SOMETHING TO SAY

If you are going to write, you really should have something to say. Otherwise, it’s just an exercise in grammar. Prewriting is what goes on before, priming the pump so to speak. Sometimes that means writing blind. Out my kitchen window the grass still has some green and birds often land there. They move around first one way, then another with no sense of purpose. Of course they are looking for food but it’s random, trial and error. If they knew where the goodies were they would go straight to it, sort of like writers, looking for a way into an idea or story. It’s not uncommon when you finish a written work that you delete the first paragraph or two. They were part of the process and the piece doesn’t need them at all. 

So I’m pressing on, wondering if my mission this morning is going to target metaphors like ‘Priming the pump’ or maybe how some spots in the lawn keep their green. Maybe I’m supposed to be creating a story about birds or trial and error, what we do when we don’t know what to do. I’m in that gap between Solstice and Xmas. Last night I sat on the patio with a wood fire crackling in the chiminea. I listened to music, sang along with Dylan on ‘Thunder On The Mountain’ and Billie Holiday on ‘God Bless The Child’. I talked on the telephone with a friend I haven’t seen in several years. He was driving, pulled off so we could talk. I thought I was calling out of my own need but as it were, he was the one who needed to talk. 

I won a chili cook-off last year and one of the prizes was a quart of cinnamon whiskey; it’s been in my cupboard for almost a year. Can’t remember the last time I drank whiskey but I nursed a couple of shots as I fed the fire, sang along and talked on the phone. I thought about Syrian refugees and about street people in Newport Beach and Salt Lake City with their belongings in trash bags and grocery carts chained to pillar posts under bridges where they slept. It occurred to me that I’m one of the most privileged people on the planet. I enjoy benefits, incredible benefits that are unearned. All I did was chose my parents wisely and land on my feet, in the right place, at the right time. 

I had time to just sit and breathe. I thought about my pagan ancestors, sitting around their fires, taking comfort in each other. That was their good fortune. My feet were close to the fire. My shoes could take it but the hot denim burned my legs and I had to shift myself around to get comfortable. So now I"m finished with the prewriting; my something to say is this: Life is good but it’s really fragile. Whether you sleep between sheets in your own room or in a cardboard box under a bridge, it’s what we’ve got. Xmas will come and go. But I’ll feel better about the fire and the whiskey than about the birthday party.