It’s a book, it’s a movie, it’s the story of Jack Kerouac, a 1962 novel written by him, in which he trades as the fictional character Jack Duluoz, in which his spends some time in a cabin in Bixby Canyon, Big Sur, that was owned by his friend and Beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
Last night, we spent in a cabin on top of a mountain in Big Sur, in the middle of nowhere. Following a day of tremendous ups and downs along the Pacific Coast, overlooking the foggy coast line.
Beauty, and nothing else.
Today, it’s our wedding anniversary, the first we’ve spent apart. The first time also that I heard what Pádraig thinks and feels about his new life: that he is accepting it, knowing how limited and difficult it is sometimes and that his biggest trouble is dealing with the loneliness.
Big Sur is beautiful and a place that would have been top of his list of nice places, I’m sure. He would have loved this cabin in the middle of nowhere on top of a mountain. But today, in my thoughts, I’ll be at home with Pat and Pádraig.