Stranded O'Boy is the father of Gu-Gu-Ga-Ga. Gu-Gu-Ga-Ga - which we'll now call Ga because the full name is too hard to type - speaks with an interesting speech impediment. Everything he says starts with a ta or a te. Ta-tee tan tyou take me to the tlide tnow? Stranded O'Boy is patient with his speech impaired son who is bigger then him but generally a boy that is not too needy and can easily amuse himself.
It is raining. A mist rain. A cloud is upon us rain. A we-are-part-of-the-cloud rain. Not a metaphorical cloud but an actual cloud - lowered and hinged upon the trees. Not fog but a cloud - and we're in it.
Who am I? I am a follower of these two. I mostly follow Stranded O'Boy. Despite his name he is the one who keeps us safe and knows how to move us from Northern ice breaker to safety boat to the boat over there. He also knows, precisely and presciently, when he needs to be saved. Not only when he is lying on the rocks, grasping at a metal pole that has washed up and lodged there but he knows before it happens. He says, I will go over here and you will need to save me. I will call you when I need to be saved. If only all of us could be so prescient about our needs.
We spent much of our time clearing water ways of debris - creating paths and channels of water where before it was blocked. This isn't the ocean but a simple rectangle of mostly shallow water with a deeper esturary-like area where the water is deeper. That is where we are working and where the debris has washed to. The water is deeper there. In the summer the rectangle enclosure is a place you can get ice-cream from an upside down trike because there is no water. Because it is warm and the ice-cream man is there. In the winter the rectangle fills and it is Stranded O'Boy's job to keep clear the waterways. Stranded O'Boy is the ice-cream man in the summer. Stranded O'Boy is very talented and we are lucky to be on his crew.
The debris is vegetation that has fallen from trees and clogged up our waterways. The most important part of this area is the drain in the corner - this gives the water a place to go thus it keeps moving. But the drain was very plugged. We couldn't see the bottom but for one hole. This one hole seemed to suck the water in and once we started clearing the waterways, water seemed to slip down and disappear. Success.
Ga didn't help with the drains but that was OK because he found something more exciting to do. He modified his boat to make it faster and started racing down our channels. He is the youngest and the work of moving debris bored him. His boat was fast and as soon as he started racing - which was about the time we were done clearing waterways - we knew he would need new challenges and new channels to race down.
We left our enclosure to take the long-way home. With me helping Stranded O'Boy monitor Ga's boat racing. The channels were often shallow and erratic. Sometimes fast and, of course, we were still encountering debris. Stranded O'Boy and I stayed close to Ga but gave Ga more than enough room to race.
By the time we got back home we were very wet and we hung our gear to dry and started to eat. Stranded O'Boy ate many things. A large bowl of popcorn, half a cucumber, a green apple, a large bowl of spaghetti, a red apple and three glasses of water. Ga ate popcorn, spaghetti, a green apple and 1 glass of water. I seem to be loving pomegranates so stuck with that.
All in all a successful day and a successful journey thanks to both Ga and Stranded O'Boy.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Nothing to See Hear
Happy people don't watch much television. People who are constantly sucking in fragments of information - most of which is mundane - are mundane. Parents with angry vengeful children are often angry vengeful parents. Dry hands, chapped heart.
She had something that gave people a sense of trust. Gave them a sense of trust like the right lighting and scent in a float plane terminal. Like a clean plane. Like the right cookies and care in the loud small flying thing. She wasn't a loud small flying thing though. No she was more like a Prius, not noticeable and quiet except to those that knew what she was. Perhaps a vehicle analogy isn't the right one either. She didn't like to move that much and tended to stay at home a lot. She created a world around herself where give and take had a format and boundaries. Perhaps she was like a house. Perhaps she was like herself.
One thing she knew, especially lately, was that she lost her sense of fun. That something was off, just a little bit so that the spin of her life was lopsided and gave her vertigo. She had vertigo once and couldn't lie down. Each time she lay the room spun around her. She contemplated a life sitting up. She contemplated a completely different life. She knew, once the vertigo had passed, that her life was great. It was better than most could imagine. Unfortunately, that feeling didn't last. Her unhappiness and uneasiness - like plastic deck chairs in a float plane terminal. Like the cracked yellow plastic interior of that float plane. Like the cheap foil-wrapped fruit candy in the sad wicker basket the winter jacketed flight attendant gave out before landing.
When uneasy she mulled over emergency response to any possible scenario. Even the best things had the bomb of the worst-case explode in her head. And then she methodically worked out her scenarios. Where she saves herself. Where someone else dies but she lives through it. Where she struggles from near death or struggles with someone else's death and rebuilds. In the unease - always ripping and murdering even the strong pieces of her life to build them into something new. She listened to the flight attendants, she would memorize how to heave open the emergency exit. She knew that she would cling to the lifejacket because she ran that scenario already. And she always lived.
She had something that gave people a sense of trust. Gave them a sense of trust like the right lighting and scent in a float plane terminal. Like a clean plane. Like the right cookies and care in the loud small flying thing. She wasn't a loud small flying thing though. No she was more like a Prius, not noticeable and quiet except to those that knew what she was. Perhaps a vehicle analogy isn't the right one either. She didn't like to move that much and tended to stay at home a lot. She created a world around herself where give and take had a format and boundaries. Perhaps she was like a house. Perhaps she was like herself.
One thing she knew, especially lately, was that she lost her sense of fun. That something was off, just a little bit so that the spin of her life was lopsided and gave her vertigo. She had vertigo once and couldn't lie down. Each time she lay the room spun around her. She contemplated a life sitting up. She contemplated a completely different life. She knew, once the vertigo had passed, that her life was great. It was better than most could imagine. Unfortunately, that feeling didn't last. Her unhappiness and uneasiness - like plastic deck chairs in a float plane terminal. Like the cracked yellow plastic interior of that float plane. Like the cheap foil-wrapped fruit candy in the sad wicker basket the winter jacketed flight attendant gave out before landing.
When uneasy she mulled over emergency response to any possible scenario. Even the best things had the bomb of the worst-case explode in her head. And then she methodically worked out her scenarios. Where she saves herself. Where someone else dies but she lives through it. Where she struggles from near death or struggles with someone else's death and rebuilds. In the unease - always ripping and murdering even the strong pieces of her life to build them into something new. She listened to the flight attendants, she would memorize how to heave open the emergency exit. She knew that she would cling to the lifejacket because she ran that scenario already. And she always lived.