First things first: I checked the word count on my short story "Only Have Eyes For You" and it's over forty-thousand now. While I can't remember if that's a novel or not (seems like it might have been, but it also seems like 50K was), it'll definitely be one IF I finish it. That's a fairly big if, but I do keep on working on it.
Yesterday, I saw that dude Tanner for the last time (whenever I picture my character Mason Bradley in my mind, it's Tanner I see rather than myself). I told him as many nice things I could, preferring to seem overly-affectionate rather than let him go unappreciated but not convinced I am gay. Gosh, do you remember how frightened we all were years back that people would call us or think us gay? I've really decided I give no craps about that anymore, so maybe that's progress.
So, I did decide to go to the cabin, but not until (almost) all my work was done. I got going over an hour earlier than I did last week, but I needed to stop and get food for meals (I always buy a loaf of bread and a couple of cans of soup) and filled up on gas (I was worried that I'd run out out in the middle of nowhere, which is where long stretches of the drive take you . . . probably one of the things my dad most liked about this place).
A decade back, it was my dad and my uncle that would most often trade off using this cabin, but now, it's my brother-in-law (usually with the kids) and me that use it the most. I need to stop and sigh and think about how fortunate I am to be able to come up here as often as I do. Except I'm always alone (which is nice, don't get me wrong), so it makes it a bit less wonderful, especially when there's an awesome sunset or the greens of all the trees and plants are more amazing than usual.
Oh, let me go ahead and be as shamelessly confessional as I can be here (we're all friends here, right?). The other night (Monday?) when I was doing sit-ups, it seemed more uncomfortable than usual, and last night, I was afraid I had chafed myself somehow in a less-than-pleasant place. Well, no, it turned out to be one of those things you don't talk about in polite conversation. The type they have special pillows you can sit on for.
So, when I came up to the cabin on Wednesday, and was faced with doing sit-ups on the hard wooden floor of the cabin, I thought, "Yikes. Now's when the men and separated from the boys, aren't they?" I only managed to get twenty-five of them done, and I gotta say, they were the most painful sit-ups I've experienced, and I had to stop. But not to be deterred, I took myself to the lake around sunset and decided not only do do some running from one side to the other (I even touched a rock there as a sort of tag marker, before turning around and doing it again), but I also picked another song to sing at the water's edge, just as the sun is going down over the trees.
It was, if anything, more beautiful than last week, but unlike last week, there was one other person there this time, so I felt super self-conscious. He was an old man, fishing, and was just quitting for the day (he didn't appear to have caught anything). "What you doing, taking pictures?" he asked, eyeing my tripod. I should have just lied (or half-lied, anyway) and said, Yep, but I told him, "I'm going to sing a song, embarrassing enough."
He surprised me by saying, "Oh, hey, that's nothing to be embarrassed about. Good for you." And then he made his way down the other side of the dam toward his truck or cabin, leaving me all alone again among all this nature, ducks, fish that were jumping in the water, and magic hour pinks and oranges reflecting off of everything. I sang a Peabo Bryson song from my youth, and only did a single take, before I grabbed the camera and took a couple of pictures that probably aren't as spectacular reproduced here as they were in person.
Here is one from where I sang my song (on the dam):
It's one of those things where it's hard to see where the surface world ends and the reflection begins.
Here is one on the other side of the dam, where I had intended to sing last week, but didn't manage (I did try to do a second song there as the sun disappeared and the shadows got really long, but I couldn't remember the damned lyrics, despite having sung the song a hundred times since 1995 or so):
It makes me want to keep coming here, and keep racking up songs with incredible backgrounds (honestly, some Country band could shoot a whole video out here and people would gasp at how pretty it all looked), but I'm certain that one of these Wednesdays, there will be boats out on the water and fishermen all along its shore.
I came back to the cabin, tried to build me a fire (I am the worst pyromaniac the world has ever known), and got some lukewarm soup in me. Then I watched a movie with Patrick Schwarzenegger in it, and marveled at how much like his old man he looked from certain angles, and how he didn't at all from others.*
After it got dark, I went upstairs and sat on a pillow on a bed instead of the floor, and got fifty more sit-ups in. Despite decades testifying to the contrary, I'm not quitter.
Sit-ups Today: 75
Sit-ups in June: 1312
Words Today: 718
Words In June: 9807 (with that, I drop below a thousand words a day. Sad, in't it?)
*I met the guy when he was just a kid, the one time I met his father, who shook my hand in these gigantic Hulk hands-sized mitts, and I found it strange that Patrick didn't speak with his father's accent. But of course he wouldn't. I can't really say why Ahnold still does.
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