I’ve been around the edges of CLMOOC this summer, connected to the planning through Slack and google docs and twitter and Facebook, but mostly staying on the sidelines–watching makes rather than making. I can come up with excuses, but maybe this is my summer of peripheral participation or lurking as some call it.
But in some ways, I would say I’m making on my own terms this summer. I’ve made time for babies–joyously playing with those sweet boys who know me as grandma, rolling on the floor, scooping them up for hugs and kisses just because, reading book after book after book until I know (and I suspect they do too) all the words by heart, crooning very old songs in my off-key sort of way and relearning all the Raffi songs I have long forgotten (have you sung “Apples and Bananas” lately?). I’ve made time for reading–sucking in words: light fiction, mysteries, kid’s novels and graphic novels…I just finished The Handmaid’s Tale (scary), I’m diving into Neil Gaiman’s American Gods and at the same time hanging out with an old favorite author Natalie Goldberg through The Great Spring (a find from a wonderful bookstore in Mendocino, CA). And I’ve made time for walking–sometimes long aimless walks on the beach, some days of hikes deep into the redwood forests of northern California, exploring the nooks and crannies of the amazing place I live, of course taking photos all the while.
Yesterday I just had to go to the local beach…that place most of you are familiar with if you read my blog even semi regularly. I hadn’t been in more than two week, having been out of town exploring other parts of California. It’s summer, our weather is hot, especially in areas away from the coast so the beach was crowded. The parking lot was jammed as were the streets nearby. So I cruised the nearby neighborhoods until I found a parking space, beginning my walk from there.
I walked from the crowds towards the beach space less frequented by visitors, my space, the space I feel called to explore and wander. As I walked and wandered (using my new word flanerie), I found myself “doodling” with words in my head. Worrying that I would forget the words at the end of my walk, I stopped and sat on a rock and typed some of the words into my phone to play around with later.
Here’s my word doodle, a poem of sorts.
She’s calling my name in cools
blues, greens, frosted white
singing tunes that synchronize with my breath and heartbeat
inviting me to soak my toes in her earthy tea with each step
Yes, she’s calling my name
And to top it off, I found a face in the cliff. I walk here all the time and this is the first time I have seen this face. Maybe she was calling my name.