180 feet of freedom

That was two weeks or so quickly gone.  The boys managed to pull Game 5 out of the fire, how funny to watch the Bautista bat flip over a student's shoulder during Clarke's lecture.  But Houston could not stop KC, and the Jays could not either, so instead of New York City I am anticipating a quiet cleaning night and then a drive tomorrow to see off a sailing castle on its route across the Atlantic toward the old land.  3 masts and a wooden floor and the salt windy air of the sea.

And in many ways, how I would like to be on it, free and clear.  When did I first see that advertisement, I wonder?  Good to see them on schedule, and ready for the cruising that will take them to a new continent by way of water.  My 2016 of course already booked up with hearings and French football dreams, but there shall be other voyages, and it seems therefore appropriate to make a pilgrimage down to Lunenburg to catch a glimpse of the vessel before it is gone, if only to spark the creative juices toward some crazy future caper.  The Ransom was a total bust, but always looked it.  I have a stronger sense that this may just be viable as part of the next grand escape...

Otherwise, our own boat is out, and a manifesto for the slow dark month of November is coming.  Slow start with some stairs, and some gorgeous hikes when you should have been in the office.  I liked pulling that off on short notice.  The procrastinator's time in the woods now that the leaves have signaled an end for now.

Plans for this non-World Series weekend came together in a flurry.  Remember Lothar/Charlotte from the SBTS show and the love of gramaphones last night.  Art is so moving and beautiful when it is that well done.  The last second decision to park and ferry over leading to an encouter with Nas and Tham on the boat, and plans for tomorrow night now firmly set.  Motivation then, to at least do a minor bit of cleaning.

Because tomorrow is booked with the South Shore drive, and then the renewal of a tradition begun last year - a Friday with A. in Ottawa, and not much on.  Don't think I would even recall the drive past Peggys if I had not snapped and posted the photo.  Was that the last time I drove out West Dover way in search of abodes with ocean views?  It seems too long ago, but I wonder.

Whatever.  An early morning, and the Knot for at least the first half of the rugby seems fitting before a potential trek to Pollys and the 2nd annual in your new sunset tradition for Hallow's Eve.  Saved by the fact that it falls at 6:04PM, the earliest of days before the Sunday fallback.  And plans for that day too, the first sighting of A. in months and the possible scheming over another "amazing" escape route.  What will come of that?  You doubt but you never can tell.

The Freston Wizard

Following on from the prior post, I suppose the plan was to continue with the update of eventful recent days.  Following the return from NL, it was perhaps the most engaging Energy Law class of the season and a sprint around the city for some paraphernalia (nice spelling) to support the Jays in Game 1 at the SkyDome (Rogers Centre just does not seem right).  The Bringer of Rain shirt proved perfect, and enhanced by the acquisition of the red ballcap in Chinatown with Uncle K the following day.  It was an excellent day out - the Kensington market, the wandering of the streets around the Stransky conference to grab Marina, and then the subway trip down.  I still have two tokens left, so hopefully that means two more live games...  It would be a shame for the run to end here, and that's why this afternoon has been so unproductive in terms of focusing.  You almost feel like that Game 7 against Houston just has to get played, so if only the luck can run that far.

Spare a word for Oktoberfest in Kitchener as well.  So many children and such a strange sense of family all so close to a single childhood home.  It is wonderful and yet a bit claustrophobic in so many ways.  I do love the Jungle garage - many momentos there and something to aspire to down the line as part of the next place by the ocean.  A lot of ideas and great to see the whole crew.  Plus the purchase of the lederhosen in Dartmouth added a real bonus in terms of what to be thankful for - that the world still has the power to draw such tenuous connections from the past into the future in intricate and inspiring ways.  Ein Prosit.

