Last night I decided it would be an excellent time to service our lawn mower, then got into the '71 VW Bus and disassembled its headlight and turn-signal relays which were full of brackish water from our last rain. I used watchmaker's tools, a blow-dryer, tiny scraps of emery cloth and WD-40. It worked! I was done by 3 a.m.
The phone call went like this: "Hello?"
"Hi, it's Mom."
"That's not static. That's the Pacific. If we were farther away we'd get wet."
I interject: "Tell him to put his shoes on and walk 2 blocks west."
"Ohmigosh! Be right there."
There was a five-minute wait, during which Normaphotoed The Ascent Of Man , followed by a lanky figure galumphing over the dunes to hug us and say, "It's so nice to run to the seashore and find my parents on it!"
Sometimes one must take one's thoughts --if not whole self-- to the continent edge to get one's bearings and I have done this, recently enough to regain mastery of myself. Coronation --or is it carbonation?-- is important and I have reclaimed my crown. The world is mine. Where ever shall I put it?