http://www.sylviabeachhotel.com/
One of my regrets would be that I will never again have the pleasure of sneaking into a cafe, any cafe I like, sitting down and diving into my world and no one knowing what I am doing and no one bothering about me and being totally anonymous, that was fantastic.
J. K. ROWLING, BBC News, Jul. 17, 2005
The photography group left at 4:30 this morning to work at Seal Rock at sunrise. All of Hogwarts tumbling downstairs in the dark it seemed. I joined them late at breakfast—passed on the cooked and went for raw fruit—Panini Café Americano in hand—and told them I was wakeful anyway. Jane Austen's room occupant told me I could expect a comfy bed when I switched rooms later.
Gryffindor's four-poster seemed all right but my back was tweaking. Today will stretch and walk much more. Outside street lights bright all night. First night in six I didn't take a sleeping pill. Might have to reconsider that. I was extremely groggy waking up. Mind you, half a bottle of King Estate pinot noir followed much later by the obligatory shot of single malt (Redbreast) in Nana's Irish pub probably wasn't doing me any favors. Well tonight I booked myself a table at April's across the street so there will be no party of shutter bugs—though meeting them was informative and amusing.
I think the loft is my favorite space in the house. Banquet table pushed against the east wall, ceiling slope overhead. The six plus feet wide poster of the Oregon coast pinned to the slope is quite intimidating—so what must the real thing be like? That's a great example of an abstraction taking on greater dimension with greater impact on the psyche than direct experience. The long drive will of course affect me directly physiologically and in the long term psychologically—such big nickel words—but the map does serve to give me a literal heads up regarding tomorrow's drive, from here to Brookings. In other words, if I don't start out early, I won't be in Brookings till dark. And there won't be a lot of opportunities to stop.
Today, having said all that, I may take a nostalgic trip north to Depoe Bay, not far, to flesh out my recollections of that summer with Pam and David.
Last night's restlessness and wakefulness was visited by dreams of elaborate bullying and intimidation—in one case someone rather well-off and possibly gay throwing lighted matches at me one by one. I kicked the box of matches remaining away which angered him. He threatened to use his influence to blackball me and my family from any institution in Stinson Beach of all places. I woke up and lay there remembering a weasly asshole in Arlington High daily teasing me, seeking me out, and my adamant refusal to "step outside" which only added fuel. Looking back I think I somehow knew—or reasoned, is perhaps a better way of saying it—that getting physical, that is, hitting him, would not help. And yet, how many instances of teenage altercation do we see that seem to illustrate the opposite? What if I had gone home and asked my experienced boxer father to guide me in some nifty punching techniques? I probably would have gone to Vietnam from college. Instead I rationalized my way to a life of non-violence. I still do not believe that damaging or destroying the other helps anyone. Regarding the Hitler question, he was allowed to go too far first by the German people and then by the European "community" as he invaded and bullied one country after another. Too many aristocrats and industrialists were waiting and watching—even joining in—for Adolph to be thwarted. Allowing him to rise up in Germany and then proceed towards empire building was not a series of nonviolent acts. Of course, nothing I just said has much substance or credibility for obvious reasons.
To continue with last night. My wakeful thoughts turned to other fears such as my being here on the—have you heard? It's on all the billboards—fateful day—Saturday the 21st—the last day of the world. Well yes. I even felt the hotel trembling and thought how ironic I decide to travel the greater length of Oregon coastline the day it falls into the ocean. Hell, even Highway 20 from Corvallis to Newport is officially closed today, the Friday before, the penultimate day! Okay. There was a distinct braiding of fear and amusement but I sedated triple warmer anyway and calmed down. Soon enough, my thoughts turned to Harry Potter's milieu since I was of course meaningfully assigned Rowling's room. I thought of opening the owl's cage—at least opening the window—but I did settle on the world of magic as thematic until I fell back to sleep. In my descent into slumber my admiration for Rowling grew, particularly how she highlighted teenage bullying and intimidation. Harry had his circle of friends and his "good" house for safety. I had Janie Beck—who taught me always wear black socks—and others, plus the "safety" of good rapport with several teachers, notably Feldman who taught Latin, and my own cousin Holmes who ran the audio-visual department.
As for magic, I know Rowling's on the record as nonbeliever, but we do need it. Not need "it" so much as an understanding of our own powers and an understanding of great force at large in the world. Rowling and Tolkien among others tap into this beautifully. One only has to consider our friend Joy's "gentle intention"—beginning with the thermometer attached to the fingertip to illustrate how we can raise or lower our own body temperature, and leading to my wife's changing her own brainwaves—to grasp that we really do have tremendous powers and we need them to learn how to use them. That's what school should be about for these things do not go away nor diminish. But that's not a focus here, so much.
For now I need to accept the truth of this for myself and act accordingly—finding meaning in and bringing meaning to this journey.
Why did we wait for anything?—Why not seize the pleasure at once?—How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!
JANE AUSTEN, Emma 1815
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