There is a kid standing next to a black Ford F150 staring at me but I am not sure why. We’re both filling our cars up at a local Costco.
He waves his hand at me to move and I cock my head to the side, confused by why he thinks I need to.
I turn my head and realize it is because there is a woman who must be 6’2 with legs that go for days and I make a better door than window.
The kid at the truck yells something and the woman turns her head and half waves at him.
He puffs himself up and I snort because he looks like he is about 5’7. My arms are bigger than his neck. That half wave she gave wasn’t an invitation to walk over but he his on his way.
I am tempted to turn on my car stereo and blast Staying Alive. Makes me chuckle but I am not interested in messing with him. Don’t have time and there is a mom with a minivan of kids waiting for me to finish filling up.
Back inside my car I move from the gas lines to the parking lot and play around with whether I want to make a quick run inside.
The holiday season is in full effect and I don’t know that I feel like running the gauntlet but it is during the week and likely to be emptier.
Phone buzzes and I see a friend has sent me a link about the new Licorice Pizza movie and how it is filmed all over the Valley. I am interested in seeing it because it is set during my childhood and I am curious to see how he recreated things.
Later on I’ll get a business call from someone from a 909 area code. who says they are telephoning from Los Angeles.
“909 area code. Is that a cell? No, it is an landline. I am calling from Los Angeles.”
I ask if that is San Bernadino and when they say yes say I never thought of that as being in LA.
“That is because you are in Texas. Californians call San Bernadino LA.”
I laugh and say not really. “Where are you originally from?”
I don’t know why I said anything but the caller didn’t like it and told me I was probably confused.
“It’s not important, but I figure you must have moved there from out of state. No one who grew up in LA would say San Bernadino is part of it.”
“And how do you know this all the way in Texas.”
I ignore the snark and respond with “I am a native Angeleno. I was born and raised there. Been through the Sylmar and Northridge quakes, the riots, mud slides and the last Dodgers World Series championship with games played in Chavez Ravine.”
We move past that and discuss an email that was sent. I explain that I was confused by what was being asked.
They offer an explanation that makes no sense to me and I do my best to be soft with my response.
“Sorry, it still doesn’t make sense to me”
We go back and forth for another moment and they tell me to speak plainly because they can’t understand why I don’t follow.
“There ought to be a beginning, middle and an end. There is a line that sounds like a call-to-action but it doesn’t spell out what that is and a request to submit a response but no timeline.
That makes getting clear responses unlikely and given the lack of deadline we may not get any at all. We need to tighten it up. Clarify the request early on and set a deadline for replies.”
There is a sharp intake of breath, followed by a “what are you, a writer-in-training.”
“All writers are in training, including me.”
A Writer In Training Writes
I was digging around in the old files of fiction and prose to see what jumps out at me and came across a few fragments that I threw down below ‘cuz I think I might play around with them again.
After all a writer-in-training writes, rewrites and writes again.
Maybe it is because I once tamed your heart and touched your soul. Maybe it is because I know that you remember how we learned together how to love and live more deeply than ever before.
If I had to answer the question I would tell you to shut up and kiss me. Stop thinking and do. And when you did you would remember and you would know.
You would know that love is wild and that love is real. You would know that sometimes it is like standing in the eye of the storm. Everywhere you look there is wind, rain and lightning, except for that one place where we are standing together holding hands.
And sometimes you find yourself standing inside the storm and find yourself searching for shelter but if you can hold on long enough you always find it in the same place it was before.
I stumbled across seven year old podcast that an old friend was on. It was hosted by a guy I only knew from the online world.
He (the host) was killed in a car crash about a year after the podcast. Didn’t wish that for him but wasn’t broken up either.
He said some pretty nasty things to me because we disagreed on Jewish practices and considered himself to be a better Jew. I told him if I respected his position I might be offended but I didn’t and considered him a phony.
That didn’t make him happy but I figure he lost as much sleep about it as I did, maybe less because he was a phony.
Anyhoo, I don’t know how I stumbled across this podcast today because I have been lost in space.
Been heavily focused on a couple of things, so much so that I have lost chunks of time.
Funny thing is in spite of this I have been exceptionally productive in multiple areas. Probably a good thing I didn’t go anywhere with big parking lots because I would have lost my car for certain.
When I am driving I am focused on the road and very aware of what the cars around me are doing and any traffic signals/signs but once I am parked my head floats back to solving the aforementioned items.
Got a plan for the one but the other…not so much, but not for lack of effort. Done about all I can do and now I have to wait.