When I began eating fish a few years ago, I also stopped eating bagels. Somehow, "you are what you eat" had come to life in my mind, arbitrarily, literally, cartoonishly. We'd all probably like to be more fish-like and less bagel-like. Unfortunately there are many foods that provide less-interpretable images than fish and bagels, so my approach failed to translate into anything close to a protein-rich low-sugar diet. Anyway it occurred to me recently that I should be swimming for exercise instead of running, since red-faced, sinew-and-bone jackrabbitness never had any appeal. I might also need to take myself more seriously.

    I sat on the dock for a bit yesterday with Cat and Jack, reading. The water was deep blue, the air cool, the sun glinty, the trees fiery, and the occasional self-tossing fish threw some plops in among the rattle of falling acorns. The water level is about two feet lower than when I last saw it.

    The day before yesterday, Saturday, I was in the salty frothing ocean for a few hours, under a grey sky with a warm wind. A surprising number of mostly older people in windbreakers sat on the beach; I suppose though, if I were them, that's where I'd be too. There was a brown ferny plant confetti in the water and big freckled seals surfaced sometimes, their grey whiskered dog heads bobbing, big as basketballs.

    I anticipate drawing and sewing during the next few weeks; somehow writing is in a different category.

    I've secured rights to the cubicle adjacent to my own, which means I'll be trading near-180� southern exposure for just 30� at east-northeast. With most active concerns approaching on a northbound route, the new geography should enforce a slower and more respectful approach, goddamnit.


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