here and there

The day is cleansed, winter storm and overnight pours, gleaming brightness of morning. The wind continues to race, it chills the southern California day. But the air is clear, and flowers and succulents sparkle and glow. So alive.

I, speaking for myself, am thrilled to be alive. Blessed to wake to another day. I did discover earlier, and there were curse words, a story I’ve worked on for two years has vanished. Completely, from every conceivable hiding place. It’s gone. My ongoing stumbling through all things computer, meaning I’ll own that I must have deleted it at some point, just as I somehow saved incorrectly the entire book of stories I’ve been writing the past five years, which is no longer available, cannot be opened. Also gone. I did manage to find and open an older version of the book, and have been working my way re-editing and writing through it. Which brought me to my “Phil” story this morning, after an earlier brainstorm for ideas to finish it, only to find it no longer exists.

I’m not looking for advice or suggestions on how to change for the better these realities because, well, this is the deal. I haven’t looked on the laptop yet, maybe there’s an old copy of “Phil” there. Or not. My old computer, the one coming to an end-of-life reality back in Encinitas, it’s on the floor behind the passenger seat in my car, and possibly I drag it back up here and connect to this monitor and look in those documents, hoping for a pleasant surprise. Maybe I will, but maybe I won’t. It’s hard enough being a writer – for me anyway – without emotional bring-downs of devoted work disappearing.

The day outside my window, though, is sparkling and fresh, and I’m still here to see it. Be part of it. And maybe, even, become a mighty detective for lost tales.