Emerald sea

It has been a frenetic day. Starting at 7:30 am this morning when I got up. Or rather when I had to get up. I had an appointment at 9:30 am with a very capable masseur for some traction control. Followed by breakfast on the patio at the golf club. The admission of having consumed such quantity of sausage, bacon, eggs and cheese made me wonder when my heart will attack me one last time. I can’t say it inhibited my gusto. It was a hot, hot day; and I like the heat.  I am convinced there is nothing  – perhaps other than the now legal vials of THC/CBD – which will erase my neuropathy and limitless other malfunctions and degeneration peculiar to that insipid prosecution called old age, an extremely casual reference to what appears to me at least to be an entirely predictable if not indeed calculated decomposition.

And this all before we even stepped our toes across the threshold of the local market grocer. It was there that things began to crackle! A telephone call from the estate agent confirming the availability of a place in which we’re interested.  The choice whether to natter in the grocery aisle or put it off until the morrow. Natter in the aisle.  These days it is accomplished so expediently, the endorsement of a plastic card for the mutual benefit of the parties and their agents. The cost of an exit-VISA from Casablanca!

And that, may I assure you, is precisely the manner and the pragmatism with which my heart leapt as the unparalleled Nirvana of the knowledge began to penetrate. The yolk of imprisonment was most satisfactorily lifted from my shoulders. Oh sure, I know all that whatchamacallit about there being no ship to take you away from yourself. Frankly the more compelling overture arose not from such wizardry (disguised as illumination) but from the benevolent innocence of a child for whatever’s new. Time is running out for me, I have no doubt. If through the application of some intelligence and serendipity we are enabled to extend or dilute the time that remains, good. I am certain that Rick and his gang will survive quite nicely over the winter, regarding the fields of snow. My preference is otherwise.

Already the gears have begun to mesh, engineering the slow but perceptible propulsion from here to there, recapturing our bi-annual conventions in chosen climes.  But first the rediscovery of closeted “winter stuff” which hasn’t been aired for over a year! And the arrangement to set things aside. Getting things ready. Planning. Having something to plan.

How radically and abruptly the view of the days ahead has shifted from focus to surrender. There are no vignettes to blur the edges. Nor is the body of the work contaminated by rambling projection or alternate suggestions, token even wasteful performances. The booking confirmation arrived moments afterwards. Which in turn precipitated swift activity surrounding the US dollar accounts. And an email to the medical insurers to trigger the uptick of coverage. Already I’ve decided in my mind how to handle things when we return next spring. Such is the privilege of a modest agenda! Though admittedly how smug I feel that it is so!