Time, the Enemy of Reason.

Tomorrow is the Day. Today is the day before the Day. Yesterday, of course was the day before today, but that doesn't really matter for the sake of this post. One thing that should be pointed out, though, is yesterday was Tuesday. Since Monday was Labor Day (Labour Day if you live in New Zealand, thanks for the information, Trina) Tuesday seemed an awful lot like Monday. Which makes today, which is Wednesday, have the general texture of Tuesday. Having Monday as a holiday is fine, great in fact, Monday as a blessing, but having Tuesday turn into Monday and throw the rest of the week into chaos is just not acceptable.

To make matters worse, if that is at all possible, I am leaving at 11:00 AM sharp tomorrow for Lake Hope, just my wife, our kayaks, and me, and a bottle of Pinot Noir, and possibly a bottle of Malbec. Not because of any great attraction to these two wines, but we happen to have a bottle of each on hand. Not that the wine really has anything to do with this post.

Let's recap, since we seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Monday was a holiday, which forced an atmosphere of Monday onto Tuesday. This, of course, pressed hard into Wednesday, making it feel frighteningly similar to Tuesday. I am taking a day off on Friday, making Thursday my de-facto Friday, and since it has to serve as Wednesday, and try to pull off some semblance of Thursday as well, and it will have to do it in 4 hours, since I am only working half of a day.

You can see my problem. I am dealing with a week shortened on both ends, and the chaos of trying to cram a weeks worth of obsessing about the passage of time in 2 1/2 days. The pressure is almost unbearable. I don't want you worrying about this, though, it is my job. Just go about business as normal, and I will get this straightened out.

Have a nice Wednesday, or Tuesday, or Thursday, or whatever the hell day it is. It should be a nice day, the weather in Fairbanks AK is mid sixties with a slight chance of rain. If you don't live in Fairbanks let me know, I always thought you looked like a person from Fairbanks. It's a small world.

Since we are going kayaking and I could not find any good kayaking poetry here is a nautical poem, short, sweet and full of imagery.

Sea Fever

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; 

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

 

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Decisions, decisions

Recently we bought a second kayak, one for my wife. Very nice, too. It is a Field and Stream Eagle Talon. Even the name is impressive. And looks, oh man does it look good. Twelve feet of blue, white, black  camouflage beauty. Our other kayak is wonderful, but it is an Emotion Stealth, a nice kayak but the name even says nondescript, unnoticeable. It is a uniform gray front to back.

I decided that maybe the new kayak would be "my kayak,' and my wife could have the old, bland kayak. But, I made the mistake of posting pictures all over Facebook saying here is my wife's new kayak. People at work, friends, family know which one is hers.

I will become the big jerk who took the poor girl's new kayak. I don't suppose I really need that kind of image haunting me. I have read that bloggers have to establish their "brand." It is important to have a reputation for reliability, consistency. Imagine what that would do to my brand.

"Oh did you read the Latest at Life Explained?"

"Not after he stole that kayak, the bastard."

"Oh, that's right."

I would have the new kayak, but my brand would be tarnished beyond repair. I am too old to build a new brand. I am still trying to establish this one.

So, I will paddle on the Stealth in ignominy, unseen, bland, dull, while my wife cruises in style. All the people on the shore saying "who is that in that Eagle Talon? They must be fascinating."

Unless she decides to give me the new one. Nothing I could do about that, right?

Kayaking, a natural experience

Life always seems a little sweeter in a kayak. The small boat rocking gently on the waves. Gently paddling from one place to the next, feeling the tension drain through the small scupper holes. You can almost see the troubles of the week sully and darken the water, and the next sweep of the paddle they are gone, the scenery has changed, and the whole world is a little nicer.

My first attempt was not a real success. Nervousness, tension, anxiety, pretty much trademarks of my life, and my first trip my wife said it was all there, in every sweep of the paddle. She said I looked angry, mad at the water. "You attacked kayaking," she said. Of course, she didn't tell me this until after my second trip. "Relax, just slow down, look around," she told me before I launched. Since she cares for me, and knows almost all of my shortcomings, has seen me at my worst, pulled me back from the brink of the abyss more than I like to remember I listened to her. And she was right, no blisters, no aching shoulders, no cramps in my lower back. It was smooth sailing, sort of.

In the movie Toy Story there is a scene where Buzz Lightyear the astronaut tells Woody the cowboy "now is no time to panic." 

"Now is the perfect time to panic." Woody says, with feeling.

That is my motto, almost all the time. Now is the perfect time to panic. 

Kayaking is different, though. There is the beauty of nature, the serene silence of the forest pushing to the edge of the water, sometimes even making it into the water. Trees bleached white, looking skeletal, haunting and beautiful. Turtles sit on the logs, frogs croak, sing in a noisy opera of natural harmony. Birds of prey float gently, effortlessly across the sky. 

