autumn, (again)

Fall has again fallen. I started writing a blog entry about it, then had a strange deja vu. I checked, and, sure enough, there's an entry about it last year, too. Many of the same things hold true, of course. Candles abound at Casa de Tastrophe, and the stone is chilly beneath my feet. (I am pleased that there is more stone to be cold, as a recent home improvement project has been completed). 

I have just returned from a fabulous vacation in a very warm locale, so the seasonal weather on my return has intensified the contrast. What I am finding most jarring this year is the light. The daylight gets shorter and shorter this time of year. Every year, it is a gradual thing, but every year it catches me by surprise. Gone are the halcyon days of summer. I will miss the heat, the sun; but autumn has its pleasures, too. The holidays are just around the corner, and this promises to be a good year, as work should not be so crazy as it has been. I wonder if I will again feel that strange compulsion to bake cookies?

Tonight, I will put a blanket on my bed, light some candles and fix myself some dinner...the simple delights of the season.

boating?

I often think about how my life has changed; it makes me smile. I also think about how my desires have changed. It’s amusing to chat with my boys, who are clearly in a different station of life than me. I must be careful not to jade them—it’s difficult to discuss the findings of my life without robbing them of their macro-romantic predilections, (which I feel are only natural for people looking to build a family). 

Conversely, I sometimes look around at my contemporaries, and am surprised to find some of these same predilections still deeply entrenched. Why would you be looking for the traits that would indicate a good mother when you have zero interest in more children? Is the person you chose to raise a family with the same that you want to retire with? Sure, for some, the answer is yes, absolutely. Lucky them! I think they probably made their life adjustments together and I think that is a fine thing. I do not, however, condemn those that changed boats, midstream, on the river of life. While it may not be noble, I suppose, living with the alternative, (being miserable), seems yucky. If someone finds themselves without a canoe, why would they seek out another, just like the last one, when there are speed boats, and fishing boats, and windsurfers all available? If you wanted a canoe for the first half of your life, would you necessarily want another one for the second half?

  

It’s funny, a speedboat can be a high-maintenance thing, so I encourage the boys to pick out a good canoe—it’s easier to push off from the shore. There's no rush...enjoy the boat show.

choices

Sometimes the choice is not between right and wrong, but between order and chaos. It is an interesting choice, because, by definition, right is right and wrong is wrong. Order and chaos don't have that knee-jerk reaction built in. Sometimes, chaos is the right choice, and sometimes order is the wrong choice. 

I'm no great scholar of Hinduism, but I have always been intrigued by their notion of destruction--while not pleasant, there is a time for it. To me, this is when chaos is the right choice. I'm not sure if, deep down, this is about tearing up the flooring in my house, or getting divorced, or something else. Maybe it's about killing zombies? I just don't know, but it is mildly interesting today.

batch lore tips

I’ve often thought it would be fun to write down some tips for the freshly bachelorized. My wife and I split up several years ago; then I pushed the fledglings out of the nest, leaving me living alone with a marvelous long distance girlfriend. In the following few years, I’ve learned a lot about myself and a lot about living alone. I do not have a list of bachelor tips, but I’ll spout out some nonsense, willy-nilly, as it occurs to me.

The first tip, however, is easy: buy a shop vac. It is far and away the best investment a guy living alone can make. Over the years, I’ve watched women pushing around crumbs on kitchen countertops. They push them around and around. Most find their way to floor, where the housewife’s broom finds them and delivers them to the dustbin. With a shop vac, however, those crumbs are sucked right up into a black hole in a jiff. A broom? Brooms are for witches and the occasional quidditch match; a real man uses power tools.

A shop vac is also a handy thing to rid yourself of unwanted houseguests. An invasion of ants is really just a real-life video game where the aliens descend on the helpless peasants and collect them in the mothership for nefarious purposes, off-planet. In this game, you are the alien. Ants go bye-bye and the place doesn’t smell like Monsantoville. Spiders and webs? TTFN, baby!

When you’re picking out this indispensable device, remember: you don’t have a big family any more. A small, lightweight model is better, as long as it really sucks. Keep an eye on the horsepower ratings.  

roadkill rally

Oh, ladies & gentleman! It's an amazing Cinderella story, where a scrappy squirrel, a real underdog, comes from behind and wins the race! 

