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?