Cafe de la Paix

How many times have I walked by that without knowing? The 9th, eh? Oh my.

What a choice for the day, brought on as it was by the random, late-scheduled meeting; no curling, but surprise four hundred; lack of Halloween interest; and the call of the sea and Service.

There are lines from the poems I must recite here, and bizarre plays beyond belief to record. Like curveball, side-pocket; and Hulse to the dug-out. And "freedom's most a fraud" and the wizened Spanish man at the Cafe and nothing else to do but buy another drink and the shielding serene from sordid fate and daring the desert lone and my last seeing be the moon, my last sound the sea.

Glorious. Is there a more beautiful word? We doubt it. Acadia executive director off to Yangshuo and Glaswegian 25 years in Canada who finds it too busy so "must away" and the non-alcoholic Caesar. "Dear strangers who we see everywhere, we do not know you but we have nicknames for you and you are awesome."

Tell me this sad world is not beautiful. Tell me the Third Guinness is not the best. Tell me ... Heh. Tell me about the 8/4 volunteering plan.

Tell me how you have planned your escape.

The "Show Cause" Clause

Thinking today about a number of things, amidst memoranda of understanding and closings and upcoming meetings of import. Such as:

-how wonderfully blue the ocean looks from the large windows in our reception;
-how general competence is always king, all the more-so on technical and mundane matters;
-how Internet memes prove the wonderful specialness of a species;
-how eagerness to please results in a simple cutting of a cheque three weeks later; and
-how diverse the world's opportunities can be.

Keeping the head down and working away in the short term. Dreaming the all-too necessary dreams for the future. For It Is Later Than You Think. No need to show cause on that one.

So Play Her Off, Keyboard Cat.

random things, slightly depressing (and one not)

1. Second NY Giants loss in a row.
2. Two more years of loan payments.
3. Ever-recurring laundry.
4. Re-runs, seen and un-seen.
5. (Predictably) hazy memories.
6. ...

In short, routines that are inescapable and obvious. Oh, those non-linear patterns, broken by travel that results in a returning back. Even though you know, when out there, that it is not the final answer. But it is also closer.

So what to do? First, "Don't believe your own realizations." Then time, basically a month on, to let the last 6 months go, too, I think. Which means the beard must go. Only to begin again, on another great dream. On what's next.

Fun while it lasted, my friend. Can't wait for your return.

Trois Cent

An interesting milestone, as we sit in the shadow of the white hart sign at the fireside, following the first eggplant sandwich in awhile and in between the first 2 tommy's uncles.

21 days, since the return. Settling in well, but there is also the natural funk, the soft desolation of a return to beginnings. Adapting to the office chair for hours on end, in search of motivation that sometimes comes not. And eavesdropping on conversations of travel that are oh so familiar as to be laughable - just different characters and locations but same themes.

Fairly distracting, actually, until that last bit, about a Brooks column interpreting the view that "the goal in life is to find out what is unique about yourself" as a Homeric ideal of heroism, versus the excessive contextualism of today. Good.

Sweet nostalgia. Recalling today marvellous Clifton, and sensing the path that leads from S. to C. to K. And on. Another sign, perhaps, of the wheel. Where you stand outside the path predictable. Maybe the lesson is that it is not on the road, but on your return from it, where you can expect to learn what is true and must be done.

I really don't know what's next, as I sit here with the Paradox Men begun on the table. As I wander toward the ocean with the sun setting through the clouds on another day. As you walk again into Maps and Ducks and see Carnivale staring you down, even as you look for excuses to avoid it.

I do know I like these conversations over Martinis. How hard it is, not to just keep going...

The Brooding Sea

I like the sea when it is moody, when it is overcast and gray and raining and you feel the force of the air on your face.

I like Fridays, even when they don't mark the end but rather the start of some long working days. The second beer going down smoothly.

Here we go again.

Exacerbating the Nonsense

Wait for the coincidence to happen seems the soundest advice, in this world of madness and tears. I confess it has been a bit of a hard thud in returning, though not unexpected. NYC shortly, and the fun of another plane ride and stroll through the village will be liberating. Longer term though, I still see no more needs than this simple window and the dreams of the road. Where no one else's work gets done but thine own. That dream was lived once, so why not again? With Spanish consumption and the penning of a course and novel in the interim.

Pourquoi pas indeed. Do it, and do it, and do it, and do it again. As they sing.

The Wheel Turns Once More

"It's my belief that history is a wheel. 'Inconstancy is my very essence,' says the wheel. Rise up on my spokes if you like but don't complain when you're cast back down into the depths. Good times pass away, but then so do the bad. Mutability is our tragedy, but it's also our hope. The worst of time, like the best, are always passing away."

-Boethius (Anicius Manlius Severinus)

So here we are, back again. Following the even 50 posts of the 180 days abroad at the other place, it is time to return to the anonymity of this little space, to record the sporadic humdrum musings that occur as inevitable voyages to come are planned within these office walls.

The time on the road was indeed happy, the lessons great, the people captivating, and the random women beautiful, in all their mystery. You take a long time to think about where you are and find yourself happily right where you must be. We do not change, though we learn and experience and age. A comforting thought, I suppose, when looked at in the right light.

The familiar tasks begin anew - the marking of days on a spare pad of empty white paper, the dreams of flights and calculation of itineraries, the ridiculously bold ideas. Words as ever providing their inspiration:

"If you have the chance the best time to visit is Carnival. There is nothing in
the whole wide world like Carnival in Rio."

It may yet prove a too-expensive way and time to visit. But then, when have such constraints hindered the traveler in search of uniquely spirited moments? The flickering water in the harbour below smiles on this lovely day. Back to work I must, for the moment. Day-dreaming ever-always of what is next. Even as, surely, the epic nature of this start to 2010 cannot be denied.

I love these trips that seem to decide themselves. Will February 11 be another date of longing? I do hope so.