A year later...

I've decided to take another stab at this blogging thing. I keep saying I want to write, and I've got notebooks all over the house that I jot stuff in, but I haven't been consistent at all. There seems to be a difference for me in typing things, like e-mail, into a computer and actually sitting with a pen in my hand. I guess the main difference is that I do some editing in my head while I'm typing, since it's immediately going out into cyberspace, while the pen-in-hand stuff tends to me more directly connected to what's coming out of my brain, uncensored.

I've just returned from my a.m. walk on the beach. The red tide seems especially stubborn this go-round. It, and its effects (dead stuff on the beach) had almost disappeared, then some weather last weekend pushed more seaweed and dead things back onto the beach. So once again it's gotten kind of stinky out there, though not as bad as last time. I even came across a pretty good sized dead sea turtle on the beach about a week ago.

I just began walking again 3 weeks ago. I was spending more and more time in the house doing nothing, thinking, obsessing about a lot of things, and basically becoming a good example of what not to do after you quit drinking. Two years later, and I still don't have much of a life. I've been trying to get back into walking ever since I stopped 3 years ago, and had been pretty unsuccessful. I finally just got disgusted with all the thinking I've been doing and not acting on anything. I decided to scrap all the other shit and just start walking again. I'm a lousy multitasker, but terrific if I can focus on one thing, and exercise seemed like the logical choice, as the one thing that can be completely in my control. So far, so good. I've been walking every day, with one night per week "off" and try to get two walks in on weekend days. The morning walk gets my exercise quota fulfilled, the second gets me some sun and a chat with Suzanne, if she's out on the beach.

I saw a little cormorant on the beach last night, a kid was petting him! He was still in the same spot on my return trip, just standing by the water. I thought maybe something was wrong with him. I reached down and put my hand near his beak, thinking how stupid I was to put my hand where the bird could punch a lovely hole in it, but he just opened his mouth wide, and I realized he wasn't injured. He was just a baby looking for a meal! He was big enough that I thought he was an adult, but he apparently hasn't figured out how to forage on his own yet.