I have been told by someone near and dear to my heart that my posts have been somewhat thematically "stuck" for a while now... as in "redundant and whiny." OK. It's hard to be creative and inspired when you are stuck in the middle of an uncomfortable place. Professional writers have a term for this - writer's block. Oh well. Not so much to tell these days that you haven't heard before...
The question is: what to do about it? Try a new topic, then come back to the assignment? Just start writing whatever comes to mind? Do some math homework for a while to get your mind off things? Oops, slipped back into high school English class for a second there. (Didn't work then either.)
The family (and a friend of my daughter) all went to the beach on Sunday. Pacific City and Cape Kiwanda... For many years, the beach has been my "go-to" place when I am working through hard stuff. And this chemo-thing definitely qualifies as one of the hardest things I have ever done. I went to the beach to recover from graduate school and my disappointment with the trials and tribulations of academia. I also went to the beach to recover from the bureaucratic bruising that I received from state government and its ability to crush the energy out of type-A personalities. And now I return (albeit briefly) for a little oceanic restorative treatment during this phase of Ed's cancer world.
I'm not sure what it is, exactly, that the beach does for me. The sounds of waves endlessly marching forward (even in the ebbing of the tide) and seagulls crying, the freshness of the air and its salty tang, the dancing of the sand as the wind blows it into swirls, the froth and splash of water carving sand and rock down to size? To be honest, I wanted to see really BIG waves smashing into headlands - unfortunately, the tide was wrong and we haven't had any good storms to build up the surf. But on this trip I noticed a windblown, gnarled tree growing by itself atop an eroding pile of sand and rock - struggling against the salt air, the absence of sufficient soil, and an overabundance of rain - a survivor. Some of those windblown trees that line the coasts of Oregon and Washington are far older than me, and are barely my height. Truly, an inspiration if ever there was one. And restorative for my soul.
Peace, and warm greetings from the Pacific Northwest.