A Writer’s Currency

 

Sixth grade. One (first) plane trip, two states, three schools, four languages if you count Pidgin English. (Also Yiddish and French class.) One border of the country to the other, from the American edge of the Atlantic to the middle of the Pacific, and a cultural shift of unfathomable dimension.

Saddle shoes to bare feet, blizzards to tropical breezes, bobby pins to leis, oak trees to plumeria, chicken stew to saimin soup, social inclusion to misfit. The threat of hurricanes, the threat of tsunamis, the crash of waves in Atlantic City, the gentle surf of Honolulu.

Tears, joy, loss, promises, farewell, aloha. All in a day, all in a very long day and into the dark and fragrant night.

That ought to make you unsteady on your feet. It sure as hell did me.

No paradise for me but currency for a writer.

Remembered about the years 1959 – 1960 of moving from New Jersey to Hawaii.

 

 

Just a Thought 15

 

Painting: Tiger in a Tropical Storm, Henri Rousseau, 1891, courtesy Wikipedia.org