Tide Telling

After a day at the beach with family, I just think.  Think and think and think.  Travel, a house by the beach, somewhere, Monterey more than likely… and how my writing career and blogging business is up-shaping.  Currently in the adjunct cell with my 4-shot mocha—yes I need it—wondering what the hell I’m going to do for class tonight.  Thinking a start on their final projects.  Don’t know.  Don’t really want to think about that right now, not that much anyway.  Just want to enjoy these pictures from the beach— the water, Jackie and I playing as the waves rolled toward us with a playful charge, Jackie telling me every one rolled it, “OH THIS IS A BIG ONE!” I laughed with each repetition of his words.  No, it never got old, ever, not even a little.  Was so hard coming to campus, but I thought in the shower washing all that Bodega Bay sand from my shell, “If I don’t go I won’t have that story, that dialogue and interaction with the students.”

When I arrived, that other adjunct was here.  Can never remember her name but her daughter was with her, Emma, told her my daughter’s name was also Emma.  Couldn’t help but think that was the story that put them both there, or here in the office, for me to find when I arrived.  What could it mean?  Well, after a day with family, then finding her here with her daughter, named Emma no less…  Spend more time with family, right?  Have that be a foundation more in your writings, your essays and bloggings.  The day went by more than fast, with that usual cruelty life passes with.  But today, it was unusually swift.  It will only be negative if I perceive it so, and I don’t.  My inclination is to, but I won’t let myself.  Remember how the sand felt, how the ocean sounded, how the seagulls called to each other while they circled us as we ate.  And that fog horn, I think it was, pulsing every so often to let boats know where it was or where they were.

More time with family, with babies, as they won’t be babies forever.  Any parent will tell you that.  So, evermore considering going down to one class in Fall, spending more time at winery and having a day off, a full day to be a father.  And imagine the story that will produce— writing father being more methodical with time to be with family, more, to write about them more, babies especially, wife as she strengthens as a runner (and oh is she strong, much more fluid and fluent than her running writer husband), and all in home, my little Autumn Walk Studio.

Not sure why I say “after a day” with my family.  The day’s still in its productive and pedagogical roll.  When home, open wine, celebrate the day, play outside with Jacki with his soccer ball or that nylon frisbee thing.  The story’s in control, I’m along, more for a lesson than a ride.  I made the best decision for myself and all manuscripts, coming to campus.  Now, to plan.  What do we do, what do we do…  What does the story want me to do?