remember
forget
Three of the big four autumn birthdays in my house are over. The inside of the ice skating rink is a welcome respite from the October heat, which we get most years and always remark on, like, There it is. Again. I walked around the campuses of two middle schools that simultaneously impressed me and reminded me that not all kids get to have what they’re offering, and that is depressing. I remembered, then forgot, ignored, then actually did, meditate. In the past two weeks I had a meeting that gave me hope after so many months of dry spell, of rejections, of disappointments. My friends posted photos of their beautiful animals who had just passed. My friends experienced passings of uncles and fathers and mothers. In one photo, the sight of a burial happening under a strong sun. Of course this always brings me back to the last burial I’d witnessed, that of my father. I leaned on soundtracks that relax me or put me in a headspace where I once lived, so many years ago, without so many worries. Moved my limbs in the pool and took mental snapshots of the bottom of the pool where the light was shifting and creating bright wavy lines, and of the faraway palm tree that I can see from where I’m running in place in the water, the tops of which hold red fruits. Later, when I’m in bed about to fall asleep, I call up these scenes.
This was not a week of writing for me. It was barely a week of reading, except for reading news news and more news.
Towards the end of this week, things began to wind down a little. I went to the beach, a 100% curative, the place I always ask myself, Why am I not here more often, how do I make it so? Remember, forget. Remember, forget. I got to do what I realize is my desire in life: drink coffee, feet in the beach sand, people-watching. Quiet. Sun. Okay, not quiet, exactly—it’s Santa Monica, it’s the chairs at one of the many Perry’s Cafes, and they always have the Frank Sinatra satellite radio station playing.
It’s fine. It’s not fine.
Remember, forget.
Yesterday I touched various plants and trees at our semi-annual excursion to the Theodore Payne Foundation, where we annually renew our membership while buying new plants, new pots. I took a photo of a California Fan Palm I want to bring home. It’s California’s only native palm tree! I have these very fan palms on my shoulders, a tribute to my late father who loved and cared for our plants and trees.
You take photos and say you want them, but then you forget, my kid tells us as we wander through the dirt and stone trails. I take photos of all the things I need to remember these days. Then I forget to look at them for a while. Then I remember.
I remembered I have a bathtub, and bubble bath liquid scented with bergamot. I remembered I have a huge backlog of magazines to read.
Hopefully I’ll have some good news to share soon.
We jointly postponed the first Mommy’s El Camino zoom event that was to feature Vickie Vértiz in conversation with Jessica Ceballos y Campbell. Look for that to happen in January.
For the next couple of Thursdays there will be a return of the Mini-Interview, as well as our first novel excerpt. Mommy’s El Camino FRONT SEAT OFFICE HOUR will resume in January. The next EXIT INTERVIEW will likely appear before the end of the year.
Love and strength to all who are hurting, yearning, mourning, and demonstrating. 🖤
If you’d like to take a peek back at some posts ICYMI: