My writing was zipping right along, a bit behind schedule but highly motivated until three days ago, when my dog and I both got sick with the stomach bug that was sending my students home in droves four days before that. Then while I was sick, it got cold and while I know that cold here, isn't what a lot of the country calls cold
I also know my house here has like zero insulation so when the outside hits freezing, the inside hits 43* even with a fire in my wood stove. So I was too sick to lift the logs we feed the fire with, and huddled under a mountain of blankets instead. Every time I had to run for the toilet the air in the house felt like I had plunged into an icy river. Yeah, maybe I had a fever too
But when I awoke on Saturday, feeling like food was on the agenda
there came a brisk wind that took the temperature from freezing to 80*
and then everything went still and the grey whale migration came in close to land, so I didn't write the either.
Instead my husband and I watched whales and chatted with tourists and then went to see "Catching Fire" and out for Chinese food. Ok the food was a mistake, so I just smiled at the plate for awhile then had it boxed up and had soup instead - but it felt so good to feel good to be alive again.
and today I am back at the keyboard, better writing than I could have done without the break anyway.
These are two large rocks but the whales were hanging right beside them, spouting and showing a flipper or tail every now and then
So what have I been writing?
more about two boys 1901 years apart but both in areas with impending volcanic eruptions
here is a brief sample, unedited
"Marcus
guided the Fortunatus family out of the boat at Naples. He was
grateful to step onto an unmoving surface with the farmer and his
wife and children. The farmer and his wife had both been seasick, or
simply sick with terror but the children seemed to love the adventure
of the nighttime boat crossing. And it had been more adventure than
Marcus ever hoped to endure again. The Bay heaved and seemed to try
to pushed them away from shore. The Air was clogged with dust and ash
and smoke so that even in the dawn it was dark. Back toward vesuvius
there was lightning and flames and both white smoke and black ashes
blocking everything and roiling through the earth.
Once
they were clear of the crowds he sought out directions to the artists
home and hoped his Father was still waiting there. Then he gestured
to the family to come with him. The older man hesitated again,
clearly uncomfortable going uninvited to a stranger's home, but
glancing at his children and the crowds of refugees convinced him to
set his pride aside. The streets were covered with ash like snow.
It
wasn't possible to move quickly through the crowded streets with the
children and the few possessions that were meager enough and yet
still weighed them down.
The
crowds were in disarray, everyone was speaking, shouting questions,
and not just in Latin but in Greek and other languages as well.
Where people could, they searched the incoming refugees for familiar
faces, and sometimes there were shout of joy at a successful reunion,
and that gave everyone a more hopeful feeling. Still, many people
milled about with no idea where to go now, or any hope left on their
faces. The disaster had brought out both the best and worst in
people, so some of the locals had come down to the harbor bearing
extra blankets and clothing and food. Some had come trying to make a
quick profit off of necessities they themselves had paid almost
nothing for. There were fishermen and boat owners preparing to go
for more survivors and there were thieves stealing from the
overburdened and vulnerable crowd, knowing those burdens contained
all the earthly treasures those refugees carried.
There
were people spreading stories that they had no way of knowing if they
were true or not, but the audiences they found believed them. If
reality was this bad, of course it was probably even worse. At times
the air would almost clear, the daylight could come through, and that
seemed even more wrong somehow. The ashes falling and the smokey air
seemed to tell the truth that the familiar mountain was now and
forever unfamiliar and threatening.
Farmer
Fortunatus, without a farm now, and still too close to the loss, to
realize how fortunate the Fortunatus family had been, kept turning to
look toward his family home, pointing up in the air, beyond the new
crest of the mountain, to where he had been so comfortable in his old
home and terraced fields. It had to still be there, because it always
had been.
Finally
Marcus and the family were pushing through the door, greeting Veruses
master and then Marcus was grabbed into a strong hug as his father
pulled him close and they wept on each other's shoulders.
“Oy!
Marcus, so glad you are safe, my boy. Your Brother?”
“No
problem, Father. The boat was full and I had promised to help this
family, but Verus and Aemiliana were safe. They were there at the
beach with us, and while he insisted I come ahead, they were waiting
for the next boat. They will probably have smoother tides and better
winds than we did. And they are together. I imagine they are right
behind us, maybe already at the dock.”
“I
went down to the ocean when people began talking about the strange
cloud, I wanted to find Verus but I had told him to go and I did not
know where he had gone exactly, only why. He was going for medicine,
he must have heard of the eruption and caught one of the boats as
soon as it happened, but I wish that he had come back for me. He
probably thought I'd be too old to help. No, I'm sure he only thought
of getting to the girl.” Father began to tell his story, much
relieved to know that his family was safe."
