I have noticed since being in Barcelona, and indeed I have noticed in all of our European travels this summer, a lot more men carting around children than I see in the states. And here in Spain I have noticed many, many sets of grandparents or a grandparent caring for young children. I wonder if instead of placing children with daycare centers, more people here utilize family for childcare. I’m talking about babies and very young children.
Today while swimming in the Mediterranean I was drifting in from a swim out a ways from shore, when a turd floated by. I immediately exited the water, packed up the baby, and went to take a shower. I just could not swim with turds. Call me particular.
Have you ever gone swimming somewhere noisy, boats roaring, children screeching, just the sounds of summer and wetness…then you dive under the water and it’s silent and thick, the water fills your head? You might can barely hear the other sounds, but they are muffled and far away. You are present only in the moment of being there under the water by yourself.
Well, that’s like writing can be for me. I start writing and lose any sense of time. I don’t notice the sounds. I’m gone. I love that place. It’s better than any substance designed to obliterate reality and there isn’t a hangover, although there can be some disorientation upon returning to consciousness and having to deal again with reality. That can be somewhat of a shock.
I love that this blog thing tells you that no one reads what you say. That’s all good though because I might be tempted to edit myself if I thought anyone was looking at this or gave a damn. I probably do anyway because it’s not my journal. Oh well.