They call you Lord Anthony, But hey...

The day/night before Chicago, and the long-awaited, much-anticipated solar eclipse chase.  A most expensive trip, as you attempt to fit in all appealing experiences, with total disregard for their cost.  Because pourquoi pas? 

Then, funny reminder an hour ago how the thought process can be reoriented in an instant, routine and patterns interrupted.  Twice you missed the chance to take the ferry this morning, all week you have spurned the chances to do the laundry in preparation, to input the hours.  How many times have I taken that turn out of the parking garage?  How close have I come to that curb in times past without similar incident?  How deflating that hissing noise, as you quickly realized the need to pull safely into the visitor parking?  How frustratingly appropriate and single-minded the lack of empathy from the super?  How ridiculous the review of the instruction manual on the ferry?

The flat, just noted here separately for consistency's sake, as metaphor.  Six years ago, and Al tied to it as well.  When you were on the verge of contemplating the applications for Ireland.  Some fitting symmetry in those prior posts, and now.  The trip to Ottawa mapped out yesterday, and late night conversations of chance and magic and serendipity and things that are a' brewing.  The return of the poet.

A million things could have happened differently, to prevent or create even the most trivial of irrevocable accidents.  Accidents that require immediate fixing, that branch your course out into new roads, that shake up the mind from its habitual, unconscious direction.  That point to the opening of windows and doors thought to be locked, or forgotten.  A reminder of possibility, that choices matter, that while you can never fully dictate the flow of events, you can direct them, and that sometimes you need a clean break/snap to shake yourself awake to drop old perspectives and pick up new ones. 

These points of no return are out there, and you have been preparing for the arrival of another seismic one.  If you returned to Vietnam and the lagoon of April 2012, could you make the case for the 2018 plans.  Easily.  And that is really the only question that needs answering.

So enjoy Chicago, starting with Belle and Sebastian tomorrow night, a band you have waited to see since TFI in 1999.  Alinea, a restaurant you have thought of dining in since DS mentioned it his restaurant postings.  Wrigley since forever.  Tootsie's and Bobby's Idle Hour and Santa's just because.  The Ford Mustang.  Then a month to get back on a bit of a workout regiment before the next nostalgic tour through Ottawa - Lucky Ron and all.  



... as the song goes... it could be worse.  Heh.  First, to get this tire repair sorted.  Oh the days.