Let’s start the show with a moment of silence for the passing of the fort. It sure had a good run. Anonymous artists wasted no time in salvaging and repurposing its architectural elements into a mobile abstract sculpture installation. I love this place.
There have already been some high tides, and a storm which was a byproduct of a typhoon in Japan. It was evidenced in the loss of the fort, and also in the vanished path down to the beach which had been cut in the sand at the end of Whipple Ave.
My path through the forest to the beach is still the same, for now. The ladders are still intact, as is the last tree standing of what was a circle of dead trees, seen on the left. I am really going to miss these ladders, and the trees, of course.
I fancy myself a tree-hugger, yet I am really enjoying having those two scary trees on my property gone. I know, I’ll hit the ol’ Desaturate button and then I won’t feel so bad. Everything is better in black and white.
My trailer is suffused with light now, for as long as there is light, which won’t be for long.
In other news, three astronomers just won the Nobel Prize for Physics by finding that the universe is being blown apart by a mysterious anti-gravitational force called dark energy, which is pushing the galaxies apart. I thought it was just me being morose, the economy, the environment, or the change in the weather. What a relief!
It is as if, a science writer noted, “when you tossed your car keys in the air, instead of coming down, they flew faster and faster to the ceiling.”
No sense permitting some prophet of doom to wipe every smile away. Life is a cabaret, old chum! It is October, and I can still wear sunglasses.
There were the most shockingly beautiful clouds. A friend who grew up out here was telling me these clouds are not normal. Everywhere I looked seemed designed to stop me in my tracks and slap me upside the head with gratitude.
It appears that Mario’s place is being blown apart by mysterious forces known as dark energy, both getting ripped down and about to fall in the ocean at the same time.
Tides-A-Com’n. This is what a beach walk looks like in winter, scrambling under the overturned trees, always trying to stay on dry land, or get up to high ground.
I read a NYT article about a couple of cancer specialists who bought a place on the water in Maine after one of them got cancer. Working with cancer patients “makes you so aware of the existential realities in life, helps to crystallize its wonder and to be continuously aware of its uncertainties,” Dr. Lowell E. Schnipper said. “If you listen carefully to your patients, you are always living your life a little closer to the edge.”
My friend Regnor is home from the hospital after surgery for esophageal cancer. He got his esophagus shortened and stomach reconfigured, after which, his granddaughter Olivia noticed, he no longer has a belly button.
Regnor says his friend Rick Swanson didn’t miss a beat. “Just tell ’em you’re in the Navel Reserve.”