Flat

For fuck's sake.

Under Cornwallis...

His statue stares outward, toward his home, surely, and perhaps your future destination. There is no question, having turned this over in your mind this past week, that this is a course that must be taken if the chance is given. Inch rightfully seeks to understand the why behind It - how to explain the desperate desire for a fresh start, before it is too late. How to explain the tiredness, the inability to approach this lived-in city with fresh eyes and mind? The insatiable need to cut all ties and take out a new piece of white paper and just begin.

Not to over-reach in the poor analogy department, but here you sit on a bench by the statue on a wonderful summer night, and the old worn green paint wearing thin in various layers reveals the concrete below. Just as earlier today, the many coats of paint on the rusty iron keel of the Southern Cross gave way (if only in part) to the newly purchased hammers. It is hard work, going back to the beginning. Such stuff that accumulates gradually over the years and stays and stays, as testament to age. Here lies a chance, a final chance, in a city of such wonder and nostalgia and magic such that you adore. It is the third in a series of stops to complete the Scotland-England-Ireland tour of old. It is - to put it bluntly - what your life needs.

You need to - if successful in getting it - give it the full measure and honor of your attention, devote the best of your efforts and skills. But it shall be for you. And it should take into it all a whole bunch of charming and characteristic measures. You can count the pints of Guinness as you go, climb Kili and visit some jeopardized island nations on assignment and write about them. More than just a dry account, but something lasting. It can be done, and it won't be somebody else's work.

No need, after this reflection, to convince me anymore. Two years returned from the travel leave - this is a fitting resumption of the adventure. Just convince Suzie and Colin, and the rest will work out. Promise. Here's hoping Habana provides the venue for celebrations.

Bloomsday, and the Improbable Possibles

It really is hard to find a sweeter wharf for a cigar than Alderney Landing, as the ferry across gets ready to make way. All shaping up for an extraordinary summer, the purchase of the boat to be finalized tomorrow, three weeks after the topic was proposed just here. Stransky confirming his attendance as well.

Yes, it is set for a marvellous summer. And it was also set for a predictable, profitable fall. Until. Dublin. And the email at an opportune time, just when you were resigned to not needing it. To plan B. It is the superior position, perhaps of the entire multitude of emails launched these past five months.

Not to put the pressure on. But there is a sense of how well this might go, how fitting in various ways that it could be. I would love to walk those streets these next years, remembering the beginning, and the middle, and having the opportunity for a complete reboot. As ever.

Time for the ferry. Just get it Mcmahon. Just get it.

Another Good June Five

...and potentially momentous one, at that. It did not start off that way, but after escaping the office for the vistas of the Dartmouth Yacht Club and then Shining Waters it could only go in one direction. Best perhaps to just quote the following email and leave it at that:

"No worries man. Good story for you too. After 3PM, went out boating hunting, and I think my buddy and I might soon be owners of a Tanzer 7.5 named "Southern Cross"! It's a sweet 24.5 foot sail boat that has room to sleep 4 and looks just beautiful. Now we just need to learn to sail her! Ah, how perfect a June 5 if that were to work out. You'd definitely have to try and make it out here in September to assess our progress.

Boat priced at $8000, but I'm sure we can get the guy down a bit to the point where we'd be looking at $5-6000 each or so for the purchase and the launch, mooring, and storage fees through the winter. Quite pumped. Hilariously, it probably means I'll need to get a car as well, and have already been thinking about the accommodations for next year, and having a car means I might fold for a cheap condo that is a bit outside the downtown and under a solid renovation at the moment.

Rather ridiculously, I could go from owning essentially nothing to owning a boat, car, and condo in less than a week. Not too bad, I guess, and isn't that what June 5 is all about? Now to see if an email arrives this week from a prof in Dublin or Galway to mess with these plans..."

Just that simple, sometimes. Looks like some fodder for Krapp's tape, as another, stranger plan begins to take shape. Let us see where this one leads, eh? In the mean time, good to have a boat that has its own, excellent theme song, by Crosby, Stills, and Nash:

"When you see the Southern Cross
For the first time
You understand now
Why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from
Is so small.
But it's as big as the promise
The promise of a comin' day."

Nocturnes

It is amazing, the power of self-empowerment, betimes. Only a few days now until June 5 and then the 32nd. Woke up this morning to an inevitable yet overdue message. An inevitable one, but which was softened by time, appropriately. So you smile and move forward. The unexpected response from Almaty emerges, and in its strangeness may lead toward an imminent return to Cuba. We shall hopefully know manana, and from there it is to the study of Spanish, pronto. I have some boys to see there again. And a sign of change, a return to destinations loved rather than the new. A sign, perhaps...

He types from old faithful fireside, and the corner holding the volume of Charles and the Sixth of June. Probably worth a stop on the 8th. Itinerary totally unknown. Although would not that helicopter have been something! No matter. It shall be a strange day, and so as a stranger give it welcome.

Much more to say - about the development of (still another) plan to tackle Kili, as a way to comfort you through the next months struggles and placate the failed plans of disappearance. Combined with the onset of summer, and the hilarious articled clerk asking your judgment on whether he was wearing a clubbing suit or a work suit. Remember that?

Going to enjoy this eggplant sandwich and tommy's, and Kashuo's stories about "the struggle to keep alive a sense of life's romance, even as one gets older, relationships founder, and youthful hopes recede.". In the old words, how can that be anything but great?