(Love, carving its way)
The joys just keep rolling in. I won't bore any of you with the details, but apparently my favorite artist has been working steadily away on my "portrait in perpetuity." Burning the midnight oil. A bust, as it were.
I have let her know that I'm no longer interested in purchasing the piece, but that hasn't stopped her, nor even slowed her down very much. She is quite tenacious in her pursuits, wants to add her finishing touches before her work goes on permanent display.
She will title it "Damage / Control"
Resentments really are like burning down your own house to get rid of a rat. I have tried to learn my lessons, but I suppose I'm just hard-headed.
Well, I will take the boy sailing on a catamaran this weekend. I have arranged everything with "Captain Chris," a local buddy that arranges sailing trips around the Bay Area. The boy will be very excited about it, I'm sure. He listed "Go on Ships!" as his "Favorite thing to do with Daddy?" So, that's what we'll do: pursue those things which make us happy.
I want so badly to write about the other thing, though I know it serves no purpose. It is worse than useless. It would be inimical.
Taking the "high road" is all fine and well, but that's not where stories are. The only things visible from there are the tree line and the sky, ever upwards.
Deep in the crevice of the valley, the bridge washed out with mud, where the road becomes gutted and rutted, potholes peppering the way, weather arriving dirty from trees above, none from sky. That is where this story will need to lurk and fester. Where the residue of the rain draws all things downstream to erode, and the forest gets lost so easily among its many lacerations.
.
