Going Fishing?

Last week I woke up on Long Island. The sun is out early in these warmer months, and I loved my Shabbat, but was ready to head home. I had a ferry to catch. I was hungry as I pulled away from the curb.

My whole life people talked about a breakfast sandwich. It is a particular tristate area thing, I believe. I’ve seen it in many varieties, but its basic components are a fried egg, some bacon, and something akin to cheese, on a Kaiser roll. I was never tempted. I’ve had the same morning meal for at least the last ten years. Two eggs over easy. A bit of hot sauce. No carb. Sometimes I go crazy and use butter instead of cooking spray, but it’s still the same two eggs.

I chatted with the guy inside. Delis are often the domain of fathers over the weekend, and the guy behind the counter started to prepare all the men’s orders when he saw them in the parking lot.

He asked who I was visiting in that—vaguely hostile, but actually friendly—New York way. I pretended to know how to order. He pretended not to notice I didn’t and I brought it back to my car as if it were an accomplishment.

I unwrapped it innocently, expecting to go at it like I do most sandwiches—guiltily picking at the bread and wolfing down its contents, in an effort to hold onto to my figure often spilling over the sides of my seat.

Before I gutted this sandwich, out of curiosity, I wanted a full bodied experience. One bite was a revelation. The perfectly soft roll with its layers of gooey pleasure hit me in the gut. How had I spent so much of my life where this is a thing, and not even bothered to taste it? By the time I’d finished the first half, a sickening thought came to me. What else am I missing? What other “sandwiches” did I disregard out of hand.

Which brings me to my next challenge, something I’ve heard is great but never attempted. A solid vacation from this blog’s weekly output. Would I melt? Could I fade away? Or would it be like that diet I never went back to after one extra cookie?

The old school television I enjoyed during my latchkey youth, left me lonely and infuriated when my favorites went away for a summertime hiatus. How hard could it be, I thought? Sit down and bang it out. Only, I’m starting to see the value in stepping away for a short time.

The summer is bursting everywhere I look. I’m angling for another project, interested in stretching my writing muscles further. The pool’s open and the dogs won’t walk themselves. Gardens bloom and bikes pedal. I want a summer without a deadline.

It’s not that I can’t come up with an idea, but damn it, I’m starting to feel like I’m writing myself in circles.

I realize as the exclusive and unpaid author of my own work, I answer to no one. But I do feel connected with you, my dear readers, who show up week after week. If I stop now, would I fade back into the oblivion I’d cocooned myself inside of before we met? Would you miss me?

On the other hand, the next few climate warmed months are gloriously scheduled with family, friends and adventure. I don’t want to have to wake up so early to write.

Here, I can hear my mother’s voice screeching in my head. “Eat that one cookie and you’ll be fat forever.” Don’t take a break or you’ll never come back. I hope only she was right.

This last weekend, I enjoyed a pedal-assist-ride for close to twenty miles with my very young, wise, clear minded and wonderful cousins who restored my faith in their future. I was exhilarated and exhausted, fearing I wouldn’t make it, and happy to have disappointed all my well trained doubt.  

When I began this over 100 stories ago, it was an attempt to challenge myself and to be heard. There is a book in these “Chronicles”—audio and otherwise. This hiatus is a different sort of challenge. Can I allow myself the leeway to shut up and enjoy?

I managed to be wholly present this weekend with the cousins. I saw the life my husband and I have built through their eyes, and it proved to be pleasure worthy, and ripe for the reaping.

Stepping away requires faith and courage. It has never been my experience that absence makes the heart do anything but move on. I have to be okay with that, but even as I write this, I’m fairly sure I can’t quit you. 

This has become my major focus. I’m anxious to have a go at a richer, more cohesive version of these essays to shape into a memoir—and of course, the ever illusive novel. 

Here is the compromise I’m leaning towards. I’ll be running a few more repeats than usual. Perhaps I’ll even skip a week or two. As I write this, ideas are popping like heated corn in my mind already. I think this is what a good vacation should do.

Even if it’s a solid case of weather-induced laziness, I am willing to take that chance. Come September, I'll have had some adventure to inspire me, and you will want to hear about it. If not, I’ll find a different way to engage the senses. This is the real job of a writer.

Until then, dear readers, a perpetual and hardy thank you. Have a discovery laden summer! And make sure to try the sandwich!