The Wellbeloved Tot

Another Rum and Coke Friday - the mini-Nature's cups, but more importantly the Pusser's.  And the glorious readings of the House of Commons transcripts from January 1970 on the end of the ration, that ended this day (or to be perfectly accurate, yesterday) 45 years ago.  Much has changed, and the loss is not so great that it is felt, perhaps, but memorable as a cause for celebration/commemoration.

And so we did, with Master Kirk aboard.  The quick exit well timed at 5 at Purdy's.  To Eastern Passage, and the docking "like a big dick into a tight pussy."  The lobster sandwich and the fries as perfect as ever, and the goal of arriving in time for the concert well thought out, and the anchoring as solid as you like.

A night in which we grew in our self-esteem as mariners, watching others flounce around foolishly.  The earlier power boat collision serving as a warning, the Odyssey's ridiculous anchoring job and outrage at the Lunenburg Cape Silver's cutting of his mate's anchor line, until the grand finale of the ramming by the Ciao.  In reverse no less, a most inexplicable moment.  The radio report a stroke of memorable genius, and precedent to recall on future July 31s for a long time to come.  Journey were as expected.  Don't Stop Believing right after Richochet managed to anchor, so timing quite good.  The one surprise was when the lights go down on the city.  Another classic, that is worth listening to more often.  Applies to our fair Hali as much as the Pacific.  Although a reminder that Cali is a spot to try and fit in as a new location in 2015.  Adding Alcatraz to the list of islands could be the impetus you need.

Earlier Wednesday was the annual bender "week" that fits into a single night.  Kings of McNabs and all that.  Magical.  Getting the worth out of the glorious SC in just a few precious hours in between a hungover day with Dominos in treatment.  Remember? 

Nicely done, Wayner.  Nicely done.  Thanks for the flag.  We will cherish it.  And hopefully fly it during next year's Sunday night race...

On Retirements

Momentous day.  The last of the working life of Ms. M, after so many hours and assignments and binders and tapes and deciphering of handwriting.  A glorious slide off into sunsets and unexpected married bliss. Such a turn of events, this past while.  Hard not to smile - even as endings hold a sort of sadness.  

Funny how there are nostalgic moments that arise now and then, but never do they run backwards.  The gathering of time inches ever forward.  While all the while those around you do not seem to age, at least in the mind, since time passes for you too.

Carter on Monday, Chaz tonight, with messages from Bear and Pal and Shear all falling in the inbox in between. Occasions for reflection, and incentive not to let it pass too quickly without the creation of memories worth the future telling.  

So a Tancook plan is hatched.  So the cajoling of a Brier island trip is successful.  So Ibiza is picked as the escape route from the Tomatina.  So Bermuda was scootered, and so the ECT paths are and will be hiked.  So you sail beyond Devil's island and prepare for another invocation of bender night.

All very well and good.  You try to stop time by thinking, and cannot.  But it does slow, when you pause and remember.  And what you remember are the creation of stories.  Go seek out more.  To reflect on in years hence.

Fireflies

Where to begin this all over again?  An eventful summer to date, no doubt.  In the last two weeks or so, there was the trip down to the boathouse for Canada Day Eve.  No flight ended up getting purchased in the end, but it did instigate the conversations that led to that late night / early morning visit.  All of which is (and remains) remarkably random and suitably hilarious.  Acoustic campground option hanging out there for this weekend that might just happen.  A last minute decision.  Post the McNab's picnic, most likely. 

On that note, offer extended there.  No word on where things stand with the architect, and it is certainly something that should remain at the highest level of unseriousness.  But could make for a more enjoyable evening than solo, and the first SC overnight of the year.  I think it seems to be falling into place nicely as per the schedule.

I guess that is working backward - since prior to then was the usual Toronto trip to the Irish Embassy.  Not sure how things unfolded as they did, a lack of food for M. and some wine, followed by the staggered return to the Sheraton, where the salsa basement was undergoing renovations.  No matter, chalk it up to business development and an overdue session with a kindred poetic spirit that was never destined or meant to work out.  Closure all around seems the theme.

Moving forward in time to this weekend, and the annual Jungle trip to the lake.  Sam and the Firefly reading for the first time in who knows how long, and then didn't you just see one in all its glory down by the point.  After AI's keys locked in the car, and the brilliant red orb dropped behind the clouds with mom and dad for the first time in decades without the old red cookhouse to stare back at it.  The ancient Kilroy Was Here map silently taken from the wreckage to mark Cross Island and the Tancook, as that plan continues to gather momentum in the mind.  The drive out to Heckmans ruling out that plan, as you knew it must, and other locations along the Aspotagan only confirming a convergence to a spot out facing the open sea.

To the dock and the slow coasting on the harbour for the latest in the "confusion" discussions.  Sad and maddening, but perhaps the paraphrasing that it will not work because it is too difficult is not all that incorrect.  That, combined with the failures in certain areas and wanderlust in others ensuring that the break from the routine of months is the correct path.  For now.  And as for later?

Ah, confusion.  So many paths, so much indecision, so little the desire to stay the course of the familiar when the still-unknown beckons - even when it turns up the same old.  Which leads to the Bermudaful trip.  No summary of that, sadly.  Checking the credit card statements, it seems it may have worked out more favourably then feared, with a gift from booking.com and the manor serving as payback for the Recife castelinho (how did I almost forget that name?)  The scootering around after the flight rearrangements via Moncton, and so on and so forth.  The royal naval graveyards and the haunting tombs a real highlight, as was the water, and the joy of driving the length of an island and knowing the miles of nothing extending beyond.

So yes, eventful summer, even as the boat rusts a bit in use.  Oh well.  Let us see what the weekend brings.  To learn the story of the taking of yep, and the plotting of what will be our sweet revenge.  And to see about a night on the boat followed by a night on the kempt shore.  Because you can, and so why not?