Meandering Monday

Twice a week, I carve out time on my schedule that I like to call, “A Writer’s Life”. I write everyday, but for approximately three hours on Mondays and Wednesdays, I try to focus all my creative energy on novel writing. Whether or not I am successful in this endeavor is debatable week to week and by whom you ask. As evidenced by my many blank blog entries for 2012, one does not need to tune in to this debate for very long, but I feel that further examination might shed some light on why my writing life is such a challenge.

Since today is Monday, I naturally end up at my public library by two ‘o’clock for quiet and uninterrupted writing time. I sit at my favorite table which is strategically positioned in front of what used to be a minimally sized, but delightfully unexpected zen garden. It is now what I’m sure was intended to be a mini fruticetum or maybe even a viticetum, but looks more like someone’s side yard on their zero lot, enclosed within floor to ceiling glass windows on three sides and a wall on the fourth. I sit there for the sky light which brings in enough luminosity to mimic the radiance of the sunny day outside without the searing reality of the May heat in Hawai’i. I am sure the dazzling brilliance will inspire me to write word upon word and page upon page of fiction greatness. Within ten minutes, everything has lost its luster as the frigid cold of the air conditioning in the building has me wrapping my pea coat clad arms around myself in an effort to stimulate the warmth and coziness of a hibernating bear. Also, students from the nearby high school campus begin to arrive for after school studying, some of which evolves quickly into hand holding and occasional necking at the table directly behind me. Awkward! This prompts me to move to a different spot.

I gather up my yellow, legal pads, writing implements and the Hawai’i Driver’s Manual that I’ll borrow on my way out for my brother-in-law who intends to obtain a state driver’s license now that he, my sister and their two sons have been living here for almost a year. I move over to another table that is located in the large open area near the fiction stacks. I sneak a glance at my cell phone and see that my middle schooler has texted me, “can you pick me up or should I walk over?” I text my reply, “I’m already sitting in the library, you should walk over.” Her text response, “but it’s so farrrrrr!” to which I quickly shoot back, “you will survive it, see you soon.” She texts back a final, “Okkkkk” and I can’t help having the last text, “Omggggg.” Seven minutes later, Reese arrives from her trek across two school campuses and a parking lot during which time I was tapping the eraser on my pencil against my lower lip. This prompts me to acknowledge her and sparks a memory of us amongst books.

After our whispered greetings to each other, Reese dives into her math homework and I stare out into my minds’ zen garden hoping for creative lift off. This is the exact moment when one of the librarians begins to stamp the inside covers of what I hope and assume are soon to be discarded books with a heaviness that can only be described as loud and annoying for a library. This happens for almost the entirety of “Obla Di Obla Da” which I am listening to on my iPod, one ear bud in. I can hear her elephant stamping ways and her squeaky chair as she swivels to and fro in the tiny area behind her desk. This prompts me to take a short break from my blank page.

I walk a small circumference of the building, passing the Hawaiiana room and nonchalantly checking if the space I previously occupied had been vacated by the necking teenagers. Nope. On my way back to my table, I notice a stack of pamphlets on the top shelf of reference volumes, above the World Book Encyclopedias. It’s entitled, “Between the Covers” and appears to be the list of adult summer reading titles recommended by the Hawai’i State Public Library. I quickly peruse the list that includes books, cd’s and dvd’s and find the most interesting offering to be a book called, “Aqua Erotica” edited by Mary Anne Mohanraj. The 18 stories comprised in this collection all feature sex and water. Part of the description in the pamphlet says, “As an added bonus, the book itself is waterproof!” What in the name of all that is good and holy? Other notables on the list that bear mentioning because they are just this side of absurd were, “Priceless: How I Went Undercover to Rescue the World’s Stolen Treasures” by Robert Wittman and “At Knit’s End: Meditation for Women who Knit Too Much” by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. These are the suggestions for the adults in our reading community? Where is “The Woman Upstairs”, “Telegraph Hill,” or “Life After Life,” and “The Care and Handling of Roses with Thorns” on this list? This prompts me to research the summer reading lists at other state libraries. 

By four ‘o’clock, Reese and I are packing up and checking out. Not only did my writing efforts plummet into near nothingness, I added more books to my already extensive yearly list. A brilliant example of my meandering discourse, but another moment in time shared with Reese amongst the books.