(The street sweeper got to the squirrel first).

neck and neck

The opossum will be asking for a judgement call: if 51% of him is no longer in the gutter, does he win?

Meanwhile, the squirrel, considerably less spry these days, is trying a new tactic. I think he realized that skunks get removed promptly, so he decided to start stinking.

It won't be long now...

on the road again...

I’ve been watching an unusual race this week as I ride my bicycle home for lunch each day. The race is between an opossum and a squirrel. I guess in a way, the opossum cheated because he started the race last week, so I thought he would surely be the first across the “finish line.” As it stands right now, the squirrel has gained ground, and I despair of the opossum even crossing the line at all. 

You see, the opossum and the squirrel are both dead. The opossum shuffled off the mortal coil last week, and the squirrel joined the race over the weekend. They are racing to see who will be removed from the gutter first. Sadly for the opossum, he now more closely resembles a remnant of carpet rather than a once-living creature. So much so that I doubt anyone would think to remove his carcass. The squirrel is trying hard to win, since he has an adorable, surprised look on his face; veritably smiling and winking at passing cars and trucks. 

I’ll let you know who wins.

stuff...

More contrast in my life…

Kevin was living and working in Utah, for ski season this winter, after returning from a summer gig in Alaska. He came home about 6 weeks ago. The contrast: empty house/full house. Missing the tranquility of the empty house…

During my recent vacation, I spent some time with Gadget Girl, a good friend who lives in the Virgin Islands. (Yes, we have some history together, too). It had been about 9 months since I saw her last, and it was a real treat catching up. She also took me on an “off-the-grid” tour; spots only known by locals. It was a lot of fun.

 

Vacation in the Virgin Islands was fun, but my time with Jenn was marred, slightly, by the fact that I wasn’t feeling well. I came down with a fever and cough—very annoying. Still, if I’m going to be sick, it may as well be in paradise with Jenn! I’m bummed I missed the infamous Full Moon Party at Bomba Shack; we’ll have to go back for that one in the future. Contrasts: healthy vs. sick, time with Jenn vs. time alone.

A little home improvement lately, as my deck is now sheathed in stone, the attics insulated and new travertine going into the house right now. It’s disruptive and the chaos in the house contrasts with the order that I so enjoy. Now, to get a Jacuzzi installed…

And, of course, the weather! It’s funny how happy it makes me to experience the recent heat wave, then the moderate weather that followed. I love Southern  California, the sun on my face, the sea breeze at the house in the afternoon. Ahhhh. Winter in SoCal is not horrible, but Spring has been springing for a while now, and I see blooms everywhere, soaking up the sun.

Life is good. Duh…

vacation

I often talk about vacation, it's one of my favorite subjects. I like to travel; I like to get away.

I have a pet theory about vacation: the enjoyment of vacation comes from two sources: "Going To" and "Getting Away." 

The Going To part is pretty easy to understand. For me, I love tropical vacations, and those destinations are marvelous. Above all, the sea! One of my favorite things in life is diving off a boat into the warm sea first thing in the morning. I also enjoy trying new things, new foods, new drinks, (usually containing rum, of course). I love meeting new people, and interacting with the locals. It's easy to see why going to a good vacation site would be wonderful.

...But the Getting Away part is often just as important. I enjoy my work, (sometimes more than others), but after a particularly stressful stretch, vacation gives me something to look forward to. I firmly believe there is a time and place for everything, and it is the contrast between working hard and vacationing that makes the vacation that much sweeter. Yes, contrast. 

I am surprised at how often I see people on vacation hell-bent on not enjoying themselves. Yes, the 'ugly American' is a real phenomenon, but it's not just Americans. When studying these creatures, a pattern emerges. All too often, they are affluent folks with far too much leisure time available. Their vacations are watered down by the fact they don't have anything to get away from. They aren't taking a respite from hard work, so I think, deep down, they feel guilty or something. I really don't know, because I avoid these people.


