Answering The Bell

Writing on The Dock of The Bay

We were worried. Santa was running late this year. He summers in the houseboat across the channel. We're sure it's him. All bets are off on whether that's Mrs. Claus. She seems younger. November. Shouldn't he be gone? Toys don't just make themselves. Yesterday he sipped tea in the sun in a breezy aloha shirt as a flotilla of awol geese drifted by. He's lost weight, too. Not always a good sign at a certain age. People wonder. Privately, I edited my wish list to guard against Christmas morning letdown. Also, I had a bit of an off year. Last night I heard ringing - was it a dream? Someone's hull alarm? This morning, blinds across the channel were closed- not a creature was stirring. The houseboat looked buttoned up for winter. That was no dream I'd had, no cause for alarm I'd heard- that ringing was swell.  Once again, Santa has answered the bell!

Box Poem

Denizen of the Dock, Jim Woessner, guest blogger

Tourists freeze because their travel agent                                                                                                          only said "California," which means "sun"                                                                                                              in most languages. But no one told them                                                                                                           you can die from fog exposure in June.                                                                                                              And they say "guten tag" or "ciao bella,"                                                                                                            and ask, "What's it like to live on water?"                                                                                                         "How much does it cost to own a houseboat?"                                                                                                  And always, "How do you deal with sewage?"                                                                                                     So I say "guten tag" or whatever,                                                                                                                         and then "swell," "a whole lot," and "a big pipe."                                                                                                                 Jim Woessner, Little Boxes

  

Birthday Card From My Friend Ron After A Visit

Writing On The Dock Of The Bay

Falling Under The Influence of Place

Sometimes place becomes the starting point. Where we go from there becomes an adventure, a journey of creation and discovery. Sometimes, where we started when we began to write, gets left in the dust; so too does the genre we thought we were in. And when that harp plays and it's time to wrap things up, we wonder where the story we just wrote came from, and where and when and how did time itself disappear . . .

One's destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things. - Henry Miller

Fairyland

Writing On The Dock Of The Bay

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When you live in a place that's featured in guidebooks and documentaries (not to mention blogs!), it's a different kind of life. At times you have to navigate your way through clusters of camera toting tourists as you take out the trash or bring in groceries from the car. But most of the visitors are happy and considerate. When the woman from Dallas told me, "I want your life!" as I returned from the compost bin, her grin reminded me yet again of the beauty of this place and our good fortune to live here. As if I needed reminding.  Alas, sometimes I do.  It's true - my best teachers don't even know they are teaching me. Last night on the dock an elderly gentleman smiled and said, "It's a fairyland here, isn't it?" I smiled back, repeating fairyland to myself, thinking - we need fairylands in our lives, no matter how old or young we become. 

Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty in every age of life really never grows old." - Franz Kafka

 

 

 

Orange

Writing On The Dock of The Bay

Color has a power which directly influences the soul. - Wassily Kandinsky

Sitting on the dock with my coffee in the mellow autumn sun, I savor this extraordinary light, the golden feeling of time well spent.  And in the autumn of my life, I've learned that orange - a color of zest, creativity and ripeness - the color of Halloween and the SF Giants, is a healing color with its warmth and feel of plenty, with its bright offering that life is here for the taking. Part of every sunset, and each sunrise as well, orange is a color of harvest - healing any wounds of the year in its 10th month; readying us for an ending that makes way for a new beginning, allowing us to float in the contentment of reflection; a sweet period of rest, solace and rejuvenation, before we close one portal so that we may open another.

 

 

Goldie's To Do List

Perspective 0n The Floating Life

 

- Swim in place

- Swim a lap around bowl

- Stare at diver with large head

- Try to get him to talk

- Make bigger bubbles

- Swim to surface

- Swim to surface and dream of jumping

- Stare at elongated creatures who drop food

- Wave tail, but not flirtatiously. I am not Koi.

- Practice floating on my back

- Play hide and seek in castle

 - Swim in place