No, I haven't blogged much recently. Last time that was the case, I spent the whole time feeling like I was falling behind: Writing for Benzene was something I kept meaning to do, but I was always getting sidetracked and delayed.

I don't know if it's a change in situation or a change in attitude, but this time it hasn't been like that all. For the past few weeks, Benzene hasn't been on the to-do list at all. I was, in fact, busy with some other things, but the main reason I didn't write it because I just didn't feel any urge to. It's not that I don't have anything to write about. I've always got about 20 or 30 topics in mind. Some will eventually find their way into print, and many more won't, just like it's always been. Lately, they're all just sitting patiently on the shelf; a few have expired, but most will keep.

I suppose that this is one more way that Benzene is not like a "real" blog. I like that it's here as a forum when I want it, but I reject the notion that it is space that must be filled.

I had thought that once I got to Mendocino I might start writing again, since the rehearsal schedule is light and I expected to have lots of free time with nothing better to do than sit around and read and write. Now that I'm here, I'm not so sure. It's an awfully nice place to just sit around, and I brought a tall stack of books. I'm reading some of them, but not any faster than I would have at home.

For those who haven't heard the background, I'm down here to sing in the Mendocino Summer Music Festival. It's a sweet gig. It doesn't really pay all that much, and a significant chunk of the pay gets eaten up in gas and other expenses coming down here, but they provide local housing during the rehearsal period, so even if it doesn't accomplish much in terms of paying the rent, it's still a free vacation.

This year, without even trying to, I scored one of the choicest housing locations. I later deduced the reason why. For the first few days of the Festival, the hosts had other guests here, so the place wasn't available until the day before I arrived. The concert I'm in is relatively late in the schedule. Anyone involved in earlier pieces -- which is to say, all of the orchestra and one of the singers -- had be housed days before I did. The other two singers had other arrangements, leaving me as the perhaps only one who fit into the availability schedule here.

"Here" is Abalone Arch. It's huge and beautiful room attached like an in-law unit to a house right on the coast. Literally. If I were to climb out the window and take ten more steps I would fall off the cliff and into the ocean. When it's not being donated to the Music Festival for guest housing, it's rented out as an upscale bed and breakfast.

When I first got here, I was somewhat uncomfortable. The whole suite is designed in a luxurious, showplace kind of way, with pieces of art and tsatskes all over the place. Decorativeness wins out over practicality on a wide variety of things -- dishes, soaps, tables, shelf space, and wastebaskets. There is a kitchenette, but it's clearly designed for tea and toast and leftovers from the restaurant last night; I doubt that many besides me have attempted to cook regular meals here. (One of my discoveries this week is that it is indeed possible to cook pasta with only an electric teapot and a microwave.) The whole place has a wide open feel so that anywhere in the room (or even in the bathroom) you feel like you may as well be standing out on the headlands. All of this is contrary to my usual comfort pattern, which is to hole up in a little box and make everything simple and efficient.

But it's also my nature to adapt to my surroundings, and it turns out that adapting to luxury is no more difficult than adapting to penury, at which I have years of experience. Also, the hosts are as sweet as can be, so it didn't take me long to settle in and be happy here. The only lingering discomfort is the offense to my sense of efficient use of resources, since I know that 90% of the luxury is wasted on me. I could be just as happy in a tiny little shack, so long as it is private and reasonably well-equipped (which is what I had last year), whereas nearly everyone else at the Festival I'm sure would rather be here than wherever they are.

To partially alleviate that, I've made friends with some of the orchestra players and I invite them to come over and hang out here. I don't have to do much. I just sit around while they coo over the views, sprawl on the giant bed, and play with all the accoutrements like the stereo and the coffee-table books and the abalone shells, all of which would have gone untouched and barely even noticed if it were just me. It's not at all like me, to be the one to play host, yet it's strangely satisfying.

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