As the weekend declines...

Sox win, Yanks win: still tied for first in the AL East. Yanks are on the road for the next six; Sox are home for the next six, including the final series of the year...with the Yanks. This is as good and as nauseating as it gets. Pats win with one tick left on the first Sunday of the season that I could devote to nothing more than couch, tube and newspapers. After enduring nine innings and four quarters, I'm far from rested, but it's good. A good weekend, in retrospect.

As mentioned here, I'm an egg hater. There was a rather unpleasant incident when I was a lad, resulting in life-long psychosematic nausea at the mere sight or sniff of eggs. You don't want to know.

Solidarity, my bretheren in food-related trauma.

Got a lot done yesterday in the cleaning department, but it came after a much later start than I would've liked, but I desperately needed to sleep it out Saturday morning, but that caused a much later start than I would've liked, but we got a lot done in the cleaning department. Life circles upon itself, and I can be one neurotic fuck in the process.

I'll no doubt ruminate for several hours while the alarm waits my fall...

Checking in with self, Mr. and Mrs. America and all ships at sea...

Saturday morning: an absolutely invigorating blast of autumn morning. Brisk, brilliant, replenishing. I've hit a wall this week. Exhaustion, insomnia, reconnecting with my life here and letting go of my life there for the time being. A day like today might get me out of it. The pile of laundry left on the floor from our perfunctory Monday unpacking is diminishing. The mound of papers and detritus of travel downstairs and up will be hacked through today (I could probably go on with my life without an ATM receipt from O'Hare, right?). The newly recovered hardwood underneath will be spit-shined. And I will be better.

I find that in my day-to-day Maine life I'm disconnecting to a certain extent, and this is a good thing. I listened to two old friends on the dial last night and read, and it was bliss. Picked this up last week: I'm still working on this and this, but I'm really looking forward to giving proper time to ...Paradox... Clarity, focus, context. I'm working on it. In these days I often wish to drop out completely, build a cabin at the homestead and ride the winter out with a woodstove and radio. But of course I would need a writing table and a typewriter...ok, computer...and plenty of beer...and a coffee grinder, and last I checked those things don't run on batteries...nor does our digital camera...ok that does, but you need power to recharge...

Maybe I'll just stick to fingers in my ears.

Anyway, there's cleaning to get to. I hope to be even more back at the end of it all.

Ruminating

The Pike,
originally uploaded by Westbye.

Again we're back and again I'm dealing with a hard-core case of homesickness and trying to piece it all together and failing rather miserably.

I. Want. To. Be. Bicoastal.

I. Can't. Possibly. Afford. That. Right. Now. Not with a mortgage and a day job here. But this trip brought not only visits with deeply loved family, but also some networking opportunities in the region that just might pay off someday. But that's a long way off. But that's fine, since I/we have plenty of time left and therefore plenty of time to set goals and work toward them (novel concept, that). But once again I really didn't want to leave yesterday, and I would suck up another flight right now to go back. But...

Anyway, it was a great trip, and it's offically over in the morning with my return to the cube.

We're back

Back in the East. Pictures will have to wait: I'm exhausted and spent. But it's good to be home.

Day seven

The times, they are a lovely. Drinks with the estemed Hulamoons on First Ave last night, after a day at THE Fair. Getting vicarious baby fixes (without having to take the plunge ourselves). Coffee and beer. Safeco. Invigorating Emerald City stoking senses and reinvigorating dreams of bi-coasting. It's a total clusterfuck to fit everybody in and get everything done, but still I'm relaxed and content and still hungry for more. It's a good life, for a week anyway.

"33"

So.

I'm 33 today. Woo. It's been a lovely day thus far, drinking coffee, tripping around the market and downtown and Pioneer Square, eating and drinking beer, etc. Every time I come back I find that I crave this town. And I'm back now. Good long trip this time: I intend to maximize...

Emerald City Salutations

Yo checkit, live from just outside Seattle. It's been a blast thus far, with all flights working out (eventually: had a rather frightening companion on the first leg and nearly got seperated on the second), plenty of beer and baseball and navigating a path while rich brats ran amok at the mall of the rich (that would be Belle Square in Bellevue) and used book shopping and... stuff. I shall opine further as it all sinks in and absorbs...

Back with a moderate vengeance

Forty-eight hours from now, barring any delays, we should be reaching cruising altitude out of O'Hare. Forty-eight hours ago, we were about a half hour home from upstate New York (six hours from Oneonta to Portsmouth: not bad). I love being able to count the time by moments and milestones, and especially by journeys. Movement, trips, adventerous or otherwise. Layovers, observations, mental notes on the road. This is good. This is what helps me contextualize my life, and that's what I live for. I'm big on do-overs. I'm not particularly nostalgic, but you can learn a lot by checking the rearview.

The aftermath of Katrina is more than I can fathom. It's good that I have my outlets and bits of escapism. Otherwise, I'd fucking be out of control with all the pent up horror and rage I have. Frank Rich should be required Sunday reading for every American, but especially this past week. Kristof as well. This makes me sick. The great Tim Russert came as close as I've ever heard him to losing control while discussing the lack of accountibility with the I-Man this morning. This is spot-on. I could link on, but we all need to deal and find information and formulate opinions on our own. And my blood pressure level needs to drop.

Just get me to a clam boat and a cold Henry's Ale. Make the world go away.

THE SOCK

THE SOCK,
originally uploaded by Westbye.

I have seen THE SOCK. Curt Schilling wore and fucking bled through this sock in Game II. And I saw THE SOCK. And it was good.

More on the trip and the storm and etc. after it all fades away...