Tuesday, June 28, 2011

these are a few of my favorite things

The cure for the summer blues is the blue of the water, be it communing with the Divine in solitude beneath a willow tree or out adventuring down the stairs to the hidden beach. The proximity of waves and wind, the undulations on the sand and the sunsets, the way the most familiar is always new. I could watch the water for hours and if I was into the whole personal ad thing I could say in all honesty that I dig long walks on the beach, which is not a romantic thing at all, really, just something I enjoy.

When we had no money, we'd come down there, to run barefoot, to roll up our jeans and let the crushed zebra mussels chip away toenail polish, drinking sangria in the pavilion and orange crush on the beach, laying on the rocks under the setting sun, writing messages in the sand to be washed away. So close, and yet such an escape to be in the elements rather than shut in by walls of concrete. I come down here and feel alive again.

There are prettier beaches, and cleaner ones, and we have a lake, no ocean here. The
only ocean I've ever swam in was New Jersey ocean for what it's worth. Maybe I'm not spoiled because I've never seen water so blue and clear that you can see all the way down and I don't know what I'm missing. My connection here is emotional if anything.

I feel most at home when I'm near rust and water, old things that are familiar. I thought the desert was beautiful but I had a strange anxiety looking at the newness and artificiality imposed on a hostile land that blisters in the heat. "It's because rust runs through your veins, it's a part of you" says a friend of mine who knows me well.

The summer is when we come back to life, resurrected by long days and the sun that keeps us alive and eventually kills us. I made dinner the past few nights with the harvest of my garden, the front porch smells of lavender and citronella, the tangle of the seeds scattered has manifested itself.

The creativity has returned to the scarred walls, fresh paint and creative souls, vines growing through the concrete.

Despite all restlessness and grieving the messed-up-ness of the world, there is still joy here and beauty in the strangest places. I can never be bored even if I tried.


Randal Graves said...

COC! (aside: tuff cabbage remains chuckle-worthy).

Crap, I forgot to post the shot of 'Couch.' Oh, Tim, thou sad quarter-backing bust.

Dammit, I want to live on the beach, but not in that House of Awful Jingoism, though that weirdo nuked villa monstrosity a couple of doors down was even more fugly.

Anonymous said...

ha been a very long time since i saw COC, thanks for the flashback.


thatgirl said...

I dream of living in a cottage next to the ocean, but being a couple blocks away from Lake Erie works in the meantime.

I thought the sculptures were bad, but then the seasonal decor was worse. I forget that 4th of July is this weekend.

I forgot about them for awhile until being reminded of the greatness of 'Wiseblood' before work the other morning. Like most of the great bands that once existed, I never got to see them live.

Anonymous said...

that's why you have to invent the next great band (thanks for sharing all of the music here I'm well out of the loop for new sounds) I have no musical talent so I just used to promote shows but ya know DIY

thatgirl said...

I really wanted to be the next Ian Mackaye once, have an awesome band and a really good regional record label. That never did happen, but at least I get to do college radio.

Randal Graves said...

No faith in Storm of the Yeti? Don't let the babushka ladies hear you.

S.W. Anderson said...

"The summer is when we come back to life, resurrected by long days and the sun that keeps us alive. . ."

That resonates with me. I find the annual periods from late fall to the first 75-degree day of spring must be endured rather than lived comfortably and happily.

Some nice photos here, too.