Tuesday, June 2, 2009

MoeJoe Working

Future films will clarify that title and the spelling. Any self respecting blues wannabe knows it's "mojo" that ought to be working. Moe and Joe is another level altogether. I forgot whether I was dubbed Moe or Joe in this instance. Joe, I think.

So, here I am, back on Ballistic Mountain. We arrived at sunset into San D. Our experience on Southwest was without incident or complaint. I was impressed to hear some passengers at the gate praising SW and comparing it to carriers that have left them less than pleased. It is not that common that air travelers do anything besides complain. Somehow this airline has managed to create an almost cultish loyalty. After this trip, I am only saddened to see the areas not covered by Southwest.

So, I spent a month of what I would consider therapy. Good habits, an impressive amount of work, and opportunity to sweat out any toxins which may have been lurking in or on my person. Not sure what a toxin is, but I know it is good to sweat them out. Sweating comes naturally in South Florida. I'd almost forgotten that feeling; inescapable heat and being drenched from head to toe with relatively little effort. Of course, in this case, plenty of effort was included. It's just that the toxin purge was merely a by-product and not the goal. I suppose it is at times, though.

The experience will take a little time to sink in. This is the first time in my life I have been to that area without a family event or some connection of that sort. I was too busy, as it turned out, to try to dream up old friends to find or any of that. The experience was surreal.

How can any house in that area not have bugs clamoring to get in or to eat you alive? After all, the state bird is the mosquito. Yet, we had no such issues. We'd leave the sliding doors to the deck wide open. No bugs entered, only the occasional wayward lizard. This very impossible circumstance caused me to suspect that either I am in another dimension--possibly the after-life--or perhaps there was some sort of sorcery involved. I may have been in the thick of a band of wizards or witches.

OK. The bugs are one puzzle, but how do we explain the fact that most projects went rather smoothly? Things just fell into place. That never happens. Certainly not consistently.

All of it worked on me from every direction. My history, as it ties to that part of the country, caused me to reflect in maudlin remorse, as well as just your basic garden variety confusion. It may have been a necessary mental path at this juncture. Such things are risky indulgences though. Either you come out the other side with some sort of resolve regarding future outlook, or you get stuck in mope mode. I decided I want to avoid mope mode if at all possible. That has not been easy, but had nothing to do with actual present company or conditions.

The little pond and the golfers on the far side of it provided plenty of entertainment and interest. We became emotionally involved with the trials and tribulations of the marsh hens and their offspring, as well as the war between gardener and iguana. One thing I learned about marsh hens; the more you observe them, the less you understand about them. They are always up to something but what, I do not know. So, I cheered them on in total ignorance.

The iguanas were plotting against the gardener, that was pretty clear. I can only hope he doesn't blow up the course trying to gain the upper hand. Time will tell.

Once again I am dodging the question that never leaves me feeling comfortable; what am I going to do with the rest of my life? I'll worry about that another time. I know I have more teak plus a list of whatnot waiting, so that is good.
A less labor intensive means of earning money may be the smart goal for now. I took the odd reactions of muscles and joints to be a reminder that, while working with one's hands is a splendid thing, one's hands and else can get fatigued and beaten beyond a prudent level of discomfort. That is merely a reminder that it may be worth starting a big company, or becoming a pimp or gigolo. Maybe I'll run for one of those elected judge positions. Knowledge of the law a plus but not required. Disdain for the law could make it an interesting gig.

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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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