Five Years Have Passed...

... and with the length of five long winters, and still I see...

The tradition continues, this time with the rental to account for the loss of the Mazda to the moose.  Cloudy, but a thin layer of horizon offering a chance.  Mulled cider to pass the time and the question of rum always answered in the affirmative.  Some people and yet a quiet, reflective moment in time.

So many thoughts in thinking back to moments gone by, in between trips, upon these rocks and within these walls.  Pre-Europa, Post-SF, readying for Philly in the midst of Comey.  How stand I then, now.  On the verge of Beto, Luckenbach, and (later) the Luxor.

Wishing and waiting to be as free as the rolling fog.  And it is coming, the roundabout thought process toward the MFA as the right path, starting next year.  Oh how not to be embroiled in the madness of the work-a-day world.

Time to catch the sun, and then some cleaning and a rest.  5 years.  Imagine.  Cheers, McMahon.  Will next year find you on the road at this time?  Perhaps.  Who can say?  Just be grateful for the sense of humour, the wit of those around you in the POD, in this Province of the Order of the Good Time.  The boat out earlier this morning and already looking forward to what may turn out to be the last relaunch in May.  The stories remain to be written - stand and go fill the blank page.

Heads of Terms

The HOT document, more ridiculousness.  There were other thoughts this week, from the recollections at the Press Gang, the RP boardroom at Joseph Howe, the Cap and Trade presentations, A Mano pasta and laughter at who holds the majority votes at home among the other guys.  All of which is to laugh, and point the way toward freedom.  The Nature Trust annual dinner as well, the crow and books not purchased, the thought of the value in owning land, even as you seek release to run for some months more.

Speaking of which, Austin for Beto is booked, as is Vegas for the cyclone anniversary.  Started into a playlist to commemorate that occasion and hopefully entice the needed company.  We shall see.  I have a feeling it may not come to pass, but it is still the type of trip on the horizon that is needed. 

Blue skies and wind out there this afternoon, so it is time to say goodbye to McNab's and then make the sail under the bridges to DYC.  That's how time works, around and around until the moment's present.  That was before and this is now and how do you tell the difference.  The readiness, and the enjoyment, is all.

Συμπόσιον

The counterpoint to yesterday's reveries, of course, is that you would be introducing significant annual expenses and items to worry over just as you are in a position to fly away unshackled.  Some tethering of the leash remains of interest, but it is just that interest that looms as an unnecessary cost that must be paid when the traffic in the accounts will start to flow one way, out.

To be continued, as usual, as always.  But the idea of being in Nepal this time next year, possessions sold except for those most priceless ones stored away on Alexander, no fixed itineraries except the course outlines and family holidays to consider.  Seems more in keeping with what you are most comfortable in doing, and what has worked in the past.  It is a two year program, and holding out unattached to the extent feasible seems a worthy aim.

Fodder for discussion at Purcell's Cove tonight.  An anniversary of sorts, given the year since the bet about Lavena's, Gord's death and the opening of NSLC Cannabis.  Will pop by there on the way to the bus.  15 minutes to insert some time.  Time, you most precious commodity, how to free you up so you can do more than waste it through the morning in bed scrolling through Twitter and hoping for the investments to rise...  This seems the path.  Today at least.  Bring on tonight and tomorrow.

The Winter To Think About It

...Then again, he thinks, on the ferry.  And the night before, in class, when presented with a map of Nova Scotia, and that compelling end of the neck location.  And this morning, contemplating all the whale paraphernalia acquired to incent the plan into motion.  And into the afternoon, as word trickles in of oil executives disparaging your association with a client's desires, and of the utility's exasperation and laying of blame for benign procedural filings.

The MFA start next August is basically assured at this point.  I cannot see the writing moving forward without that needed spark - the ongoing feedback and deadlines it will provide.  Plus surely doors that are not currently in view will be opened, and shower a sense of legitimacy on the efforts.  The travel memoirs offer a solid base whence to begin.  Perhaps a more concrete and commercial idea shall emerge in time.

But as you cast about for the next voyage in the interim, the mind asks those lingering questions: heading out on more adventures solo, but where?  and with no place to call home to retreat to on your return?

So smiles Ahab in the shadows.  The sunk costs of the Kish book and the other accoutrements for the walls, lying about and gathering dust and waiting to be put on display.  The idea of the driveway being sodded and the bar being converted into a residence is a tragic one.  It should be stopped.

I start to wonder about the symmetry of prior birthday closings of note - the boat, then the condo.  If the condo were to be sold in advance of next summer, then would not a new used car, and then this property make for a true 40th worth the telling?  I must not discount the thought entirely.  Re-read the Europa journal.  Maybe in the end the right plan for 2019 is both, with commercial operation not to begin until 2020.  As our lady says, we have the winter to think about it...

"That was a lifetime Memory"

Haha, texting with our favorite cruise ship employee and remembering the Rialto.  "Our beautiful story."  Oh my.  Remember it, McMahon?  A worthy moment of travel magic.  Another shattered room left to the cleaners, where might the next one be? 

Trying to narrow in on that next odyssey proving more difficult than usual, given the lack of obvious escapes and the need to prioritize funds in advance of 2019 and the 40th and the early retirement.  Call to the car insurance to cancel, arrangements made to get the free transit pass and potentially rent the parking space... All coming together nicely.  Condo is the big one, and as you live in that mess and prepare for the liquidation in the coming months.

Is it the life of the vagabond writer that you are approaching?  Was that not the original dream?  Funny how the world turns.

It is what it isn't

Friday night Seinfeld and then an Annapolis Basin wedding, where "this time" the bride did not flake out.  Heh.  Some excellent cracks by Jerry - dying doing what you hate, not having the energy to drink anything larger than the small 5 hour energy capsule, the repetition of words to denote seriousness among those who do not know better.   A fleeting and impolitic comment on the fluid situation of #metoo the only real comment on current events, which seemed surprising even as it wasn't.  I expect more from Noah in a few weeks.

The wedding too was a strange affair, in not knowing the company well, and so watching it from a more detached perspective.  Nice all the same, happy to hear of the honeymoon plans through Iceland and Ireland.  Those were the days.

Such nostalgia prompted a revisitation of theatrical experiences, to go along with the recording of the live Arsenal matches witnessed.  Funny how the memory works, what is remembered and what is forgotten.  A good way to kill the time.  Now at the library making a further entry here for nostalgia's sake as well.  Need a book to keep me from Twitter the remainder of the night.  So it goes.  Lazy Fall, as you contemplate the road ahead, but not too closely.  Yet.  More and more the feeling grows, next year the change will come, just in time for 40. 

WWDG

What would the Doge do?

Is that the lesson of this trip, to knock the Twitter concern down and move on?  Surely.  We rise and we fall, the wife of Bath called things out and there will be an ebb/glow, and human history should be seen in a Hari Seldon/Dr. Who voice, rather than a Trumpian one.  I would love to understand their psyche, these people, but would it yield anything of import?  Or just reflect a sign of vast difference.  Which existed for Lear, Hamilton, everyone.  There is a need for villains.  Do they know it?  That’s the question.  Do they know it.  Why can’t they sense the shame of it.  Edmund, why?  Regan, why?  Heh.

Quite the few hours today.  Like a dream, truly.  The cuddler strikes again.  The mini-chalet the winningest of moves that will take so long to tell, if ever.  The photo to the to the breaking of boards.  What a memory, as Nick would laugh.  The best.   Worth all the waiting, before and after.

And now Pantsdrunk in Venice, watching the last Crusade over bottles of vino in an apartment that makes the Ahab dream come alive in the realest of ways.  Should take the rest of the bottle to the back streets to finish.  Before the repair job at the “real” Rialto manana.  Oh McMahon- do not change.   Just get better at the writing/doing....

‘‘Tis 11:30.  Put your jeans on, there is time enough.  Life is a wonder.  If there wasn’t such a city it should need be invented.  So of course it is thousands of years old...

Bongiorno, Venezia

One last thought as you wait for her arrival and all too brief tryst.  What is an hour worth, with all the tangential experience and memory and nostalgia and foreshadowing it entails?  In some ways a moose-related question, since money left behind is no expense at all.

From the mental health perspective, the randomness of being-in-the-world perspective, it is all.

The MFA cannot focus on US politics, this much is certain.  The fact that Gatts and wife and BW and Coop all asked after Ahab is telling.  I wonder.  8 days until that conversation, which shall reveal more.

10 minutes to 9, would be something if this proved the ultimate prank and even this shortest of illicit rendezvous (what is the plural?) failed at the last.  But there have been lessons, reminders.  The ever-present ones.  Stop it with the US politics and the Twitter time wasting.  7 minutes and stairs on hallout.  Long goodbye to the condo and organization/itemization of belongings.  Prepare for the return to the road in the Whitman ways of old.

I promised the Ganges once.  Mutter the same thoughts to the Grand Canal and her tributaries and see  if you can make it stick.  It’s a long way and a long time since Cape Town.  Soon the same will be true of this legendary place...  Remember?

Every F’n City

Not Jerusalem.  And not Venice, neither.  With its bridges and canals and water transport, people movers and your having double-booked yourself due to errors of pure insanity.  No one will be told, and no one would believe it anyway.  What a trip, from the Piebury 2-0 start to the Hare and the Gielgud and Globe and Wydnam and Duke of York and Victoria Palace.  Celebrity spotting galore - Jack Ryan to Keegan to Claude -  and firmer resolve for more permanent escapes.  It can be done, and must.

Will you make use of the mini-Chalet tomorrow?  I hope so.  What a go-ahead.  If that unsung Rialto can take a place in the memoirs then it would prove a coup worthy of a doge.  Another continent as usual.  Now that is a nice life.  Haha, the boss is annoyed, but life must be lived.  Some inspiration on offer this trip for sure.  Enjoy the next few days, who knows when you’ll be back.  As queen Lupone sings nightly, I’ll drink to that.