it's Sunday and I'm dragging. It's been a challenging week at work, late hours, and then emotionally the press here have been particularly and extremely difficult. Of the three comments I had left to respond to a particular story (there were nearly 1,000 comments in the end) reported in the NY Times, only one was approved. I must have written a jumble of upset.
I wish I had someone to hang around with even though I've never quite had much of that outside of when I was in college and truly I had no one most of the time to hang around with. Long winded of me to explain I went to Raleigh yesterday to Quail Ridge Books and Music Store on Wade Street, and I did to take signed bookmarks for my friend Bonnie Jo. I inserted these into her Once Upon A River (national bestseller) and I was received with as open arms the staff can be. I was shown around a lovely space of an independent bookstore that's been in business coming up 28 years. I saw reading chairs I envied (I so want two such chairs). Bookcases lined with every display and type of book; they had French magazines and I saw Patty Smith was writing on Virginia Woolf which I wish I could have read because, I'm sorry but....).
And I am off to the beach today solomente. Nothing unusual as nearly every visit to Lake Michigan I did so on my own. Always on my own.
I need the quiet and then the sounds of the water. For the record, I have the ability to hear still images, and most readily the flow of water. From where life has been captured, from photographs, I can hear the breeze through leaves and grasses. I can hear traffic and shoes and brakes and whistles. Sounds from still images. Big whoop, but when one sound comes to mind strong enough and without a still image to provoke it, seems to me a desire needs to be fulfilled. Waves.