A certain boat available for charter in the beautiful Virgin Islands does a brisk business hosting people all winter. (Winter in the VI is actually the high season. 80 degrees, breezy, gorgeous...). Many of the charter guests are from the Northeast. These folks flee the weather at home for a week in paradise, and they are ridiculously happy to Get Away from the weather. I admit, living in Southern California as I do, I will never know the singular joy that comes from escaping horrible weather. As with my Facebook account, when others complain about hip-deep snow, I sagely keep my mouth shut--it is just bad form to tell them we hit 80 degrees today. 


Vacation for me starts in about an hour. Work has been exceptionally busy, and I'm flying to the Caribbean, so I figure this one will be a goodie...

springy

The other day, I pulled into my driveway and noticed all the Indian hawthorn bushes in my yard were blooming, pink and pale lavender. Bees everywhere. 

I picked up some tomato plants at Costco and potted them. I would like to put in another half dozen plants in my garden, but these potted few pretty much guarantee I'll be making bruschetta by summer.

Aphids are munching on my many bamboo plants, so they needed a good blasting with the hose.

Last Saturday, the sun was shing and my backyard looked very inviting, so I got some sun.

Spring is here! 

(I'm glad no one on the East Coast reads this stuff. They have fresh snow. The closest thing to snow in my life is crushed ice in a cocktail). 

The spring air is full of promise, this year. Everywhere I look, I see plants eager to do their thing. For me, work, although very hectic for a while, is busy and almost fun again. (Recession was icky). Just a couple of weeks and I'll be taking some vacation time on Safari in the Virgin Islands. Although we've made plans for the full moon party at Bomba Shack, on Tortola, the rest of the week is blissfully open--that is so unlike me not to have an itinerary mapped out! I'm blaming Spring Fever this morning...




I think from here on out, when someone mentions a season, any season, I'm going to say, "Oh, that's my favorite time of year!"

ch-ch-changes

I am maturing. That strikes me as kind of funny because, in a certain sense, you continue maturing, then you die. I guess the right term is “aging.” I am aging.

I am not terribly upset about it. It’s been a couple of months since my birthday, and that one was a big, round number. The day before, I was 49, then I was 50. No difference, really. 

The other day, I bruised my leg. Suddenly, I was 12 again, playing little league, and having some slight injury. “Walk it off, Slugger!” So, I walked it off. It helped, but the magic of walking it off must have faded, somehow. The next day, I was limping through the airport, quite unhappy about it. When I focused on it, the limp would be barely noticeable, but then my attention wandered and I was gimpy again. Good old Advil, some rum and some time and everything was back to normal. Not “good as new,” but normal.

I remember being very concerned about parenting when I was younger, before the boys. What kind of father would I be? There was so much to do; so much to learn. Helping out in what small ways I could during the pregnancy was a chore, what would it be like when that alien was born? When the bun was in the oven, I got down to business. I had just 9 months to become the perfect father. What I didn’t figure out right away was: you only need to learn to be a father to an infant; I had plenty of time to figure out how to talk to my teenagers about sex, drugs and rock & roll. Everything in its season.

(By the way, the parenting book that I read back then is likely banned and burned in this 21^st century. Times change!).

Aging is a little like that, too. This may surprise some, but I have noticed changes in my body. By and large, these changes are annoying. At first, I ignored these changes and occasionally paid the price. Growing older is like preparing to be a father: there is plenty of time to adjust, and it really only needs to be mastered gradually. Again, not really upset, just realistic. To tell you the truth, I am very happy. I almost said “the happiest in my life,” but you’re a dick if you wax poetic about your kids moving out. Let just say, I am happy and it is a different kind of happy than being a new father. Both seem(ed) natural for my age.

Although there do not seem to be any perks with aging, “being older” comes with some benefits, and I’ve learned to take advantage of those benefits. Mostly it’s just efficiency. The very best perks are associated with work. Dye the white out of my beard? Heck no! In fact, since I am now a fan of sunscreen, I notice it whitens it more. I have cultivated a serious, don’t-bother-questioning-just-obey look. I have to be careful not to smile when it works, though. The positives of being older dovetail nicely with a lot of the other stuff that is going on in my life. I like puttering around the empty house. I like having the time to garden. I love vacations and traveling! 

Aging: different, gradual, inevitable, not all bad…