How To Begin Again

The morning has slipped by in good conversation with Paul, the kettle whistling for just one more cup of tea. After all these years I still feel the surprise and delight at ‘us’ – how unlikely our love is considering the hurly-burly each of our lives has been spun from. We are looking forward to this evening’s trip to the EcoVillage in Los Angeles for a movie and pot luck dinner. We are in the process of getting to know the place and the people in hopes of moving in at the end of this year. This is an opportunity to be a part of a living example of simple, sustainable community living right in the middle of the grunge of the city. I didn’t cook this time, but found some great stuff at Whole Foods Market.



I settle down now to begin, or wonder how to begin writing again. It’s been about a year since I have written anything except skeletal journal entries. Sometimes I think Orange County has worn me down with its miles of homogenous retail and infinite treeless tracks of suburban houses . I am happier at different places on the continuum: natural environments (rummaging through the spaces and silence of Southern California canyons, sliding thru the thick air in a Louisiana bayou) or cities ( indulging in street photography in downtown Los Angeles, breathing in the scent of night blooming Jasmine mingled with street smells in New Orleans) small towns (the ones with quirky histories and good cookin’). But I do agree with poet Eileen Myles when she says that a place like this forces introspection. In the 11 years I have lived in this part of Southern California I have thrashed around with my foul breathed demons and swept the debris away to uncover the best parts of myself. And its easy to blame the place – distract myself from knowing that I have something to do with sculpting the contours of my life. It is time to write again.