It’s been a day and a half of mad, unbridled productivity here at My Country House, a.k.a. The BF’s.
You could chalk it up to Spring, only it’s always Spring here in Los Angeles, except when it’s Summer. (Nothing much of anything gets done here in Summer, or at least the dog days of it, and in that way only are the citizens of Los Angeles much like the citizens of any other hot place in the world.) It’s been lighter longer for a few weeks now (and none too soon, for the depressives among us). The work flow has been the same mix of medium-pressing and many-spigotted.
No, I think the reason I’ve been at my busy best is because I’m heading out of town tomorrow for a goodly stretch, and that’s as good a way to see it as any: me, stretching. For as much of a homebody as I am most of the time, there’s a part of me that not only loves but needs to get out of Dodge. Pulled away from my routine, I see things differently; surrounded by stuff that I’m not used to seeing, I think of old stuff in new ways.
Plus, there’s the grand and glorious freedom of pretending that all you have to worry about is the one, small bag, okay, the two small bags…okay, the two small but incredibly dense and heavy bags are all that’s weighing you down in the world. I know from my own experience not to try fleeing trouble: it tracks you down and gives you an extra noogie just for thinking you could outrun it. But it’s fun to be free of stuff and bother, even if it’s only a pretend free. And who knows? Maybe after enough of these trips, I’ll get closer to the vagabond spirit of my friend, Evelyn, who in the four years that I’ve known her has made an art of wandering and wrought brilliance from the thing most call rootlessness.
For now, I’ll use them as an excuse to do what I always do with a bit more diligence. It gets a lot of stuff done.
And it’s probably getting me ready for the next thing…