There’s something to be said for living on the river. As much, or more, to be said for living in a temperate climate. I’ve a friend who lived in California and laments the cold the way I hate the heat, but I’ll champion one just to have the other, to watch the world shift and change around me. Consistency has never been my strong suit and it may well be because I’ve never cared to seek it outside myself, there’s then no reason to reflect it internally.
This is my break. Sitting shirtless at the open window, waiting for the storm I see rolling black across the mountains, letting the air dry me off, excited for the rain to make things clean, to make things grow.
It feels like summer but it’s yet spring. The climate’s shift has my senses erratic, as it does the rest of the world but the heat doesn’t determine the season. The elder maples have yet to don their full coats of leaves. The birds are back, and so are the bees, but ones who feed or are fed by either have yet to appear. Forty degree evenings aren’t so far off.
Change is important to keep a body plastic. We wear out doing the same things day out, day in. I forget this, forget to apply a philosophy espousing the benefits of change to everyday life. Too often I cling to things, little pieces, and fixate on them such that I measure the entirety of my self worth by them. Lately it’s been my plant business. Frequently, it’s my publishing success. Two years ago it was my grades, before that it was my max bench.
I am not those things, I am all of them. I am whatever the confluence of them makes. Today reminds me of this.
I woke up twice, something that’s become the norm. First, disoriented by thick dreams and strung over from the night before, then again with the alarm. I went to yoga. I deposited the cash bundled in the rainbow sack I made some years ago when I thought I’d learn to sew and make all my own clothes. I voted. I’d tell you to vote for Sanders, but if you’re from here, and since you’re on here, you probably already have. This is a Bernie sort of town.
The church where I vote is near the Susquehanna Art Museum, and on my way home I stopped in to look at their displays. I’ve been in contact with Tasha, again. We discussed how and where we’d display my work.
And thus, I spent the last four hours in my dismantled jewelry studio trying to remind my hands how to move when working silver. Even polishing finished pieces takes finesse, so it was a slow process. The wind refused to stir much in the back room, so the only sound and movement came from my hands and the tools applied to metal.
I hadn’t really thought I’d ever work with silver again. I’m a poor salesman and a worse liar. I have trouble convincing people why they should spend exorbitant amounts of money on shiny rocks and polished metals. I have a worse time convincing people to buy things in which I wholeheartedly believe, as I can’t fathom why one wouldn’t want to own such a thing. The arguments of why you should buy a plant never come to me because I can think of no legitimate reason why you shouldn’t.
But the work made me happy. It’s not quite riding a bicycle, but my fingers found their way around files and polishing wheels. I managed to clean up four or so pieces without destroying anything, I put together a few more for tomorrow, things that will require more work and more than one day’s refresher.
Tonight, I’ll work on my novel or one of the many short stories started and not finished, or the several others that could really use a fresh eye and some good editing.
Before bed I’ll finish the Vonnegut novel a friend loaned to me.
The day will be a mixture, would be a failure if taken individually, if all the pieces were measured singly, but taken as a whole they form something with which I can be happy.
The rain has started, can feel the droplets growing to drops as they strike my arm. I love the rain but I hate how it steals away the wind and leaves too a sodden sense of immobility.
It’s time to close the windows and move on to something else.