By lex, on January 6th, 2008
It’s been raining all weekend, a fact that in other places and times might have set me to whinging just a bit. But we live in San Diego now, and don’t begrudge the sky a bit of weeping every now and again. It doesn’t happen all that much.
Every day of rain reminds a man of every other one he’s ever seen, and if you come from the east, there are so very many to remember. For reasons beyond the scope of this text I was discontent and out of sorts yesterday, so I ran down to the beach at Torrey Pines and watched the storm-lashed breakers come in under a fine, soft mist that was almost objectionable, but managed to stay just this side of the line. Sat in the steaming car afterwards, listening to melancholy music and thinking about all of it, and my place in it and in time my heart was soothed. It’s hard to watch the waves come in, as they have since the land and seas were parted, and not know your own troubles to be meaningless, ephemeral and transitory.
The sea is patient, it wears you down.
Came home again after. There’s something infinitely comforting about being inside when the weather outside turns rough, something grateful. A log in the fire, a good book and a cup of tea and a man can feel like the king of the world in a log cabin, so long as the wet doesn’t get through.
Last night was twelfth night, so the tree will come down soon. Tomorrow, probably. Church this morning for the first Sunday in Epiphany. There is a rhythm to these things, something that thrums in your heart at an inexpressible level. Each one connected to the last, to the next. The Hobbit scrawled 20*C*M*B*08 above the lintel in chalk because that sort of thing appeals to her. There’s no harm in it.
Watched the director’s cut of Donnie Darko with the Kat and wondered – not for the first time – whether there was more there than met the eye or a very great deal less. After that it was a Belgian beer and home-made nachos as the Chargers won, even though LT had only an indifferent day. I have lived here long enough now to care about that apparently. After 20+ years as a rolling stone, it sneaks up on you gradually, this sense of being from a place.
Supper’s on the boil and I sit by the dishwasher, of all places. Writing a post about nothing and everything as the machine hums and steams alongside me. And the rain keeps falling.
I’ve had worse and will again, I reckon.
Sufficient to the day.