Obligations

Herein find the record, of my professional development plan, June 1 Eighteen to May 31 Nineteen.  Conferences, In-house presentations, diligent study.  Enough to get by.  May it be the last?  An intriguing 12 months ahead it shall be.  We await the doing of it.  Sad and wondrous and optimistic.

Another Friday

This time last week, I was turning 39 in Freeport, alone with a lovely muse who answered when you called.  Today, post the thrilling 3-3 Spain-Portugal match that has set the World Cup alight in its early stages, I am left to reflect on her absence.

How excellent, to be described as "Delightfully odd, quick witted, non-traditionally sweet, and mostly hilarious."  To be motivated to put out the best version of yourself.  To be understood, in such a way.  And to remember the length of time in which you awaited such a visit, and see it evolve mostly as imagined, in a fashion just so.  And how sad it now feels, to know that the next such time remains distant, and yet uncertain.

No matter, you try to convince yourself.  Forward is the march of time and so we drift in that direction, regardless.  The next Friday shall be in St. John's, en route to Dublin en route to Moscow en route to Kazan.  Brazil seems close even as 4 years is an enormity.  What will the next, consequential revolution bring?

As you cope with the waiting, another letter dropped into the void this afternoon.  To help distract from the longing for further, instant contact, and also to see if you could find the words to draw out another encounter.  Amidst the impossibility of knowing another's thoughts, and the distraction inherent in the hope/fear of what may be yet to come of this mutual attraction.

Time for laundry.  And sunset.  And Charlie Christian.  And wine.

Begin. The Rest is Easy.

Message sent to Lav - after the weekend's constructive cigar bar discussions, George's island skivvy dipping, and a bus stop farewell.  Thus we wait.  As two twonies appear mysteriously on the porch of Charlemagne.  How strange, how very strange.

Meanwhile, what document do you want the Appendix removed from?  Oh, you mean... And news of Dale's father this aft.  Yes, further thoughts of mortality all around, in amidst the good cheer of the past birthday week.  It ends today with the Stransky -4 salutation, the coffee break celebration, and JG lunch.  Hicks across the hall adding over tea that even as age is a number not to worry yourself with, 40 is a time of change that is hard to deny.  The body, the relationships.  The symmetry fits so well as part of the overall story.  It is a beckoning, a reckoning.  Soon come.  The levee, with everything re-arranged after it breaks.


Would it have changed anything?  Could it have changed everything?  Thoughts this morning again back to the Amtrak delay, and the crane that had fallen on the track.  How might things have transpired differently, I wonder.  So many potential tangents.  Computations and Permutations.  Swings and Roundabouts.  But all has led to this, and for that I am thankful.  There has been a bit of an absence, these past 24 hours, which will fade as it does but also inspire further conspiracies.  A shame the Kingsport caper could not be pulled off, but there shall be more ideas to come.  MacDougall Blueberry Tea, to go with the Buena Vista Irish Coffee.  Me gusto.

So end the birthday festivities.  Wherefore 40?  Until the time arrives, we wait, and scour the road for its inspiration.  So few days left until the World Cup.  What a riot you are going.  But... pourquoi pas?  As the title says - it is all in the decision at the outset, the rest rolls from it.  Inevitable as the day is as long as life is short.  Evoking Coop's favourite line - can't wait to see, what happens next. 

Lily Front

oh McMahon, how you blush.  39 years now, and still the same as ever.  Quite the last few days on tour through the wilderness/rurality, to find smiles and stories.  Dreams of alternative lives and separate paths and psychiatric needs.  Foreboding visions of the end of things.  The outlet of creative writing, the hope of peace and rest.  Amidst the delirium of wonder, the seeming impossibility of escape.  The cow ledge option endorsement.  The ruling out of other options.  As may have been expected, but still good to hear confirmation in person.

2 weeks until Russia, and the first of 5 matches. The joy of being in the world.  Aye me.  I need rest first, haha.  The sweetness of sleep.  Soon.  First the last day.  When shall we meet again?

A Better Way to Send Photos

14 years.  June 5th arrives 'round again on the spin.  This time freedom day is not met with a glorious sail in the sunshine, but instead echoes of the past reemerging in the present.  Yang signalling his arrival out of nowhere as you waited at the airport for Ms. S., and as Hepburn emerges just before to stoke memories of the lost wallet returned in the ziploc bag.  Circles upon circles, converging in patterns beyond anticipation or expectation.  Obstinate things ever unchanging.  As pictures of other polka dots are sent from the location of the 30th, drawing your attention toward the Sinfonia and the ancient city of Venice.

Gartner in Dublin for the day this year, your early morning email finding him in an Uber post a night of poetry readings, cocktails, and pool shenanigans.  Remember?  The end of a long day that started with the re-routed flights to Kazan and the World Cup, via Guinness brewery.  Imagine that.  His email laughing about the process of sending pictures back in the day.  Old indeed.

A few days into hosting the visitor, and some fun lined up for the days ahead.  First, to see through this day, and to see off Alice, just shy of her 96th year.  I did so think she would outlast QEII, or see the day of the 100th and the recognition from Buckingham that it brings.  Sadness, and yet light, as she comes to a graceful end and leaves wondrous memories in her wake.  The last visit, on the eve of the Europa extravagance, was one for all time.  And so pleased that the last of the postcards found its mark.

Busy days.  Yang's arrival proving again the maxim that people do not change.  The language simply marvelous, and the Garrett Mason performance to his usual standards.  "I am so free," it sounded like as he closed his first set.  A song for freedom day if ever there was one.  Enjoy these ones, McMahon.  Youth's a stuff.