I'm in limbo. Between the certainties of work and uncertainties of recreation. It's raining.
"He's not fixed." She says. Gilbert is excited by a little white terrier. Owner letting Gilbert and this little dog sniff, and smile and cavort.
"No," I answer meaning, yes, he's not fixed. The other dog owner is no more grammatically delicate than I am.
"She loves little boys. Even if she's fixed."
The dogs are bouncing about each other, tangling leashes. I sometimes wonder if there's a subtext to dog owner communication. So much could be implied. Someone good at repartee and more than Friday half witted as I am would have a time. As dog owners we joke. There's often innuendos. Tonight, I'm tired. Gilbert is enthralled. Then they move on. Gilbert turns to wait for the next 'event".
Today I talked to Eric about a Raymarine autopilot. Jim is over at the boat right now taking out the Wagner pump for maintenance. Only the electronics need upgrading. Not surprising considering the original one burnt out and I'd replaced that with a rebuild. I'm looking forward to not steering. I like steering my motorcycle but think the joy of a sailboat is having hands free for coffee.
There was a break in the clouds. I was driving in the Miata listening to the news of North Korea's escallating nuclear sabre rattling. The US is adding fourteen more Interceptors in Alaska to counter the threat of long range missiles.
I remember the Cold War, the Kennedy Missile crisis, and years of living as if the world might end tomorrow.
Now the children are terrorized by the eco-doomsayers. "When will they ever learn?"
In my spiritual world the world ends every night and so far my faith has woken me each morning. I'm not so sure I wouldn't like to be 'extracted' by the Rapture or Anal Probing Blue Alien Saucer Women. "Beam me up, Scotty, there's no intelligent life here."
I've thought that at times only to think that perhaps the powers that be are indeed clever as foxes. Somewhere a North Korean Arms dealer in league with a Western world arms dealer manipulate the media to sell more products, never really wanting to see the weapons used or not really caring just so long as they get their commission.
I'm jaded that way.
But only on Friday's. By Monday I'll be ready to believe the propaganda the news networks dish out.
"Oh, dear, what should we do?" the ever prepared Girl Guide said to her Boy Scout.
"We just converted the old bomb shelter to a marijuana grow op. What if we need it, now?"
"Don't worry Girl Guide," said the swarthy Boy Scout, "Nothing is real."
I love the light on this street corner glistening with rain and on coming dusk.
A large black poodle pranced by. Gilbert was transfixed. A dog in a passing car window barked at both of them.
I don't know what to do. I've a few errands tomorrow. An important visit with friends. Church on the weekend but I wonder if I shouldn't be motorcycling or driving out to get the RV and moving ashore for a bit. I hate being about when there's major boat work. Easier to leave and come back when it's all done. I'd like to go for different walks with Gilbert and enjoy the change. Ashore I have a Costco nearby with great salads. I'll sleep on that. Decisions. Decisions. In the morning I'm having the windshield installed. Depending on how long that takes I'll see what transpires.
I can already feel the time returning. It was all gone when I sat down, used up by countless demands of the week of work. Now it's coming back. I feel it returning. Gilbert likes sitting outside staring down the street, all eyes and ears, nose twitching.
It's wonderful to sit out side in March in Vancouver typing bared fingered on the street outside Starbuck's Cafe. Life is good. Thank you God! Thank you Jesus! Hallelujah. It's Friday. TGIF.
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