Apologies for the absence. My life (like yours, I'm sure, at this time of year) has been extremely plot-heavy. School ended last week and with it came a slew of pool parties, celebrations and sleepovers, all of which required highly complicated carpool stratagems. And in a highly unusual occurrence, my husband and I spent five evenings out in a row. It was a whole lot of fun and I am a whole lot exhausted.
(Our cat Twiglet doing an uncanny impression of me)
So here's what I've been doing to remedy the situation:
In the same way that a novelist sometimes follows a chapter of intense action with one that is calmer and more reflective, I have been making a concerted effort to insert some pauses into the narrative of my life.
The results have been mixed.
When Luca and his friend woke up the other morning and embraced their first taste of summer freedom...
(Cartoons at sunrise)
...I sat outside and welcomed the June fog in my favorite tartan wrapper and tried very hard to think about absolutely nothing (i.e. the Zen approach.) This was harder than you might think and I soon abandoned my efforts for an obscenely large latté.
Later that day, after taking the boys to see the "Art in the Streets" show at MOCA's Geffen Contemporary (an expedition bookended by far too much time on the Hollywood Freeway -- at 1pm on a Thursday? Really?)...
...I took refuge in my kitchen and marvelled over The Last Moments of My Peonies. However, I became derailed by the unfairness of the word "blowsy": such a compliment to flowers, such an insult to women. Meditative mission aborted.
So today, after driving my son and his friend home from basketball camp, I tried once more to insert a peaceful pause. Slowly, slowly they climbed the stairs to Luca's bedroom. (Darling boys. They must be so tired from all their exercise.)
I stole into the living room and began to float my fingers over all the books on my shelves. Where was I going to go?
(Long beat, then at decibel levels that would make Al Pacino cower):
Luca: Dragonite! He can save people from drowning!
Friend: Oshawott! He can use his shell as a sword!
Luca: So? Tepig can blow fire from his nose!
Friend: But Snivy's so little and cute!
(Repeat ad infinitum. Add a cacophony of overhead stomps and laughter.)
I glanced over at my cat.
Talk about a call to calm.
Here I was in a perfect storm of noise.
And there he was in a perfect storm of peace.
Immediately, I sat down and lost myself in the photographs of Tim Walker, diving headfirst into his unique world of lush eccentricity. When Luca and his friend finally emerged for a snack (Two minutes later? Two days later?), I was restored.
My Reminder For The Rest Of This Week:
It's all we have.