouldn’t you?]

One month into my photo-a-day writing extravaganza, and ohmysweetfrickingod but I’m weary of my own voice.  Talk talk talk blah blah blah.    I am tiring of my writing style.  (Uh.. really?  I have a style?)

As I muster the stomach to read back on stuff I’ve written so far, I’m noticing some weird writing ticks.  [Note to self: do not read back on stuff you’ve written so far.]  I see that one of the things I do over and over is use a lot of words to drive a point. Here’s an example (taken from January 3, but really–as much as I don’t want to point this out–you’ll see this kind of thing all over this blog):

“Forever, it seemed, I looked at this scene from the other side–the working stiff side–and totally envied it.  To be that person, sitting with that other person, bent intently over mugs of frothy coffee, thoughtfully listening, talking eruditely, laughing, or gesticulating classily.

“Or really, I just envied having the time. Downtime, leisure time. Time to walk, talk, think, read, write, process, plan, and the time to carry out those plans.”

Holy verbosity, batman.

I’m a word rustler.. a word harvester.. a word collector.. a… wait, SEE?! I’M DOING IT AGAIN.   I have discovered that I am a lister.  (Hangs head.)  Hello, I’m Kari Peterson.  I am a lister.

Maybe I’m a lazy writer. Perhaps I just don’t have the vocabulary, the thesaurical depth to finely hone an idea, to present it in its simplest, most potent form. Maybe I’m a writer who trades elegance for spaghetti on the wall–throw as many words at a sentence as you can; something will stick, something, eventually, will carry home your damn point.

Maybe.

Or perhaps, it’s more a lack of confidence.  Not having the faith that my writing stands on its own, or is strong enough to convey what it has to convey.  Maybe, in my uncertainty and cautiousness, I feel a need to rally the troops, enlist the whole, friggin infantry, in order to conduct my battle effectively. (War metaphors?  Really?)

Well, anyway.

What I REALLY intended to do with today’s blog was to embrace my inner lister.  All I was gonna do, before I veered off into self flagellation, was to list a few things I really love.  I’m a lister?  Okay, well, then, I’m going to compile a list of things I love.

Why?  Because I saw someone do it once in her blog and it was sweet, spontaneous and interesting, and in the process revealed a lot about her.  It was a departure from thick and lofty prose, a simple list–easy on the eyes and mind.   And I just liked the idea.  I filed it away then, and thought I’d try it now.  But I guess not now.   This has gotten too long.

So… a blog for another day.. but soon.

A few things to know about this picture:  It’s shot through that curtain-of-water fountain over by the Mondavi Center.  That’s I-80 in the background.. if you could make out cars on the horizon.  The sky’s very spring-like and, at mid-morning, it’s about 66 degrees.  Air warm and breezy.  The trees don’t have leaves on them yet…but on this same walk, I took pictures of trees that are starting to bloom.

Like this.

So there.  Spring.  (Note the date.)

Perhaps the best cure for the fear of death is to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an end. There was a time when you were not: that gives us no concern. Why then should it trouble us that a time will come when we shall cease to be? To die is only to be as we were before we were born. -William Hazlitt, essayist (1778-1830)

I’m not in a mood.  Really.  I wasn’t thinking about death today.  I wasn’t even reflecting–choice of pictures notwithstanding.   I just came upon this quote and thought it was interesting.  And the creek was very still this morning making for some great photography, even for us non-photographer types.   So.. there it is.  I’m leaving the quote there–maudlin as it may be–for your reflecting pleasure.

No, if I were to reflect today, it might be on Peter’s piss and vinegar mood–that’s piss and vinegar in a good way.. mostly.  On this day, he was up early, made his own breakfast (happens .0023% of the time), and showered (that may actually be a pre-school first).  (And here you may picture me quietly observing from a distance, face furrowed in a slightly perplexed, if not dubious expression.) It’s a fun and funny age–this transition to manhood.  Or at least adolescence. He’s growing, darkening, deepening.  Moving into a space more his own, test driving some odd little personalities.  Plucky, cocky. Overall, I think he’s digging it… as he seems to be pretty full of himself lately.  He’s more private, too.. which is interesting to observe.  For the first time, I’m aware that Peter is living a good part of his life outside of our view.

Anyway…

Reflect as you will.  On death, adolescence, or something else of your choosing.  It’s a good day for it.