I’m blocked! Creatively, not digestively. Although come to think of it, I haven’t been very regular for the past few weeks. I suppose one thing could have something to do with the other, but I digress. I always seem to have trouble coming up with something new to write about for our summer issues. 
Knowing that my deadlines are roughly four to six weeks before publication, it makes sense that given the time of year I’m undoubtedly feeling the effects of “spring fever.” Just like our kids start tweaking for summer vacation once the days get longer and the temperature warms up, I must be experiencing something similar. Maybe it’s something we never outgrow, even though I’m lucky if I get one week off from work in mid-July, unlike the ten weeks respite from school my so-called children enjoy.
In years past, my summer articles have ranged from summer relevant topics such as the end of school (Schools Out, June Swoon,Sizzling Summers), to summer vacations (My Summer Vacations, Our Trip to the Moon, We’re going to Euroland). Local day trips (The Last Daze of Summer), to swim team (The Obsession with SwimTeam) and back-to-school (The Back to School Experience and Sentenced to Another Year). Then, when I’m struggling for material, the subject matter has wandered into our community (Suburban Superhero), my run-ins with famous people (I’ve Met Famous People), self-indulgence (My Interview with Me) and my envy of all things canine (I Wish I was a Dog). Admittedly, I tend to reach when I can’t come up with anything topical or tropical. For some reason, my creative brilliance is overflowing when the weather turns chilly and it gets dark around 4:50 pm., but the minute I put on my True Religion cut-off jeans, One Direction tank-top and Tory Burch sandals, my brain turns to mush.
Typically, when I run into a bout of writer’s block, I play a word association game to help stimulate ideas. If I throw out enough word keys one of them is bound to unlock the door to my right brain. I am the Right Brain. I am creativity. A free spirit. I am passion. Yearning. Sensuality. I am the sound of roaring laughter. I am taste. The feeling of sand beneath bare feet and rain upon my head. I am movement and dance. Vivid colors. I am the urge to paint on an empty canvas. I am boundless imagination. I am Art and poetry. I sense, I feel, I explore. Sadly, I stole that description of the right brain from somewhere, but it helps paint the picture. I like to start with the term, “writer’s block” and free associate from there….Okay, writer’s block, go!
Writer’s words… yea, I got nothing. Writers writing…. again nothing. Writer’s right brain, it’s already been done (see above). Maybe I should get away from the word writer and focus on block– Block head…Charlie Brown ©, block of cheese…I like cheese, blocks are for babies…babies can’t write, block party….neighbors, chillaxing, food, music, talking, drinking, etc. I think I can work with this. Something’s coming to me. The creative juices are flowing. My right brain is churning. Here comes the purge baby.
Summer block parties can be a great time spent with neighbors and friends. A time to come out of our houses and bond together as the micro community after too many months sequestered inside. In reality, it’s not unusual to literally go months at a time without seeing many of our neighbors during the long and harsh California winters. I’m pretty sure it rained at least 12 days between November and April.
Okay, maybe it’s not the weather that keeps us from interacting, but the truth is with fewer daylight hours, a lot of us are on the road before the sun comes up and don’t get home until way past sunset. That and I’m also pretty sure one of my neighbors (who shall remain nameless –Ed Leonard) hibernates all winter. There’s no hard proof that he sleeps from Thanksgiving until roughly Easter, but that gut and beard aren’t helping his “I’ve been traveling a lot for work” argument.
If done right, a block party can bring out the apparent agoraphobics (Lofbaum family), can help those that have trouble engaging in neighborly conversation (Dr. Leon Roth) and even mend fences due to some small riff (Guy Nadivi suspected Jerry Wiener of stealing his Maxim magazines). At worst, it’s a chance to enjoy a libation or twelve (Debbie Malin) with friends. Once the tables are set up and the grilling begins, good times are usually had by all. The cool thing about a pot luck block party is that everyone contributes to the communal table; chips and dip, fruit bowls and veggie platters, jello shots, hot dogs and hamburgers, desserts, beer/wine and margaritas. It’s just like in the book Rock Pasta… or was it a movie?
Stone Soup is an old folk story in which hungry strangers persuade local people of a town to give them food. It is usually told as a lesson in cooperation, especially amid scarcity. In varying traditions, the stone has been replaced with other common inedible objects, and therefore the fable is also known as button soup, wood soup, nail soup, and axe soup. It is an Aarne Thompson tale circa 1548. Thanks, Mr. Wikipedia.
At our recent block party, I noticed that a few of my neighbors looked like they haven’t seen the sun in a while. Either that or they’re vampires. This is Danville, California, not Forks, Washington. A Block party can often times lead to a pool party. Now that’s what I’m talking about! Here’s a chance to lather up with a sunscreen (given the fact that I’m follicle challenged, SPF 6000 is my brand) and chill in my water wings by the old cement pond. We had a pool at our house until the dog bit a hole in it.
Getting back to the block party, so much of the fun is catching up with the people that share our little slice of suburbia. We may each have individual homes, but we do essentially live together. In the prehistoric days, clusters of families were known as a clan and the clan usually lived in blocks of cave neighborhoods (much like the Flintstones and Rubbles). Everyone had a role within the clan that was integral of the group’s basic survival needs of food, shelter and clothing. Back then, no one cared if the Zimmet’s lawn wasn’t mowed as long as the Mrs. Zimmet could skin a bison. Of course, that was during Clan of the Cave Bear times. Today HOA’s have rules. Do you hear me Zimmet? How about pulling the Toro out of the garage this weekend and mowing down those corn stalks in your front yard?
The Clan of the Cave Bear is a historical novel by Jean M. Auel about prehistoric times. It examines clan culture and speculates on the possibilities of interactions between Neanderthal and modern Cro-Magnon humans. A great summer time read.
The young and virile men on our block party would have hunted wholly mammoth together, while the women folk cared for the children and tended the garden. The older and wiser neighbors might have built tools, painted hieroglyphics on the cave walls and taken on roles such as medicine man/woman. I’m pretty sure several neighbors have their medicinal marijuana cards. I just can’t determine who amongst us is smart enough to discover fire or the wheel, but it’s probably not me (or Rick Simmons). My jobs would probably entail communicating with other clans and determining where to dig the poop hole?
When you think about it, prehistoric neighborhood clans had a block party virtually every day of the year since they shared most meals together, prayed together, entertained together and bathed together. This is likely the origination of today’s modern day version of a block party, minus the bathing part. Unless you live in the Shadow Creek development, I’ve heard their after-hours block spa parties can get pretty crazy.
Look at that, 1,363 words about writer’s block and a block party. Damn I’m good.
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