Foot Traffic

Due to a kitchen renovation, which has now blossomed into an entire-house fix-up loaded with scaffolding, wet saws, trowels, dry wall hammers, and the constant roar of power tools, I have usually had to write from various vantage points and locations inside.  This is more difficult than I imagined, but this displacement has offered certain bonuses, too.

For example, I've written in the bathroom as well as the closet.  I've had to find time in the basement late at night (amid piles of boxes and stacked furniture) and also in the office in the wee hours of the morning (stuffed inside a ladder and enormous stacks of displaced books).  Perspective changes here, as does the pace and the comfort of the work.

Amazingly enough, despite these weeks of incessant hammering, vibrating walls, and the ever-present voices of contractors, plumbers, electricians, and delivery services, I've managed to produce under pressure and the ever-present reality of deadlines.

While on vacation last week I snapped some decent photos that I hope to use in some travel pieces, and late at night I've been writing articles on subjects ranging from charter boat fishing, to wine tasting, to the history of fishing lures.  Somewhere inside of me there is also a series of articles about enduring a home renovation.

My final option for retreat is usually the car.  But first I have to choose which jalopy I'm going to sit in . . . and this has commonly included my son's 1993 Chevy 4X4 pick-up with no air or radio. 

Writing outside, even at night, breaks me into a cold sweat.  But sometimes the moonrise is beautiful.  And it's an amazing thing to consider living in an automobile just to have the experience of such a simple existence.  No fridge.  No microwave.  No table.  No available entertainment or eating utensils. 

Just like inside the house with all of the foot traffic. 

Perhaps writing an article about slugs would put it all in perspective?