Most of the places I kayak are too small for motor boats, so it is quiet, a few canoes, sometimes an epidemic of kayaks. I always thought I was joining an exclusive family of dedicated "sailors" standing against the internal combustion engine driven power boats zooming along the surface of lakes and rivers. Man, was I wrong. Most of the time kayakers outnumber everybody, maybe everything, in the few launches I have tried. But, that's ok. There is room for all of us. If you are thinking of buying a kayak you should, they are wonderful little devices to loosen up your muscles, let the heat out of your life for a while.

Our cabin on Lake Superior was so remote that we were the only ones visible on the lake. You could hear the power boats across the bay, but you couldn't see them. A suggestion of movement, no more.

Lake Hope will probably be pretty crowded, but that is ok. Gas motors are not allowed on the lake, and there are plenty of little bays to paddle around and disappear for a while. Plus, it is a last vacation for the summer, a farewell to the heat, humidity, and yard work, from a small cabin in the woods.

Kayak shopping, and the pain of math.

Today I am off on a fact finding mission. Kind of. Really it is more of a number finding expedition. In reality it is window shopping, plain and simple. If you can window shop inside a store. Probably it is more of a comparison and price finding trip. My wife and I have decided to double our kayak stable. Shooting from one all the way to two. For every action... and kayaking on Lake Superior made her realize she liked kayaking. I like kayaking, she likes kayaking and I like her, so the next step is a kayak for her. 

Today, I am going to find a kayak for her. It will be two, or three stores. And require a certain affinity for math, which could spell trouble, math involves numbers, numbers are difficult, and I can never remember the sequence. $749.00 could become $794.00 (not too bad) or $479.00 (much worse). She likes to know how much it will cost, precisely, because we can buy gift cards at Giant Eagle or Kroger and get points exchangeable for discounts on gasoline. Accuracy is important. If he doesn't come I will have to take careful notes.

Having two kayaks is important. We are one email away from a glorious weekend at Lake Hope. Kayaking, eating Mexican food from Taco John's and chasing ghosts. I emailed my boss this morning for the time off and the minute she responds I am making the reservation. Lake Hope is a fantastic little lake in southeastern Ohio, with reasonably priced cabins.

Lake Hope is surrounded by woods. Trees that crowd the shoreline, and lean over the water. An ancient forest that has seen more than any of us can imagine, even those of us with active imaginations. Who knows what that lake has seen, all that has happened on those shores. There are many people who believe the calmness of the lake, a relaxed halo that envelopes paddlers and fisherman comes from an ancient power. In a land that was ravaged by a running war between settlers and natives here is a pocket, according to some, of beauty and peace. An aura of beauty and natural wonder lies on the still water. Maybe I am too optimistic.

Ancient beliefs hold nature as a diety, as almost all dieties. And the pictures of Lake Hope, and our recent trip to Big Bay in Michigan are testament to the power of the wild. Walking through the forest smelling the rot and mold of decay, and the pleasant fragrance of life mixed into a heady, beautiful, almost sickening fragrance describing the entire cycle of life. You can not help be moved by the pleasant, aromatic, colorful explosion of birth and the gruesome, inescapable grey grip of death. Maybe I am too deeply involved.

Either way, we will have two kayaks, a cabin, possibly our sons, and the joy of time off. It is another chance to find out what is really important. My family, and the pursuit of life.

Kayaks, Mexican Food and a Ghost, or Two.

My wife tried kayaking on Lake Superior. She did very well. She did so well we are thinking about getting her a kayak. Her kayaking success didn't really surprise me, she is very talented, and thoroughly stubborn. I have told her, several times, "just because it was your idea doesn't mean it will work." But, it almost always does. It is the maniacal optimism, and fanatical attention to detail that makes things work. I have never known anyone who can see things so clearly, but I have never known anyone who can look at something with such power and precision, such laser focus, sometimes it scares me.

Anyway, our trip, our date week, on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was such a smashing success we have decided to recreate it. On a much smaller scale of course. Nobody can catch lightning in a bottle twice. But, a long weekend before the slog of the school year and the agony of holiday shopping madness is preventative medicine at its finest. Dr. Clark, and his All Star Medical Chorus.

We are going to try to take a long weekend in September and rent a cabin on Lake Hope in southeastern Ohio. My wife, two kayaks, a small, comfortable place to stay, and a three day weekend kayaking around a beautiful lake. Could it get any better?

Oddly enough, yes, it could. Lake Hope is less than a half hour from Athens, OH, home to the only Taco John's in Ohio. As far as I know the only Taco John's east of Iowa. Taco John's is the home of Potato Oles. Small, deep fried pillows of shredded potato covered in some sort of spicy seasoned salt. They are delicious. Burritos and tacos and taco bravos, and some of the spiciest green sauce in the fast food universe. A staple of our wasted youth in Colorado and Nebraska. Only a half hour away, could it possibly be any better?

