into the weekend
Slowly, this cold begins to budge. The rain falls steadily and everything I can view from these windows is verdant, lush. Maybe tomorrow, when my energy picks up and something other than pillow and blanket seems like good company, I’ll venture outdoors. For now, I’ve been reading til my eyes droop, sipping throat-soothing smoothies, eating nothing much except warm oatmeal with heaps of fruit, seeds and coconut, and insisting (without much success) that a cat cuddle me. She’s not much into affection on demand …
I finished Robyn Davidson’s Tracks, a memoir of her walk across 1,700 miles of Australia desert in 1977, from Alice Springs to the Indian Ocean. She trekked with her beloved dog and four feral camels she had trained, meeting-up sporadically (and ambivalently) with a National Geographic photographer. When I found the film on Netflix, I vaguely remembered having seen some of those Geographic photos at the time. But in discovering a book long preceded the film, I knew I had to dig into that first. It seemed to me that other such pivotal, internal journeys (Wild, Eat Pray Love) were best conveyed through words, with only a fraction of that self-discovery (accurately) represented in their film counterparts—despite landscape playing such a powerful influence in both. I delayed watching the film, so consumed was I by wanting to hear Robyn Davidson (and photographer Rick Smolan) in interview, all these years later. I went on a bit of an obsessive dig that way, looking for video, curious to discover how Robyn’s perspective on her trip evolved as her life changed over the years. And I have to say that while I was mesmerized by the film, the book was a very different animal, and one that I preferred.
I hope the weekend holds a pocket of time that feels relaxing, wherever you may be.