One of the advantages of having an unusual name is that you pay attention when you hear it. Or read it, as happened when I ran across the term longshore drift.
The phrase has something to do with the accumulation of sand along a beach. The proper definition matters less to me than the juxtaposition of words. Like pebbles in the surf, a thousand uses for the term rolled across my brain. It could be a command – “Longshore, drift!” I could pretend that I had been given orders to throw away my to-do list, that I had been forced – forced, mind you – to spend the afternoon in idle amusement. It could be a suggestion for free-writing – drift along on a wave of words, tossing them on paper like leaves along a country stream. It could be the description of my YA heroine dropping shoes, sweater and backback as she meanders from the front door to the refrigerator to the couch in the family room.
Which brings to mind what I miss most about the demise of card catalogs in libraries – the lack of serendipitous discoveries. Searching for books became much easier, but the minutes I gain in finding the right source can’t outweigh the hours of pleasure I would get from a random discovery. It’s why I prefer my Encyclopaedia Britannica, where looking up the great photographer Yousuf Karsh led me to Tamara Platonova Karsavina, who danced with Nijinksy; which is next to Kars, a much fought-over region in Turkey known for its cheese; which is next to Paul Karrer, who won a Noble Prize for investigating carotenoids, which turn me orange when I eat too many carrots.
Oh, look, longshore drift.
The minute you mentioned the old card catalogs, my head is filled with wooden boxes, tiny drawers, metal handles, and typed cards. I loved the card catalog, back in the days when I believed there was time to read anything I wanted.
The library where I’m looking in that catalog has now turned into a funeral parlor. Above the old drop slot is a quotation from Jorge Luis Borges that reads, “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.”
I just went to Google to cut and paste it, instead of having to go downtown because I could remember the sense but not the words and I don’t know where my family’s old Bartlett’s is. We live in an ever-transitioning world.
B. Lynn Goodwin
http://www.writeradvice.com
Author of You Want Me to Do WHAT? Journaling for Caregivers
We should give ourselves permission to drift more often – Longshore or otherwise. Thanks for sharing.
Yes, among many losses in our “efficient” society. I think of the joys of just flicking through the card catalog, and the familiar scent of the wooden drawers.
Fortunately we still can scan bookshelves in the library. Long may it last!
Oh, to drift. For me, the best place to let my thoughts drift is the beach. Bring a notebook and pen, a camera, a beach chair and sunscreen, and a small cooler with drinks and snacks. There is something that soothes my soul in the feel of the sand between my toes, the sound of the waves crashing to the shore, the tang of saltwater in the air. In writing this, I am reminded that I haven’t been to Santa Cruz since last year.
Thanks Lani, I feel a day trip in my near future.
Wonderful musing, Lani!
I just did a Longstreet Drift in Manhattan! (I can see so many uses for the form you introduced me to.)
Meditating at the Met for a full day was a dream. And, oh yes, I worked hard at networking at the ThrillerFest conference.)