Feeling the need to go back and see Leonard Pennario again, I am trying to work in a weekend trip. This is the kind of hotel description I get a big kick out of.
"Comfort Suites Otay Mesa is located 12 miles from Coors Amphitheater and Knott's Soak City and approximately 30 miles from San Diego International Airport. This location is also 25 miles from Coronado Island, 27 miles from San Diego Zoo, and 33 miles from Sea World."
Where the heck is this place, anyway??
What, am I to figure this out algebraically?
Have these people never heard of the words "north" and "south"?
I have a feeling that -- listen to me. That is a woman thing. Already I have written the word "feeling" twice. Apparently women talk about "feeling" while men talk about "believing," or something more assertive like that. I read that once. Let me start again. I think that I will now be trying to sandwich in a lot of quickie weekend trips to San Diego, to try to keep in closer touch with Leonard about the book now that I am getting it together. The work is going easier now that I read a lot of it too him and he gave a green light to what I was doing. Now that I know he likes where I'm going with it, I can proceed with more confidence.
And it is getting exciting, the writing I mean. I really do feel -- zounds, there I go again with the feelings -- as if I am bringing it in. Like a pilot landing a plane. Sometimes it is as if I am about to ski down a mountain, that magical moment when you're at the top, looking down over everything, feeling the wind.
What am I doing, talking like that? I have never gone skiing down a mountain in my life. I have never even considered it. The only place I ski is Delaware Park.
But I never thought writing a biography would be this thrilling, in an actual physical sense. Sometimes I think of building a big cathedral. Or swimming. That image is in my head a lot. When things get stressful, I think of swimming, steadily, across a wide sea. In dramatic moments I might think of running a race, like our friend Bill in the Buffalo Marathon the other day, tee hee. Bill, I read what you wrote on my posting about my trying not to be late for Mass. I hope that wasn't you whose foot I ran over!
I guess what I am saying is that writing the story of this marvelous pianist, I see it in all kinds of exciting terms -- anything but in terms of what I am actually doing, which is sitting at my desk typing, or standing in the library, leafing through books, trying to dodge weirdos.
Which reminds me. Would you believe, yesterday I got TWO email notices for library books overdue? One from the UB Library, and another from the central public library. The public library is even threatening me with a collections agency. With my books only a week late! People must be lining up to read Arthur Rubinstein's "My Young Years" and "My Many Years." That is all I can think.
Imagine the clamor there will be for my book.
"Comfort Suites Otay Mesa is located 12 miles from Coors Amphitheater and Knott's Soak City and approximately 30 miles from San Diego International Airport. This location is also 25 miles from Coronado Island, 27 miles from San Diego Zoo, and 33 miles from Sea World."
Where the heck is this place, anyway??
What, am I to figure this out algebraically?
Have these people never heard of the words "north" and "south"?
I have a feeling that -- listen to me. That is a woman thing. Already I have written the word "feeling" twice. Apparently women talk about "feeling" while men talk about "believing," or something more assertive like that. I read that once. Let me start again. I think that I will now be trying to sandwich in a lot of quickie weekend trips to San Diego, to try to keep in closer touch with Leonard about the book now that I am getting it together. The work is going easier now that I read a lot of it too him and he gave a green light to what I was doing. Now that I know he likes where I'm going with it, I can proceed with more confidence.
And it is getting exciting, the writing I mean. I really do feel -- zounds, there I go again with the feelings -- as if I am bringing it in. Like a pilot landing a plane. Sometimes it is as if I am about to ski down a mountain, that magical moment when you're at the top, looking down over everything, feeling the wind.
What am I doing, talking like that? I have never gone skiing down a mountain in my life. I have never even considered it. The only place I ski is Delaware Park.
But I never thought writing a biography would be this thrilling, in an actual physical sense. Sometimes I think of building a big cathedral. Or swimming. That image is in my head a lot. When things get stressful, I think of swimming, steadily, across a wide sea. In dramatic moments I might think of running a race, like our friend Bill in the Buffalo Marathon the other day, tee hee. Bill, I read what you wrote on my posting about my trying not to be late for Mass. I hope that wasn't you whose foot I ran over!
I guess what I am saying is that writing the story of this marvelous pianist, I see it in all kinds of exciting terms -- anything but in terms of what I am actually doing, which is sitting at my desk typing, or standing in the library, leafing through books, trying to dodge weirdos.
Which reminds me. Would you believe, yesterday I got TWO email notices for library books overdue? One from the UB Library, and another from the central public library. The public library is even threatening me with a collections agency. With my books only a week late! People must be lining up to read Arthur Rubinstein's "My Young Years" and "My Many Years." That is all I can think.
Imagine the clamor there will be for my book.
1 comment:
Did you ever stop and think that you *might* be one of the weirdos at the library?
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