7:28
7:28
I remember the rain, the sound of it hitting the ground, the feel of it running down the back of my neck. I remember thinking that this was the bottom. I had hit the bottom. There was nothing or no one fucking lower. I remember the cold, and the icy wind, and the look on his face.
And that’s how I knew I was lost; because I wasn’t afraid. I was so utterly lost that I couldn’t even feel fear. And I knew is held be afraid. Anyone…any thing, would have been afraid of lie behind the sneer. But I wasn’t. I was just lost.
7:27
A Song for Time
And the note begins before the music
And the music never ends
I’ve loved the music in your voice
And your gentle sounds of silence
I’ve dreamed of the whispers and sighs
Of your lonely lows and gleeful highs
Oh the note begins before the music
And the music never ends
When I close my eyes and listen hard
The melody flows through my mind
Of gentle touches, graceful brushes
The quiet rush of my heart songs trills
Oh the note begins before the music
And the music never ends
And though my ears won’t hear the music
The music never ends
7:26
7:26
No, he hadn’t asked for it, but now that it was there, he might as well use it. Using things was really what Jakob did best.
First things first. It needs a name: a label. Hard to dish out orders if no one is listening. And you can’t guarantee they’ll be listening unless you take matters into your own hands. So. A name, a label, a title as it were. Several options twisted silently across Jakob’s tongue until one dripped off the tip. Shithead. Short, to the point, and useful as a reminder. Haid for public consumption; something to twist the blade and yet offer some small bit of hope.
Hope was also something Jacob understood. He had never encountered it; in fact, hope mostly felt it a mythological creature always spoken of in hushed tones, but never quite there, never quite real. But hope was the whip that drove his will over what obstacles the universe tried to throw in his face. Hope was the dream that could be used, crushed and then used again. Hope was an unending source of power to those who used it and an unquenchable source of weakness and espalier to those who would be used by it.
And hope is what would serve best to break this new beast of burden. A thorn bridle with velvet ties: unending pain with just enough softness to inspire an imaginary surcease.
Haid. It was done.
7:25
7:25
The Past
Jakob had not asked for an heir. He neither wanted nor could tolerate children. He asked for no son, desired no ward; he wanted no children, no students, no lover, no companion, no wife, no sister or brother, no parents, friends, cousins relatives of any sort. Jakob desired nothing from anyone. Jakob wanted to be left alone, and in the normal course of events that was a situation he was well capable of creating without aid or interference from the greater world.
For Jakob knew beyond any doubt that he was alone in a hostile place and nothing, not anyone, existed with any ability to change that. Not even Jakob himself could twist reality to accomplish that particular miracle.
And Jakob was a master at twisting reality. Because Jacob knew beyond any doubt he was alone, it followed that his reality must therefore subsume any other. And if it didn’t, well, there were things that could be done if one was determined or ruthless enough. The moon and stars revolved around Jakob’s whims, and he dedicated his unending struggle to keeping it so. And he always — always — won.
But in one small, tiny instance, in one unexpected and unforeseen turn, Jakob was forced to wrestle his reality to accommodate … a change. Jakob had not asked for an heir and he desired no student; but Jakob was going to make sure that this … anomaly … would be turned to the greater good of Jakob.
Because that’s the only thing that truly was real in the world that Jakob endured.
7:24
7:24
Hickory dickory dock
My eyes can’t stand the shock
The clock flowed down
Its face a frown
And exclaimed quite loudly
What the fuck?
Higgledy piggledy math
No victims escape its wrath
It all added up
No murmurs of s’up
We were so deep in it
We had to laugh
Hippity hoppity boo
There remains but one thing to do
If we flee for our souls
We might escape the coals
Before any of the hunters
Manage to
7:23
7:23
So. Shall we inhale … breathe out … and go on …?
But what of the missing story? What of the parts that exist between the narratives? What of the stories yet untold?
Shall we not delve into these spaces, into the moments between inhalation and exhalation? Because what lies between is often the key to what is to come.
But no. These interstitial spaces shall remain untouched for now; let them reveal themselves in the currents and flows of the existing stories. The pattern will reveal itself in the weave.
What is important is the power behind the story: the engine that drives forth the narrative. And that, dear reader, is the past. What comes before of necessity shapes and forms what will be. Let us the look back and see the beginnings of our tale. Let us peer into the past and reveal the cauldron that has spit forth the life of our story. Yes, let us.
7:22
7:22
Ah, intermission. Or … Well, what do they call it in books? An interruptus? Interlingua? Intertexuality? Maybe a caesura … no, that just sounds awful. Narrative delay? No, that’s just pretentious and annoying. Let’s see, how about … yes … a Dramatic Pause!
So, shall we pause dramatically? Shall we interrupt the flow of narrative once more and examine our reasons for this grand project? Shall we recap and review, retake and reconsider? Shall we? Shall we?
Ah, such is the role and glory of the narrator: to create such moments and gather the collective breaths of readers one and all in the palm of my hand and to slowly, so slowly, allow them to exhale; to breathe at my will for the very soul of the story’s flow, for the fleeting, momentary, exquisite pleasure that comes from a well-paced narrative. Yes, such is the great burden that I bear for the sake of you, my readers.