And then to Calgary and the mountains.  Renewing old acquaintances on the Grassi walk up to see the rock climbers in those unfathomably majestic mountains.  Such memories of the first visit in 2000, and the triumphant return in 2005.  Great to see the mother-to-be doing well, and experience the wonder of childhood laughter, rock throwing, and reading the bedtime stories.  How tiring and all-encompassing it must be though, such sacrifice.  The ridiculousness and randomness of that exact trip itself an illustration of the consequences available in not going in that direction.  It is good to be uncle, in other words.

How to kill an hour, I thought.  More procrastination on the fuel-related front as you wait for a key decision out of Commerce.  The joy of passing off the lecturing duties tonight to a colleague offered the time, which was well spent lining up a perfect 26 hour sojourn back to St. John's that shall no doubt encompass the Duke for Arsenal, the finest dining of Mallard Cottage, and the best view of the harbour in all the city.  Ah me.  It will be made all the more interesting if there is an ALCS game of interest that night as well.  Stunning to think it is just a week away, and then consigned to the past.

Part of the procrastination involved the watching of ill-fated and crazed poker hands, with the favourite of all being the Spanish installment where one hand was accidentally flipped.  Alfredo continued with the betting to the end, betting his full house into an obviously better one and the commentator's lines about the Freston Wizard clouding his mind were genius.  As wikipedia quotes,   Friston the magician (El Sabio Frestón) is an imaginary character who Quixote imagines as the thief of his books and the enchanter of the windmills.  What a wonderful way to get exposed to that ancient beauty.

4:59PM.  Off to catch the first few innings.  Let the dream continue boys.  Give us bandwagoners a few more games at least.

Lingering Island (and Cliff) thoughts

It was a fantastic weekend, in all.  The island certainly didn't disappoint, and on reflection the original little cottage remains the best of options.  The waterfront location, the uniqueness of the chestnut tree, the ideal paint combination, the opportunity to make the rest of the place your own with its hidden hiking trails and glorious sunrise/sunset vistas all intriguing. 

It remains no less crazy, and I wonder if long term it is the right approach at that price.  But, unlike some other real estate drive-bys, this is a place that holds up under closer inspection.  Budget an hour for the ferry and it is a full 2+ hours from the city - and subject to the whims of a tight schedule as well - but it may offer the exact escape you appear to be seeking.

Toyed with the idea of PEI, and the isles de la madeleine too, but don't see that working out amidst the work to be done and the golfing practice that needs to be undertaken to avoid embarrasment.  But the photos taken will recall the moments, and the specialness of the place even if you never return.

POSTSCRIPT - the golf turned out actually.  Maybe it was hearing from Hank Haney, or the JM lessons at Royal Oaks after the parking lot fall, or the Beaverbank driving range balls, or the inspiration provided by the rain on those Cliffs.  Whatever else, the 3 wood went off like gangbusters and hopefully that is an event you are around to take part in next year as part of a bit more golfing practice around the island.  H's lines about not worrying about keeping your head down, about swinging faster not harder, and quoting Charles Barkley about the undefeated record of Father Time - all excellent.  As were the Barra's and the Wild Mountain Thyme, All My Life, and other Cape Breton masterpieces.  How the suit got stained so badly I do not know, and how you got into a conversation about Harold Bloom at the bar with the stand-up act even more of a mystery, but the 2 pars on the full round of 18 were worth cherishing in the memory.  As was the full lunar eclipse seen from the other Fort a few nights later after your own steak and wine overnight at the usual "No Docking" spot.

Followed, of course, a week later with the destruction of United at the Sportsbar following the Noon Gun, and a serious amount of basking at sea and on arrival at the glorious backside dock return to McN with some Sunshine Slacker.  Finally a deer spotted among the fort, and then some repetition of foolish yet enjoyable taboos prior to departure, which in turn led to packing and then a drive back down along the Shore for one last boat house encounter that may have been best avoided.  Unable to answer basic questions of what and why may have brought that portion of the bookend to a close, or so it is hoped at this point.

A busy month, in other words, that is not quite done.  To be continued "overleaf", as the old saying went...