Not to Be

Disappointment in Manchester, so similar to a decade ago in that there was no real drama once the match got underway, just a damage limitation exercise among pretenders to the Crown.  Next time, boys.  April/May next year seems the time for a return…

Still, fond memories of the build-up.  That’s really what this trip has been about.  The joy in finding London memories now influenced by the family.  And looking forward to the return to the excitement of that, rejuvenated (although still this tickling cough).

From the Ibis now.  The idea of chasing memories has been potent this trip, as has been the idea of seeking out distractions that result in forgetting of everything on the mind in favour of something else.  The theatre, the match, the alcohol.  Stuff that is written in water and history to be written that never happens the same way again.  Not as articulate on the main points as they have been passing through the mind.  

Globe pilgrimage tonight.  First, a reading from the random book thrown in your path.  Roll on.

Youth’s a Stuff

Leaving Stratford.  Restful and satisfied, the church service and unexpected plays and Rioja by the gravesite all as you like it.  Enjoying the book about the First Folio so randomly acquired at Woodside.  All seems well on the home front, with one week left before the return to a Halifax summer.

This pilgrimage has all the makings of what you hoped for, the stomping through memory’s grounds, a sequel to the trip taken during the second trimester for AA.  As the last post notes, it has a greater sense of a conclusion about it.  Although maybe this time next year is another for consideration, in the long line of escapades imagined for 2024.

What is clear is the need for an updated manifesto, with the same commitments of old.  Limits on the drinking and the phone obsession.  Healthier eating and increased exercise.  Organization of the house and decluttering of the offices home and downtown.

It can be done, particularly if you can align it with the creative burst needed to complete the first draft of the story now in outline.  The foundations are there and I feel good about the trajectory, the marketing, the conclusion.  

I wanted to write about the trees in the countryside, the branches like the baobab.  About the legacy of creation, the theatre as a form particularly ephemeral in nature.   The black ink as a means of fixing on a way to partake in the literary conference circuit.  Because why not.

Leamington Spa approaching, so much seems the same and the differences are yet vast.  What will another few years bring?  Before your next trip back to Blighty?  Time alone will show.

Start of an Ending

 Not sure why that was the feeling today, from the trip over to/from Russell Square, the Sampson’s cut, the White Swan and banter, plastic cups at 4pm, the Victoria and its garden after the curry sauce at the Chip Inn, the outdoor pint at the stadium, the goal for Southampton 30 seconds in, then Walcott, and the late flurry to almost claw it all the way back.  Paul and John, Sampson and Fred.  Not sure what next season will hold.  Tim may yet be here, but Gatts gone.  And the kids mean a hold, despite the fun of it.  Caesar was great in parts, but disappointing that those given such reign and time cannot get it right.  

I don’t know.  Wednesday night up North looms large.  Let’s see… what twists and turns May yet come.

Speaking of Untranslatable...

 A few words, on a reflective morning, tired head, thinking ahead to England, to Arsenal, to rest, to #2: 

Soubhiye, which refers to that period of time in the morning when no one else is awake but you and you can have some quiet time to yourself before the household is awake...

Estrenar, which is a Spanish word that could mean to break something in, but it doesn't have to be something you wear.

And Debrouillard, if you literally translate it, means somebody who removes the fog.

Remembering the Camino

Pilgrim, you climb mountains

to see horizons!

wandering and sore soul

hungry for truths

what are you looking for solitude

to have company

Wandering, pilgrim mind

that flies more than walks

that has not yet arrived and is already leaving.

Your path goes to Santiago and you:

Where are you going?

Object Permanence

Survived the Easter trek, just a bit tired, a bit sick, the Motel 6 heating unit whirring into the night, smokers setting off the alarms on the stroke of midnight.  Beautiful driving weather there and back.  Some real jeopardy with the headache and arguments over whether to shower before breakfast, but the Big Man came through and the reveal worked out all right.

Peekaboo tonight, the belly laughs continuing before rest in the crib.  The brain realizing that things remain in place even if you can’t see them.  Incredible to see the learning take hold in real time.  How long will he stay down?  Watching the walking as he slowly makes those tentative steps with less and less support, the excitement in recognizing voices and Mama.  Can the video capture the memory?  The wonder of it?  The smashed screen now to be fixed, just another hassle and expense but so be it.  Chelsea game moved, so be it.  We have to beat City to do it and they just smoked Bayern, so be it.  The Friday night lights for Southampton will be grand.  Win the next game, that will set it up nicely.

Luck be a lady the substitute for the Emirates?  Kind of crazy but alright.  Funny another option is a play about Tristan.  Or just a day in the park, walking, remembering?  Anything possible, let’s see.  One week away.  

The Permanence

Funny post-reflection, after two days of feeling fine after the “castration” - everything is impermanent, time flies, etc etc.

11th month birthday tonight, laughing at Scotland v Canada at the World’s.  “Room?   ROOOM?” 

Just a great day.  Worries about conflicts re curtailment and actual cost to serve submissions.  Remember?  It felt slightly important at the time.  The Guinness tasted sweet, 345 days to the next, and this Chianti.

Science!

 V-day off to a hilarious start with the Craven Cottage tickets, no sleep, big man under the weather, bills sent, grid modernization filed, and third time under the Mirbod harvest. If needed for the sequel, the socks, Worry-Be-Gone, the Trump indictment, fish cake recipes, Manitoba home before the drive east in 2001, Roscoe Ray at Tim’s where a similar assembly line process is underway as these doctors churning out the grafts and the snips.  Prologue looking good, I think we’re onto it.