Another summer gone, sort of. Humboldt State starts very early by my standards, so my work--intermittent though it may be--begins again. But the theatre season is mercifully at an end, so my series of columns--mostly reviews, one preview--is done for now.
I did more than I wanted to for Stage Matters, to add at least some income to balance higher expenses, principally a whopping dental bill for one lonely tooth. At least whopping for me. It will take me writing 12 columns to pay for it. Which means that all of my summer income goes there, and it will require more.
Otherwise, I went nowhere, stayed home in June and July to deal with necessary household matters. I got some writing of my own done, not a lot but some. I revised plans for several projects, which I hope make them more doable. In the fiction based on my life and times, I decided to center it in the most dramatic period (which in fact was the original plan!) and what is now the most historic period, the mid-60s to the early 70s. It would start with leaving for college.
So I dug out what I'd saved, and it was quite a lot. I had the first piece of writing I did at college, a cliche-ridden piece that nevertheless preserved a few details about the car trip from burg to burg (Greens to Gales.) I had occasion to marvel again at what has survived over time--in this case, a postcard from the motel outside Moline where we stayed overnight before driving on into Galesburg in September 1964.
As for freshman year, I have letters (letters!), bound copies of the student newspaper, some academic work, and evidently I'd decided before to focus on orientation week because there are drafts with lots of information. More than I remember in fact, so there are items in those pages that I can't identify as fact or my own fictioning. Not that it matters. But over the years, even when it wasn't going right or I had to abandon drafts, I've always felt that I was preparing raw material for some ultimate draft.
After completing the introductory story of those couple of days, it struck me that I could frame the college years by starting with a moment at my draft physical, the second one, at Fort Des Moines. So I found what files remain on that. I found something like a narration (in something like verse), and there might be more writing I did about it near that time that I haven't found. But I have the official letters back and forth. I was amazed to see how compacted in time it was, between my pre-induction physical in Chicago and the appeal physical in Iowa. The reality of all this leaves me a little dazed, still.
So in short, as usual I didn't do nearly the amount of writing I had hoped, and summer was not nearly as different in terms of demands on my time as the rest of the year. Time of course is running out on realizing projects, but as there is no demand for them from outside myself, it's harder to concentrate, to work through the emotions, the effort, the psychological exhaustions, etc. And the prospect of that enormous silence at the end. I feel that when I complete smaller projects, even columns (if I hear from any 'readers' at all it's too long after, and I've already disconnected) and it takes awhile to get back the required energy and focus on my world of illusions. Finishing a big project, what would that be like?
As for the outside world around me, despite the drought we've had roses all summer, and a self-transplanted gaggle of yellow flowers in the back yard (previously known as Toby's flowers). The grass is browner than it has ever been in front, and the ferns there are wilting. On the side however, the shaded ferns are doing better.
Our hummers are returning to the feeders more regularly. I saw two and so I got the second feeder out of storage since early spring. I see them around occasionally in the spring and summer but they seem to range pretty far for the flowering flowers, and the one year-round feeder is very slow to empty. August is about the time they rediscover the ready supply of the feeder. Sitting on the back porch, listening to a Doctor Who audiobook read by David Tennant, I saw three together, with one hovering in front of me as I said hello. I've read they know the face of the person who stocks the feeders. They sure seem to.
It's an odd time--the changing climate resulting in noticeably dryer, sunnier and warmer summers is disquieting for what it portends, though it is pleasant enough in itself. A hot day here is still under 80F. Now that I'm acclimated to the North Coast, I find I relax more when it's foggy, the way it is supposed to be. The persistent sunshine is almost shocking. And we do have some foggy days and nights, though they seem like afterthoughts. They say the redwoods could be gone in a century. But then, I'll be gone long before. How many more summers, still pretty strong and capable?
It's comforting to know from the blogger stats that almost no one reads this particular blog. I have some readers for a couple of blogs, and virtually none for others. So I do them for my pleasure and to keep a record. I don't know why it is easier to do it this way than simply by keeping a digital journal. But it somehow is.
No comments:
Post a Comment