The Dark Side of the Moor

From last week... "To Professional Services Rendered" - a two hour session.  "Pretty dope” to be able to do your own bills… but is it really?  Why were you even there that morning?  What are you doing?  Faking it, as usual this past while, as I sense I will never need to recall anything our man was talking about for Elite or InTapp.  It is not likely to “cut down on my time immensely” since I do not spend much time on billing in the first instance.  But no matter.    

Back to back nights out on the water under sail last week, the top valve gasket fixed anew.  Beautiful breeze, ever-changing colours and clouds under cover of darkness, the full moon playing now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t.  Then a Cottagefest, spectacular as always.  Sweet reunion with the boys, as you maintain one eye on the future but yet have moved forward not a jot it seems, except in the travels.

New ones have mercifully been booked, thanks god, as Berat would say.  And what a relief to do so.  The musical fun and nostalgic overtones in the Indy-area, then massive stretch of entertainment in London, finished with a first visit to the Moor's place of business.  Funny how the idea of a rhetorical combination leads to a scholarly criticism of Othello, introduced with another turn of phrase from Melville:

But it is through the malice of this earthly air, that only by being guilty of Folly does mortal man in many cases arrive at the perception of Sense. A thought which should forever free us from hasty imprecations upon our ever-recurring intervals of Folly; since though Folly be our teacher, Sense is the lesson she teaches; since if Folly wholly depart from us, Further Sense will be her companion in the flight, and we will be left standing midway in wisdom.

I keep going round-round in my thoughts of Freeport.  The electricity expenses seem extravagant.  But for now the time remains fluid, plans for August and September and October in place to distract until summer's end and more certainty about the daughter.  No need for hasty decisions.

Off to the celebration of life, then the Purser's Tot.  Past and Present and Future.  July 31 once a year.  As Sly says to start the Shrew, we shall ne'er be younger...

"Site #20 is Available"

A lucky weekend.  If fate dictated that you were not to be in Kingsport, then the Keji backcountry was a fine second choice.  And fortune smiled in freeing up a touring kayak and the prettiest little site in the park for a sunset paddle beyond compare.  Photos and videos taken because otherwise the beauty would be hard to fathom.

I seem to have failed to record the prior Keji outings here - the 35th birthday to #16 and the Labour Day trek two summers later to Frozen Ocean.  Assuming the year on/year off pattern holds, I wonder what 2020 may bring...

For now the focus lies ahead on other potential hikes/adventures in NS - a Cape Breton Bucket List (part II) for sure, and hopefully other inspiration.  Cottagefest and time at Mush-a-mush to come, always fodder for reflection.  Another email sent to Lav, hopefully a response provides some illumination on that path.  Things remain trapped in routines that are difficult to break, idleness that needs provocation.  How to escape that cycle?

Travel and a seasonal base.  I know that is the answer.  Why do I feel so strongly that Freeport holds the key?  To be continued...

Another Final Gone

So another tournament comes to an end. 

For three tournaments running, we have seen the eventual winner (and finalist loser) as well as the goal of the tournament, live.  Nothing particularly special today, except for the fact that you were back, four years later, watching the end in the same place, with Nico the Greek.  Excellent to have stolen a picture of his laughter, and to have paid him 10 Euros from the glove compartment due to the forgotten wallet.  Also nice to finally have restored the Order (with a few pictures) to where it belongs.  And so strange to see Chris smoking outside, on his way to get his mom from church (?)

The rest leaves me restless as usual, and unsatisfied.  Three pints in, and I wanted to guzzle so much more, stymied by the procrastination on the agreement front and nowhere to turn to in any case.  The mind drifted as it must to Croatia's ports, as the single occupancy re-opens for the week in question.  Flights remain a tad expensive, and you wonder about the regrets that might overwhelm such a voyage.  Would it be rejuvenating, or not?  Can it be used as a prompt to slow or stop the drinking, or not?  To put the condo on the market, or not?  The idea of a new country, of a return to Thera and Atlantis Books, of time on the blissful Adriatic, and to see about your tired cabin worker... much appeals, no doubt.  Since the itinerary was first revealed... there has been a sense of destiny about it.

Or is it more a test, to see if you can refuse an offer and focus on the here and now? 

It is tempting, and at the same time outlandish.  (Surely the outlandish nature is one of the reasons why it proves so tempting.)  I shall keep my eye on it, sleep on it.  The idea to see Othello for now is a good one, a way to get back across the bridge and a bit of a start on the agreement, so that is the interim path tonight instead.  Wine and supper and sweet seat acquired.  Off now, to see what lines provoke the most thought at this point in the life story, and in anticipation of the Rylance rendition in a few months time.

Status check-in

Not great.

The Europa seems miles away, a lifetime ago.  The S visit, the Russia sideshow, the firm retreats...  a blankness after the first two months back.  Uninspired and lonely and few obvious paths out.  Too much twitter negativity, too much dead-end work at the office I would prefer to avoid, and scares about being saddled with the additional responsibility.  Hours, sunsets, flickering past.  With nothing concretely new on the horizon.

How to change it?

For now, I know not.  Quitting seems too drastic for the time being, selling the place waits in the lull of needed fixes and window repair sizing issues, Lavena on the lease and your real appetite for that responsibility, the MFA for the fullness of an idea and another 12 months + application.

Argh.  What to do in the interim...

Bender week falls tomorrow, an anniversary of sorts.  Since 2012 and since 2017.  Much has been done and seen and visited.  For what though?  Toward what?  On the Liscomb hike I felt in such a hurry, unsatisfied.  I could not sit and enjoy the Clam Bay beach for similar reasons.  Unsettled.  Life at sea is not the answer, but is life on land?  Where is the task to fire the creativity and which will be found worthy of the effort?

You have some time coming up.  Confined to the Province, to this space.  Use it to Figure it out, yeah?

Do Svidaniya

Back from another ridiculous one, this time a World Cup in Russia, with its Putin-obsessed culture keeping the trains running on time and so many soldiers standing by.  The lack of smiles, yet warmest of temperatures and decent hospitality.  The goals and the merriment.  Messi.  Pavard.  That morning at the Hermitage, into Mayak and then the Gulf of Finland will surely rank as one of the great days of the year.  And the 4-3 thriller also such a beauty.

There was a notable feeling of depression at the end, re-wandering Ardbat street after Canada Day, wondering what comes next.  Much to ponder.  Work is fizzling out along with the stocks you had hoped would set you free.  The writing beckons, even as there seem no hiding places to do it more suitable than Cow Ledge Road.  I wonder how that is going to end/start.  So funny as the slide begins in this year of leisure, the desire to work non-existant and the purpose of it simply lacking.

I need to find the routine that will motivate.  The trips that will please.  Keep after it, one day you'll get it all right...