Thursday, October 23, 2014

Thursday Morning and All is Well

From Wednesday's walk…

I have never before seen a waterfall on the seawall
There was a storm the night before.
Storm detritus.
Not a blemish on the beach.
Yesterday I was all set to write a longish post, but then the sun came up to reveal broken clouds and I shot out the door for a seawall walk. I love my walking addiction—especially right now.

"Walking the seawall" means walking 13.5 kilometres and it usually takes me 2.5 hours if I take to rest stops. In the past two weeks, I have walked the seawall eleven times. That gives you an idea of the frequency of my walks. Every year at this time, because of walking all spring, summer and early fall,  I am in excellent shape from the waist down and I get into "the zone" as I walk. I feel the desire and capacity to walk forever.

No segue...

Yesterday I got a cheque from my agent and used my iPhone to deposit it. That is the first time in 66years and 10 months of living that I have deposited a cheque without going into the bank. I have never even deposited through a bank machine. I think it is incredible how easy (and expensive) banking has become.

No segue...

Yesterday in my post (below) I wondered what else, beginning with the letter "W," I could be addicted to besides walking and writing. My friend Beth suggested "wanting."

No segue...

Why did I not do more creative writing in my youth? Why has my creative writing flourished in my old age? These were the concerns I chose to investigate during yesterday's walk.

My dominant memory about writing when I was young is hating everything I wrote. Then, like now, my strength was my mornings. I start every day with an enormous high and the rest of the day is a slow wonderful decline to sleep at its end. I am at my sharpest at 5:00 am, so in my youth it was easy to write before school or work and then get on with my "normal" day. But inevitably, on re-reading everything I ever wrote the next morning, I hated it.

So when I got back from my walk, it was with incredible trepidation that I opened up my file of Trudeau, the Felons and Me. And I was relieved. It has been five months since I wrote it and I haven't read a word since, but the prologue is not making me wretch with despair.

No comments: