BFP, part deux?

Shall we take it from the top?  Another go-round?  The initial failure and angst and sleeplessness leading through to today’s surprise, which was capped off by the clear confusion of the + sign on some brands, then the Celtic bathroom misfire over Guinness that yielded solid but fainter proof.

All after limited efforts, just the return from the Rock and acccomodation at the cheap booking.com place and the sushi doing the trick.  Hard to imagine it playing out just this way, and yet, trust the plan?  No doubt.

For the ticket to London was confirmed first, after Green List delight, unexpectedly.  And the appointment arising from Magic Mike remains, unaltered, the day before departures.  What will that doc make of us?  And will eCOPR come through from the portal in time?

Many questions await - a month of September to remember.  Let’s sit back and believe.  It’s worked before.  The odds seem in favour, and the story seems to demand it.

Through Life's Dark Maze...

Hello again - long time.  Safe home from the forests of the Rock, after the boat tour success and 2500km or so of safe driving.  We now look ahead to the moment of departure freely changed, and how it might align with the timing of the PR portal.  How next week's UK green list announcement might impact plans for the NLD and Southwest Path.  How the remainder of 2021 will unfold work-wise.  What decisions might yet be made on the housing front next Spring.  If there will be a BFP the second...

No one knows tomorrow, we sing, but also note the random sundial inscriptions that tomorrow never comes.  A lifetime passes with swift foot.  Haste! oh Haste! Thou sluggard, Haste! The present is already past.  Swift runs ye tyme, This dial face doth show, Ye hours are few, That ye shall pass below.  And best of all from the epigrams of Martial: "You tell me Postumus, that you will live tomorrow; you always say tomorrow, Postumus.  Tell me, Postumus, when will that tomorrow arrive?  How far is that tomorrow off?  Where is it? or where is it to be found?  Is it hidden among the Parthians and Armenians?  That tomorrow already counts up as many years as those of Priam or Nestor.  For how much, tell me, may that tomorrow be bought?  You will lie tomorrow: even today is too late to begin to live.  He is the wise man, Postumus, who lived yesterday."

Ah, the brevity of life.  The incomprehensibility.  The lesson of David and Bathsheba, in the shade of a tree randomly encountered yesterday.  Coop's return to the Emirates today.  Dinners with family and friends, pizza-making and butter chicken and Lagavulin Guinness.  Potential job applications and PEI visit.  Before the Scottish Play, Wanderers, and then, well, we shall see.  For now it is moments from Arsenal v. Chelsea, in anticipation of another round of dealing with stray comments about bathroom smells.  Oh how navigating this mystery of joint living remains a mystery.

Still, I would not change it.  Come on you Gunners.

Big Lone

One week since Black Tot.  One week of spectacular weather, family reunions, old haunts, new memories.  Kona holding up, first live theatre in over a year, and lots of blue skies to forget the disappointment of the 5 weeks failure.  The potency of religion as a way to help move along all the more evident as the days of the grieving process tick along.  

Now at the hostel in Rocky Harbour contemplating a wonderfully planned week of scenery, activities, and art.  The conversations on the other side of the door should end soon, but the eavesdropping a window into the alternate, unshared life.  The uninterest in joining a sign of the times.  I prefer the silence and solitude, and laughter with this one.  Even given the heightened sense of worry about headaches and itching  that goes with living the shared life.

Their stories outside seem … blah, as much else is, especially when compared to the scruff-scrape sound of a lone runner’s footfalls on gravel in Port Rexton this morning, 600 km in the distance.  Gazing out at vistas you will likely never see again.

The short holiday away from work a reminder of the importance of art and how to make a lasting contribution to the impermanence of it all.  The bookshelves and mini-libraries, the performances of Shakespeare (twangling, German clocks, is that not strange?) and songs of regret and love and longing and home, the gift of pewter, and Royal Doulton. 

Most important of all, Nanny’s conversations from deep within the long-term memory.  Spending money on travel when earned, and the like.  Her smiles and bright eyes upon seeing and continuing to see M.  Worth the trip.  The Western Brook Pond view, when it comes, will be a bonus.