In Play

Watching Jack play.  Today, a total day off for me.  But I am going in later, to grade, plan semester’s remainder, write lesson plans alongside Mr. Fitzgerald’s text, other ideas.  And, make significant progress on this bloody book.  Rain expected, but only a little.  Jack over there, dancing, to his little songs.  How can I be as optimistic, smily, fearlessly inquisitorial as he?  Doing more research today on France, its History, Literary Theory.  Logging all in that newJournal.

One thing I discovered about the French Revolution: the focus on the individual, and all before that Contributed to its ignition.  Want to know more about Picasso’s Life in Paris, where he painted, how he painted, some of his Creative philosophies.. may be able to incorporate that into my lectures, to stir students.  And I’m comfortable with that word, now, “lecture,” as I don’t take it seriously.  That’s just what I dub my typed offerings.  It’s just a word.  If I were to use a monicker true, more than simply a word, then I would use “session.” As I did last semester.  Want there to be more of a cross-disciplinary stream to these sessions.

Time for coffee.  9:09am.  Already?  Yes, we all slept in.

Now, to look for music.  Need some new tracks for my writings.  Jack, still quite content playing with his puzzles.  No stress about this little one; no angst, anger, attitude.  He just plays, sees what happens if does something.  How is that not admirable?  Why can’t his nearly-34 year old father enact similar steps?

All of this knowledge search, attributed to my academic back ground, but also to this new friend of mine, taking classes, just planting vines in his back yard, learning French.. he’s in constant study.  Again, something I’m quite bent on enacting, practicing.. the forever-student.  That’s the father I want Jack to have.

Listening to a Pandora station I set up when I worked at AV Winery.  Titled, “Smooth French Café.” Now, a beautiful song, “Sous Le Ciel De Paris,” by Duo Gadjo.  Puts me right back in my city’s downtown, on the bank.  And just bought another, right after Gadjo’s piece.  I’m close to my city, this morning.  Jack and I.  I sip my home-stirred café mocha, thinking of that view from the Arc’s top.  Watching the traffic, glad I only have to observe, write about it.

Now, “J’aime Mon Lit,” by Kad.  Third straight song, stuff into cart.  There should never be a question where my writing flames find their go-ahead.

A friend of mine, Amy, on vacation.  In Hawaii, after leaving her job.  Just posted that she’s “up with the birds,” with an accompanying sunrise still.  I could even use a plane ride of that “brief” length, five hours, to meditate, capitalize on he difference.  That’s what this book has to show, that writers need difference, the New.  This is how Kelly paints, and how all us writers should write.

Friend from old neighborhood, blogging about her career, about her thoughts on Love.  Incredibly interesting, consistently engaging.  This has become part of her business.  And she’s completely Autonomous.  She sites her travel to Bali as the spring that sent her to her career, insight, present place.  Again, more evidence that travel’s needed for this penner.

Jack, standing, hands against sliding glass door, looking at our dismally plain patio.  I promise him a house one day.  Soon.  So I can open door for him, let him play, out there, enjoy air.