Relish12 Prompt for December 12, 2012
Carve some
time out for yourself this week.
Today, I was a
Relish12 overachiever. I carved out some
space within a half hour of receiving this prompt. I said, “That’s it! I’m
outta here!”
My home office felt
stagnant. My dogs were barking, there was a certain shade of stuffyness in the
air and I needed out, out, out.
I decided I would go
on a short hike in the Kern Canyon to collect goodies for a future assemblage
since I loved my Morro Bay assemblage so much. I was driving to the canyon when
I got a poke to do something slightly different, “Drive over the bridge. Take
this road you have never taken.”
I did.
The ambling country
road is named Rancheria Road and is right on the edge of new housing
communities which I pray don’t overtake it. There is such a silent, quiet
feeling out there on this road-I-had-never-taken before. I found myself smiling
for no reason at all except the silence was absolutely astounding. I didn’t
have to worry about anyone else’s agenda or any appointments or where I was
expected to be next.
I realize I need to
schedule plentiful uninterrupted even by cell phone reception time, especially
as I continue to heal from melanoma. I may have to have another surgery in
January. If I do, I am going to make more quiet time. I may recuperate outside
of Bakersfield this time if a surgery is necessary. I won’t expect myself to
bounce right back. I can rent a little cabin or something and pretend I am
Thoreau’s sister.
A butterfly flew by and tousled my hair. I
flock of tiny grey birds flew in formation. They looked like krill of the sky
sea. Cows stood and watched me, apathetically, as they grazed. Maybe they just
have poker faces.
About six miles up the
road the pavement disappears. I thought of turning around as I went up and over
hills and decided only the unadventuresome among us would do such a thing. I
kept going. I kept my eyes on the scenery and along the sides of the road to
pick up assemblage treasures.
Yes, there were many
but probably not what you might think. There was a chew can, perfect for the
area. I found one lense from a pair of sunglasses. I found smooshed cans of Bud
Light but I only took one. I found a rec vehicle magazine, you know for those
dangerous three or four wheel contraptions that have been known to kill drivers
who aren’t experienced enough? One of my friend’s kids died this way.
Anyway, I thought that
was (sadly) perfect. A man drove by me much faster than I would have liked and
gave me the peace sign which I gave back.
It took me quite a few
turns in the road before I found a Marlboro box. I found a chip bag, newly
discarded out someone’s window. It has bi-lingual labeling. I thought the color
would make a nice addition. A juice bag, bottle tops, and then a delightful
rural Kern County discovery: Remington shell casings: perfect, and right after
the thought, “Why haven’t I found any shell casings, I wonder?” Then I saw what
looked like a small tube of toothpaste. Ta-da! Just looked different than what
I have seen in town.
I found some really
thick glass right along a place where those rec vehicles have climbed up a very
steep embankment. I am going to let my friend figure that one out, but I love
the sparklyness it will add to my assemblage.
On the way back down
the hill, I went to the Rec Area for Rancheria Road to a part of it I had never
visited. It was a great spot to just sit in gratitude to divinity for showing
me the way back to me.
Write
about what
creating that space meant for you. What emotions bubbled up? Where did your
thoughts drift? Could you commit do doing this for you more often?
This is one of those experiences that is so
valuable for me in that it wakes me up, it reminds me of what I love:
discovery, surprises, winding roads, journeys without destinations. I felt quietly blissed out, a continually smile. No concerns except for finding more cool-to-me stuff for another nature-meets-man art project.
It was only a couple hours from start to
finish AND I know it will nourish me for days
to come. I was snapping photos
thinking, “I will always remember this.” I listened to silence and thought of
how I could hear so much when it was quiet.
I need to add this to my schedule at least
once a fortnight and then stick to it.
I’m grateful you are reading here today!
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© 2012 by Julie
Jordan Scott
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