Interestingly enough, yes it could. Turns out Lake Hope is only three and a half miles from the Moonville Tunnel. Wherein lives the Moonville Tunnel Ghost.  You might think the Moonville Ghost would live in what remains of Moonville, a ghost town. Just a few foundations sticking up from the ground, a scattering of forgotten artifacts of hurried construction and patient decay. He doesn't. Or in the Moonville Cemetery, a small patch of land just south and west of the tunnel, where the few remaining headstones mark the mostly forgotten passing of some resident and whose failing conditions mark the passing of time. He doesn't. Not according to legend, anyway

The Moonville Ghost lives in the railroad tunnel. It is said he (or she, depending on the legend, and I have always been an equal opportunity coward) was killed in a terrible accident in the tunnel. Or a malicious act of anger and jealousy. Once again, it depends on the rumor. Either way, it is the tunnel that is haunted, though some people have claimed to see odd things in the abandoned cemetery as well. So who knows, maybe more than one ghost, or just one ghost who likes to get out and boogie around a little, and that is ok with me.

Kayaks, tacos, ghosts, and my little maniacally stubborn, stubbornly optimistic angel. It should be a good time. Don't worry, I will tell you all about it. With pictures, and possibly a movie.

A Mothers Day Shopping Trip spills into August.

Parts One, Two, Three, four, five  and Six are here, please have a look,

All around us the men moved with a terrible purpose. The floor had gone from dingy gray concrete to planks, laid at right angles to the walls. And the walls were slowly sinking, and curving, and had taken on a stark brown appearance, with eye bolts sticking up at regular intervals. But, they weren't really bolts, they were pins, driven into the top of the wall. 

Motion, movement, and deliberate confusion were all around us. Men moved, shuffled past our cart without even seeing us. There was a sense of urgency, despite the slow, deliberate ballet unfolding in front of our eyes, you could sense the menace, the terrible importance of each small movement.

Fog was drifting from right to left, wispy clouds floating like small ghosts in front of us, around us. They seemed to avoid getting too close, swerving around the spot where we stood, and then converging on the other side. 

Rays of sunlight began to break through, and the scene was unreal. A ship, shiny with varnish, buckled and rolled. Masts high with sails, ropes wound and hanging from everywhere, grates to the holds below., and stairs leading to an elevated deck in front of us. We were sprayed by briny, cool water that crashed into the side of the "boat."

Somewhere behind us a song broke out, a melancholy song of love, loss, and sorrow. Soon men all around us joined in haunting, chilling, heartbreaking harmony. A tear ran down my cheek, even though I could only understand part of what was being said. Much of it seemed to be in an ancient, dead language, that I, somehow, began to decipher, decode. A dark, long lost language only sailors, and kayakers would understand.

My wife pulled out her phone and said, "this is crazy, I am giving them a bad review on Yelp." 

Everything stopped. Men turned to look at us. One of them grabbed a deck chair from behind a large round vent that led to the bottom off the ship.

Another came rushing over with a frosty drink, topped by a toothpick holding several slices of fruit. A band started playing calypso music. Soon, we were sitting in chairs, under huge umbrellas, being fanned by a couple of men dressed in white shorts and t-shirts that had tuxedos printed on them.

My wife looked over her huge sunglasses at me and said, "you have to love Yelp."

"Yes, you do." I said. 

to be continued.

Water, You Have No Power Over Me, sort of

People who know me will tell you that I hate boats!  Being on a boat is one of my worst nightmares, number three, I think, but the list is not handy so there is no way to be sure. I think it goes

1. Flying
2. Spiders
3. Water

But, I am working from memory, so that may not be ironclad. Premature burial has to be in there somewhere. And, I know being accidentally poisoned by a hard drinking pharmacist going through a painful, expensive divorce is pretty high, too. Maybe I should just go get the list... Wait, that isn't what I am here to talk about today.

I am here to tell you about my latest search. We are buying a canoe, or maybe a tandem kayak. Wait, you are thinking, isn't a canoe, or a kayak a boat, you are demanding, rather rudely I might add.

Technically, yes they are boats. But, they are well behaved, dignified boats. Gliding with silent grace across the water, working symbiotically with humanity in a wonderful dance, almost ballet. Plus they are a great source of exercise, and I have always enjoyed canoeing.  I can't explain the difference.  It is there, though. Better left to philosophers.

Plus, there is no "captain" wearing a brand new coat of Jack Daniels bravado wanting to "open 'er up, and show you what she can do." Then insisting that if you tried water skiing you would love water skiing. Right until I end up sleeping with the fishes, or even worse being eaten by the Lake Watusi version of Nessie.

So, I am off today, in search of the perfect transportation. Anybody with any information regarding the relative merits of a kayak vs. a canoe please leave them in the comments.