‎63 Years of Memories....

‎63 Years of Memories....
that's what I have now. The photo below shows the chair on the point which for so many years was my father's favorite after-supper place to contemplate and cast for walleye. As much as I feel guilty about what's happened, I know he would understand and even say there's nothing to forgive. He lived life fully and moved on many times. I'm the one with the unique experience of being attached to a beautiful place for my whole life. And despite all my best efforts, yesterday the 'cabin' was sold. I signed the papers and, truth be told, a weight was lifted. A new life lies ahead without the obligations, but with all of the wonderful memories. My unrelentingly positive attitude says this is truly how it is, but my heart is still sad.

There are some things in life for which the balance between the obligation and the joy of ownership often cannot be sustained forever. It became clear that I was no longer up to the task of taking care of the place quite a while back. However, knowing what needs to be done and doing it are often far apart. Finally, no choice was left. It had to be sold.

Now it's gone. No more worrying about how long the grass or how deep the snow is up there. No more sublimely pleasurable early morning cups of coffee sitting on the dock when the color of the lake is like pale blue glass and the air is completely still. No more endless repairs, high taxes, and utility bills. No more late nights around the fire pit with friends and family - warm from both fire and friendship. No more frozen pipes or emergency calls to the furnace guys. No more saunas and midnight skinny dipping that make you feel like you'll live forever while your connection with nature is confirmed by the gazillion stars of the milky way and the loons calling out in the dark. No more concerns with low well water levels or water so hard and full of iron the clothes turn yellow and your newly washed hair feels like brillo. No more finding the way home by boat in the dark after a long day on the lake feeling like this is the only place you really, really belong. No more praying that the boathouse will make it another year without collapsing. And ultimately, no more making new memories with friends, family and loved ones. No new memories, that is, at Half Bay, Lake Vermilion, Tower, MN. New life... here we come!

How do you thank a place for memories?

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Sandy times


This is an image I took a few weeks ago. It hasn't a thing to do with the rest of this post. Just a pretty picture.

Today we had a serious dust storm. Storm is the perfect term for it. There is a lot of similarities between a dust storm and a water storm. They happen because of high winds which sort of feed off the atmospheric energy until it can't sustain anymore and die away. The dust is so fine that it really does get everywhere. If you open an outside door during a dust storm, you can see the sand roll and blow in. Within moments the room is filled with haze that creates halos around all the flouresents and velcros itself to the computer moniters. It is so thick that you can pat clouds of it out of your shirt every few minutes. People drive with thier headlights on. The sand is in your eyes, but not one piece at a time. It dries your nose and skin. It thickens your saliva. It grits your teeth. If you are lucky(read: smart), you have some chewing gum in your pocket and goggles at the ready. If you are other than lucky, you will soon look like and extra in "the temple of doom" or a salt mine worker.

The storms are the worst at the very begining. The wall of sand you see in movies like hidalgo and the mummy are very accurately depicted. For the first half hour or so, the sand is so thick that you could become lost in a very small space. You spend about %50 of your time looking for your feet as they seem to manifest and disappear into an ethereal realm at will. This is reason for concern as feet are handy for ambulation. Once you are confident that your feet are indeed at the ends of thier respective legs, you have the daunting task of navigating to the nearest concrete anchored object. This is about equivelant to finding Amelia Earhardt. Several of the times I have been caught outside I have tried to walk blindly toward where I remembered a building to be. After a few steps I realized that I would have the same chance of success with less discomfort if I just closed my eyes. So I did. Recently I have learned that since life pretty much stops when these storms roll in, there is no hurry to get anywhere so I just sit down and close my eyes. This defeatest strategy is ironically your best chance for success.

Douglas Adams warns to keep your towel handy at all times in case of such an emergency. I have been caught in every sand storm without a towel. Tsk Tsk.

Lots of love and sand
-Bert
Posted by at

1 comment:

Lottie Dah said...

Sandy Times at Afghan High
What an experience! I'm glad it's only vicarious as I even hate the little bit of blowing sand on the beach!
Do people get the same lung conditions as miners? How often do sand storms occur? Is there a sand storm season? A sandsoon, perhaps?
Take care and your towel, too!
Hugs and love,
Mom

9:30 AM

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)