Here I am, again at the library drafting out yet another clean sheet of paper for my book on early literacy education.
I left my suitcase of ideologies on a kibbutz just a few months ago – farmland territory under some nebulous looking cloud that frightened even a scarecrow but with lots of pansies to keep you dreaming. I love planting, weed work, watching the clouds move, eating fresh mint, but when those clouds on the other side of the Atlantic got too dark and a bit boring, I knew something was obviously wrong.
It all made of course even better sense when I boarded the plane, taking my redheaded son and husband with me to start afresh writing on the other side of the Atlantic, figuring out our next steps one day at a time.
It’s been raining on the Eastern coast, one straight pour after another and I had one of those flashbacks again…
“left, right, left, right… listening to the marching when I was in the Israeli army twenty years earlier. Hearing the soldiers march while in the bunk always makes you think about all sorts of strange things… and ideas… and ideals…
“left, right, left, right,” … like aunt roses’ clock twenty five years earlier in Far-Rockaway – quick flashback to the one thing I liked to do most – observing the big hand of the twelve and then my own small hand wondering which word I would write, if and where, and when??
When I was young, momma pulled me away from the waves afraid I would get sucked under by the current, I knew she meant years later when she said ‘ don’t go into the arts – ‘it’ll suck you dry.’
It’s always easier to stay close or be the closest one to the shore. Watch the dirty looking clouds. The rainy kinds ones I like the best. But even if you don’t cross your ‘I’ and dot your ‘t’s, at least you know you have to write whatever comes out and that perhaps has also made a difference.
The last page I left my t and I uncrossed, it looked unfinished but that made me feel perhaps a bit better. Oh and I keep on forgetting to bring my umbrella. But I guess that doesn’t count, does it?
“left, right, left, right,” … like aunt roses’ clock twenty five years earlier in Far-Rockaway – quick flashback to the one thing I liked to do most – observing the big hand of the twelve and then my own small hand wondering which word I would write, if and where, and when??
When I was young, momma pulled me away from the waves afraid I would get sucked under by the current, I knew she meant years later when she said ‘ don’t go into the arts – ‘it’ll suck you dry.’
It’s always easier to stay close or be the closest one to the shore. Watch the dirty looking clouds. The rainy kinds ones I like the best. But even if you don’t cross your ‘I’ and dot your ‘t’s, at least you know you have to write whatever comes out and that perhaps has also made a difference.
The last page I left my t and I uncrossed, it looked unfinished but that made me feel perhaps a bit better. Oh and I keep on forgetting to bring my umbrella. But I guess that doesn’t count, does it?
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After a bit of a hiatus, I decided to send this post to the Write-Away contest at Michele's blog which I read fervently.
4 comments:
The first real rains of the season arrived today, it's been stormy and wet all day.
I don't like it, but I'm trying to see it as an excuse for some much-needed cocooning.
"fervently"? Well that's flattering! It's supposed to rain here by tonight which means the snow will be a mess in the morning.
Something as simple as a cloud can trigger an avalanche of memories. Amazing.
Some very beautiful imagery in this piece - I'm so glad you shared it!
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