I drove to Berkeley yesterday, leaving the Delta as winding tendrils of fog caressed my car. The mist followed me over the 160 bridge and into East Bay, up the mountain til finally, I broke free. Standing near a log splattered with the bright boast of visitors’ names, I contemplated the city and the wide expanse of water. The astonishing sight lay below me, quiet, comfortable with its simmering, smoldering magnificence.
Today I feel another fog lifting. My head clears, here on the quiet second floor of my tiny house. The day droned into evening. I got so little done today that I might as well have been asleep. But somehow, an accomplished air settles in my heart. Maybe it’s the nothingness I needed, the long slow reach of a day spent reading a junk novel and eating chocolate-covered raisins, toast, and scrambled eggs, washed down with clear cold water.
I did spend a glorious couple of hours ordering Christmas presents for the Saturday exchange in Kansas City. I knew what I wanted. I clicked through sample after sample, checking delivery dates, contemplating colors, reflecting on each of the fourteen or fifteen people on my list. I admit that I’m never happier than when I’m striving to please someone else. If I only had ten dollars, I’d spend eight of it on gifts.
Then I would sit on my stoop smiling into the morning fog, my coffee at hand.
It’s evening on the fifteenth day of the forty-ninth month of My Year without Complaining. Greetings from the Delta, my friends. Life continues.