Thursday, June 22, 2017
I've been wanting to do something with the whole concept of one shoe for years. Inspired by beach wanderings, almost always accompanied by plastic bottles and single shoes. We took a walk to the windward side of Big Sand Cay, not bothering to swim ashore with our own shoes to cross the sand spurs, knowing we'd find some. Sure enough. One's too big or gets uncomfortable, another will appear in a few yards. The beach is strewn with shoes and plastic bottles. Oddly, some contain pristine toothbrushes. We call to each other over the wind blowing off the water--this place is wild, spooky, for all its human detritus it guards inhuman knowledge. Something living in the ground girds its perfectly round holes with neat loops of twig and sand spurs. The birds hover over us as we cross their land, low enough even in this wind to let us know we are interlopers. Even the rusting, tumble-down structure on the low bluff, the cement bunkers--evidence we'll only ever stay a little while. Last time I was here I read Tibetan Budddhist philosophy. I try meditating on the beach as Tallulah creates a memorial made of shells and driftwood on the soft sand. (Earlier, she buried the desiccated bodies of two baby turtles, their scurry to the sea arrested by those cawing, hovering birds.) This place is neither sea nor land, exactly. It's mostly sky.
Thursday, March 30, 2017
The university gates across the street from our apartment yesterday, as Tallulah and I drove to the post office. I didn't sleep well, reckoning with the potential meanings of what's happening in the world, including the student-led work stoppage at UPR, ongoing in response to the huge cuts (many millions) on which the Fiscal Control Board insists. Many things are unclear. Tallulah's school is closed, too, much to the delight of all the kids. She's off in the rainforest with friends today, then maybe the beach...
|Photo of the front gates by my friend Don.|
Saturday, March 18, 2017
|Waiting for tacos made by a lady from Tecate.|