A Wind Along the Northern Coast of Africa

So many people have been asking me where I am, that is if "so many people" means "no many people," because if a blogger fell in the forest, would it make a sound? 

No. It wouldn't. But I will tell you this: I haven't really been anywhere. Just, like a lot of you, laying low, feeling like maybe I just want to put one gentle finger up against the lips of the world and say sshhhhh, let's all be quiet now. No one say anything, not one thing more, let's all just sit here quietly for a second to calm down.

It was a Volkswagen Scirocco that brought me back. Or the lack of one. A random thought that popped in my head the other day, when's the last time I saw a Scirocco driving down the street? How strange it is how slowly things change until one day you realize it's been ten years since you saw a Scirocco, a car that I once coveted to the point of tasting the smell of the seats, two-toned leather, like the Scirocco that my friend's older sister drove. Oh, how I wanted that car and her hair, like Proust's madeline, and I thought, I bet the people who live inside my laptop might like to hear about that. 

So here we are. Ozzy has an imaginary friend he calls The Ghost Kid sometimes, other times Mr. Nobody, although around Zoey's friends he calls him Flabeeo. The Ghost Kid is black, not African American, but actually black like a shadow. He hangs out in Ozzy's room and scares him, and I can't help but wonder--imaginary? 

Sshhhhh. Let's whisper-talk. The world is a blown-out eggshell. This weekend we are going sailing as a family, will listen to the fog horns and sleep on the boat. The boat's name is Adagio. Marked by a slowing of the tempo.

xo,
S