And I remember. I too was once a mere reader, caught up in the web of some author’s whim. I too experienced the rhapsody of intricate pacing and methodically played-out moments. I remember and thus I bring to you all the joy and wonder that is in my grasp to give, and I bid you take in my tale and experience the sweetness of the wind that I evoke from the plain and simple words before you.
Breathe!
7:21 Boating postscript
So the question is: do we like sailing or power boating? As Ian from Nanaimo Yacht Charters put it, it is sort of like comparing a hiking holiday to a beach vacation: they both have their place. And I guess that is why I wanted to try both. I think overall I like sailing a bit better; it is more physical and the sailboats are works of art. But I started this whole thing in my head last year in the Alsace when I realized I couldn’t keep flying to France and renting a canalboat for a boating fix: the flights were killing me. As I suspected, our vacation on the Pearl was very much like a canal boat trip. 3 or 4 hours of cruising and an afternoon of touristy stuff or just plain relaxing. There is tons to see and do in the Gulf Islands alone and then there is also the Sunshine Coast and Desolation Sound to throw in.
Based on that I think we might stick with the powerboats for a while. I still want to put in the sailing hours, but maybe I can do that on local lakes. If I am going to fly out to the coast to relax, I might just be better served to pop around in the speed, comfort and luxury of a powerboat. But then again, if I switch to trawlers or slower boats, I will be doing the same 7 knots that a good sailboat can pull under power.
Oh well, I have a year to figure it all out and a crew’s opinion to weigh. Time will tell I guess.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled beaver and bunny show…
7:20
7:20
Ohmyfuckinggodwillthisguynevershutup! Some people drone on and on with no care in the world. It’s pathetic really.
The beaver turned to glance up at the apartment window with its faded green trim and dingey brick, and felt a moment of whimsical longing. It had been a long wait, but now the waiting was over. Barring any more stupid rabbit moves, he should have this thing wrapped up in a couple of hours. And then maybe he could concentrate on some payback. He really had no idea who was behind the whole ’let’s stick some critters in a a box and take ’em for a ride’ fiasco, but he was going to have some spare time on his hands right away and it was time to see whether The Beaver still had it.
7:19 Dong Wait Done
Bright and early we were up and around. I started the generator and flipped the breaker for the range and hot water. I packed up and organized the stuff in the cabin while waiting for the water to boil.
After a nice cup of coffee I had a quick shower and put on my last clean shirt. While L putzed around packing and readying I pulled up the tender and put out the fenders. Eventually C and I slipped the bow line from the mooring bouy and putted off to the waste pump out.
My docking was pretty good and we hooked up and sucked the grunge out the holding tanks. After casting off we headed one last time down the channel to Stones Marina.
I had been promising to show C the giant cylinder of rock I had spotted earlier. I originally was going to take the dinghy so we had named it the dinghy dong. But every time we were down that way I kept forgetting. This morning, however, we finally found it and it was fine. Good even.
One last dock at the fuel dock and we pumped in another $5 of diesel. Then Ian came over to take us in. Turned out though we were just skipping ahead 2 spots so he invited me to do it. I said sure and confidently pulled out. Then I saw the tiny spot we were aiming for. I think Ian neglected that tidbit on purpose.
Anyway I managed ok with a bit of coaching from Ian and we shut off the engines for the last time. Clean up was quick and we offloaded our stuff into a cart and rolled it off the wharf.
Garbage and recycling done, we dropped off the keys and slowly walked away from the marina, sad and tearful.
Walking back to the bags I passed a man in his workshop declaiming loudly. He was basically complaining about what was wrong with the world. Ironically enough his main thesis was that “Whiners and complainers rule the world.” I refrained from pointing the irony out though.
Check in at SeaAir had us just under the baggage weight allowance and we settled in for a bit of a wait as we were about an hour early. There is rumour we will be flying in a Beaver but we will have to wait and see.
Sure enough an hour and a bit later a classic Beaver landed in front of us. We walked down and loaded up. Another couple took the back seat and I once again lucked out with the copilot’s seat. The flight was speedy and low altitude and in a surprisingly crowded air space; we even saw a Coast Guard helicopter zooming by. Our little rodent was a beautiful DH2 Beaver, serial #1000 built in 1956. I absolutely love these planes; if there is anything we Canadians should be bragging about its our early aerospace industry. It really makes the nonsense that went on during the Diefenbaker administration all that more shameful.
Soon enough we were landing on the Fraser River. I got to say that this is the way to travel. Minimal security and no crowds. After we got off, we headed off the dock and few minutes later we jumped in their shuttle. All in all it was 1.5 hours from marina to the other side of Vancouver security.
On the way to Security we were amused by a dancing beaver and his friend the moose. They were doing it Gangam Style. Beavers were certainly a bit of a recurring theme this year. We stopped by Vera’s for some dogs and fries and chill-axed for an hour or so waiting for our flight. Everyone is plenty tired but I’m a bit wistful about leaving. That’s to be expected I guess. Sigh.
Soon enough we boarded our flight and zoomed off for home. About half way home they announced that YEG was socked in and we had to circle in a holding pattern for at least 20 minutes. Seems a small thunderstorm was over the airport. By the time we’d landed the roads were dry so it must have been pretty small.
Luggage, truck, 35 minutes on the Henday and we were home. We picked up a few essentials at Sobey’s on the way and dropped out bags in the condo. I guess the vacation is over.
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