Jack’s attitude this morning, so happy, carefree, fun-loving, curious.. careless, and with enviable degree.  So I mimic.  All day.  Only thing truly planned: to SSU, try to spend some time with Kim, my tenured professor friend, the one who wrote the more than luminous recommendation for me, for sakes of a FT post (wherever will take me..).  Be patient, as Mom said in her text this morning, while I was in line to get this mocha, this croissant.  Currently, I’m in the kitchen’s nook.  Haven’t yet bitten the French breakfast, but I listen to Parisian jazz tunes that put me back in my city.. need to return to my studies.. Et je dois le faire bientôt!  Today’s question:  What would Hemingway do?  Well, he most assuredly wouldn’t be stuck to his mobile phone– I swear, more than half the people in the coffee spot, on my block, next to Safeway, and my once-again beloved Chinese eatery, were on their phone.. texting, Facebook-ing, some type of “social” media-ing.  One lady walking in, speedily, rushed, with her eyes into that bloody screen.  And yes, she bumped into me, the ditzy harpy, while I waited by the New York Times stand.

Love mornings like this.  I feel more free than I have in some time.  And I credit little Kerouac.  I surely hope I hear from at least one school next week.  And if I don’t, then I keep on.  Getting the chapbook today to 41 pages, filling the remaining spaces with older works, will help.  I’ll be selling it by the end of the month, definitely.  This song, putting me on the river, with a view of Notre Dame.  People walk by, and I record–  Oh no, reader.. I’m not writing.  Just living.  And whatever I remember deserves a page.  Much like this semester’s novel.  Whatever I forget wasn’t worthy of note, deserving of page space.  One of my students this semester, “BW”, commented on how Tobias Wolff is the only living author we’re reading this semester, he then asked, “Is that intentional?” I reacted, “You’ll find there’s motive behind all of my gallop.” Which there is, but more that I thought, more than I initially saw.  In English 5, we begin with Death, and end with Life.  A lecture born.  A new thought stream to offer the students.  I again credit little Kerouac.

 

Oh this mocha…  I’m not here.  I’m in my city, in my apartment, with my family.  Alice and I take Jack to the gardens for a walk, then to lunch at a near by lunch spot, quite popular…  “Au Polidor”.  Never been to this place before.  Love the cozy layout.  Even Jack takes a second to acknowledge the precise architecture, the mood it creates.  I ordered some type of ham sandwich, Alice had a salad, and little Jack snacked on a couple cheeses, breads.. oh my city, I love you, and I love all your people.  Don’t let me cross the Atlantic.

Haven’t taken a bite yet, and I’m only with just less than 10 minutes left.  I was distracted by my bloody phone, and someone messaging me.  I will plan nothing today…  NOTHING!  All I have other than the SSU trip: deliver a sandwich from Boudin to Ms. Alice.  I drove by her school on the way to get my mocha, croissant.  I took the long way–down 12, left on Farmers, left on Montgomery, then right on Yulupa–because some blithering airhead cut me off while looking at their phone.  I swear!  You see?  EH never had to deal with this.  And I won’t either.  Not today.  In fact, I’ll only bring with my to campus the semester’s comp book, where much of the novel rests.  Beginning week after next, I start printing what I’ve written of this semester’s novel.  And the poems I vend in the wait will subsidize its dissemination.  Perfect plan.. more than cinematic.  It’s definitive.  Romantically bizarre.. perfectly ME.

Oh this morning, and this nook.. my son, with how he’s motivated his wandering writer father.. what more could this penner ask?  No rain today.  Good.  I could use the rest.  And I love when I miss the rain.  I love the longing.

My artist friend, Becky, out from New Jersey.  Having trouble getting to wine country because “I’m broke”, she wrote in a text.  How?  Isn’t she selling her work?  I’m not judging, by any hurl, but I do realize that I will never be the broke Artist.  Ever.

Going to need more time.  Less than 3 minutes.  What would I do if students needed more time for their writing?  Give it to them, of course.  I like to consider my instructional approach quite fair, inviting, and encouraging.  In fact, I’m sure that’s what it is.  I’ve demonstrated that since my first section in 2006.

 

What else COULD I do, today?  Something in-house.  Don’t want to be driving around too much.  There’s writing organization I could get done here in the condo castle–  TIMER UP.  Ten minutes more, then edit, then shower, then departure for campus.  I’m actually quite excited to return to my old grounds.  I almost forgot that I taught 4 sections of 101 in.. ’08, I think.  Wow.  How did I land that?  Maybe I can set something up for Fall, maybe.  Just a couple sections.  At night.  Haven’t committed to anything at SRJC, yet– but I don’t want to endanger possibilities there as an adjunct.  That’s my base.  I’ll wait, I guess.  But I bloody hate waiting.  And I hate even more damningly when I write of how much I hate it.  Topic next.

En fin, the croissant and I meet.  It’s quite hot, though.  So, yes, I’m forced to wait.  Time, 9:24AM.  Do enjoy this start, and I once more think of my little boy– his laughs, his speech, this morning even saying, “Waffle please dada…” How is it he learns so fast, grows at even more a vicious speed?  My little friend, when you read this.. know that Life is short, and you need maintain that same contentment, that same peace.. smile, everything that troubles you is never deserving of your frowns, or your stress.  Smile, and walk away.

 

Ambrosial encounter…  Back in my city, on my favorite rues.

 

(3/7/14)