The Sound: My Silent Witness

Today I am toasting the Long Island Sound. I have lived on both sides, and it seems to have witnessed so many of my happy moments. On the New York side, we spent our early married years living close to the Sound, in Glen Cove and then Huntington. We always seemed to end up near the water. It was a natural follow up to our childhoods near the Great South Bay (Tom) and the Atlantic Ocean (me) on the opposite Long Island Coast. We both love the smell of low tide, and roll down our car windows at dusk, driving through the marshy areas of Connecticut’s shoreline, recalling memories made on both sides of the Sound.

My most recent Sound encounter was on Tuesday. I am still patting myself on the back for taking the day off and using it well. I dropped Gavin at Day Care and called Mercy Center at Madison from my cell phone. Yes, I could come for the day and use the facility. The fee, including lunch, was $15, surely the least I have ever paid for instant peace of mind.

What joy to wander an expansive, nearly silent mansion and find the perfect room to write! I set up my laptop in the enclosed sun porch overlooking the Sound. I had indulged in a large iced latte (Starbucks en route) and rarely drink caffeine these days, so I found myself taking rather frequent bathroom breaks. But except for this annoyance, I found I was capable of following the often-quoted advice to writers: apply the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair. I propped my laptop on a small table and worked on three book chapters. I moved on to an essay I’ll submit this week. I relearned two lessons about writing: it is one of my biggest joys, and it is also just plain hard work. A reread told me that my chapters have a long way to go.

After lunch, I walked out to the patio. I felt torn between the pragmatic need to plug in (those darn laptop batteries die so quickly!) and the desire to be outside in the balmy, salty air. Then the heavens opened and I found that the patio was wired. I plugged into the outdoor outlet and was happy as a clam. I got so absorbed in writing that I didn’t notice the earth continued to rotate. It rotated me right out of the shade and my left arm turned red, then nearly maroon as I typed happily, obliviously. When I was typed out, I dozed in the shade, listening to a lone swimmer cut through small waves. Every time I massaged lotion into my sunburn this week, I thought back to my heavenly interlude.

I still struggle with integrating writing into my day-to-day existence, and wait for these magic windows to really be productive. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made writing too sacred and separate. I want my writing to become more portable, to sometimes have my laptop on the couch while Gavin plays, to scribble edits on hard copy while he takes a bath. I know that writing and parenting can (sometimes) coexist happily when I let them.

I am hoping the rain stays away long enough for the Lyme Farmer’s Market, my personal sign that summer is truly on its way. I hope Gavin treasures the memory of visiting the stalls with me and my Mom, sampling cheeses and breads, stealing sips of my iced coffee, having an ice cream. The market is held on a dewy, expansive lawn, and the coffee roasters are just up the hill. Cows and horses graze just over the stone wall. It couldn’t be more picturesque, and the crowd is always relaxed. Back at my mom’s house, we often walk down to, of course, the Long Island Sound.