Neptune’s Yellow Sands

It happened again.  And I'm not talking about Tottenham Hotspur getting battered at home by Chelsea after two red cards.  But the wild eyes, the slurring, the replacement for my love.  This time within the house, so more controlled than the bunk, still arguably worse.  The dropping of the child, asking to call the police, the knife to the breast.  How could I have foreseen that?  Here I was a bit frustrated at not greeting AA on arriving and retreating to the car.  Little did I know.  Full of shit/crap, what do you need, care about everyone but your own children.  The "gladiator" cutting to the bone.  At least it will pass. Bold action required.  She needs support.  Change the priorities.  Fundamentally.  Tomorrow you have a 10AM call with DM, a 3PM with TOA, nothing else required.  The AAR will be filed, which sucks, but the process will run out in time.  The water co may need a CU but but but... ...

A dream Halloween.  From the parade to the weather, the wearing of the hat for the long march and the timing of the rest and toilet business and even a drop-in on Norwood Street before the first trick or treating on the shoulders.  Our Avocado shone.  Halibut and Lobster Club, Mulled Cider and Rum, and the stunning ocean views of the lighthouse and rocks.  Even after all these years, you forget how wondrously scenic it is.  But cold, damn cold. I wonder how many more years I will keep up the drive out there.  10 is a nice round marker, and to think of the changes that have come over the time.  From 2019 to 2022, 40% of the years spent contemplating repeated trips across to Africa.  This year we keep it close to home, awaiting a fresh start in the sun for 2024 in other favourite haunts of old. It was all a bit rushed yesterday, so didn't really sink in.  The drive, the sunshine, the white lighthouse against the blue sky, the waitresses and the...

The long man is born, contraction road one time and not a moment too soon. Same day as G MacDonald passes, graduate of 1970, hopefully some of that spirit and intelligence transfused.  Far from a tragedy.  Pursuit of excellence always to be honoured.   Rebus night, planned from way back, carrier out tonight, both boys at home, Michelle O tomorrow.  We wait for any surprise NSP comments for TOA big otherwise good.  We wait for the drive to Sydney and the mine tour.   We wait for the moments to come, Crossan blowing the trumpet tonight the foreshadowing.  Showing the pics of the new guy not yet real.  But life is good.  The club is good.  The passage of time is sad and tragic, but good.   Sadies, JEB, Sloan, Last Waltz, other nights of intoxication.  Lost to memory. Vik looking old in his 1952 shirt, but he knows the beat, still.  Life fading away slowly, but nights like this… Good ones. Worth drinking to, with the finest st...

Today is the original due date, and no sign yet of son #2.  From Liscomb to Rieu, the preparations have been well made in terms of family outings, as AA grows accustomed to the daily drop-offs and his father to the commute in the new CX-90.  To watch the little man grow is a joy beyond imagining, and you can see why people lament its passing as being too quick.  The chance now, while such notions are fresh, to experience it again, steeled as we are by having been through it once before, has crept up in a manner that excites and delights.   There have been twists and turns, mostly in meeting the moods as they come.  Frustration at stereotyping of expectations by acquaintances, the need to provide support against all corners, the "everything" comment when getting ready for daycare, the learning patience even as the clock is ticking toward events that will not wait.  All just about hanging together, and life seems ready to be put on pause for you to witne...

J find that to be one of the funnier lines I’ve heard, moving to free up space among these crazies.  The piercings and hair and goth look.  Realizing how different from you these two boys are going to be, what experiences will end up shaping them, the transition into full-time daycare the sign of things to come.  No, not a sign but the start of the next phase, no going back. The child entering the world outside his parents’ protection, full-time. Let go.  And enjoy watching.  The broad trajectory of your life has been run.  Not likely to change jobs, just need to stay alive to provide for the future.  Some adventures to come, but the focus geared to the next generation.  What remains is to write up the fulcrum, the culmination of points on which everything hangs.  This weekend is the chance to make the start.  The hideous beard.  Every subsequent decision in the second half of your life flowing from that one point.  The creatio...

Out of nowhere, a line in the darkness in the middle of the night becomes an “accusation” that brings up all the old familiar complaints.  You see how things can end, fall apart, without empathy.  Understanding.  Successive efforts and alternative approaches always end in failure.  “I can see why you feel this way,” the only way forward.  Learn how not to feel threatened and down, despite being the cause/trigger.   Daycare starts soon, and with it hopefully a new routine.  Sparking a return even to the gym?   Lockdown with the newborn will be a whole new life again… did you do the 16 months apart on purpose?  Haha. Trying to remember all of the ways you keep messing up what should be simple, held back by the inability to undo the past.  It will be fine, the mantra remains.  Faith, because what else is there.

The past, rushing back with celerity.  Time on the Helix on this Natal Day weekend, as the big man adapts to the headbump and the 15th month birthday and the screen time.  Hard to put into words, this little holiday Monday afternoon escape into the past.  Looking at that cast of characters onboard. Thinking of the run at Bishops, paired with the early days on the SBTS Board.  Floating in the habitual spot of McNab’s as a passenger, the young J. on board, never a haircut yet, York Redoubt from the water.   Once upon a time.   All the different ways your life could go (could have gone).  And now, soon, boys (plural) of thine own.   It’s such a miracle, as everything is, and the constant lesson of learning to let go, let things break, fix anew.  Nothing needs to go as planned.  Relax.  Love.  Stop what you are doing and breathe. Thanks Finbar.  Will see this table again.  On Mondays, Ja.