Mickey, Ava -- I've enjoyed the visit with you (especially with you, Ava)
Here we end this particular train of thought where we began it 19 days ago with the inauguration of this blog -- thinking about Mickey and Ava -- in California, and the vicinity of San Francisco.
Happiness lasted a year or thereabouts for them as a couple. Just look at their faces. Have your eyes ever been those eyes? Ever? That was during 1942-1943. That is a long time ago in terms of an individual's life. In as much as I know, they never appeared together in a movie before, during or after their marriage. Too bad there wasn't a movie during each. It would be "fascinating" to be able to watch them work together during each of those three stages of their relationship. The more I think about you, it is very possible I'll revive the two of you, Mickey, Ava, here again ....
Happiness is momentary, a wise, old man told me
As has been amply evident, I no longer care for a prolonged winter. The problem is what to do about it. I once owned a home I named "Sanctuary." It was a house on a hilltop, with a seven-acre barrier between me and the nearest neighbor, surrounded by woodlands. In not much more than a year, I learned there was no such thing as sanctuary. I suppose I knew that all along, but sometimes we try to fool ourselves. So, I renamed the home "Refuge," as representing more-or-less the half-way point between the actual world and sanctuary. That worked for a few years.
Circumstances change, and probably people, too. (I think I've said that before.) This, I suppose, is the simple answer as to why I have a tendency to keep looking for some sort of hidden, mystical, (almost certainly non-existent) Holy Grail. The searches are enjoyable. It is the time spent between each jump off that becomes a tad tedious.
Journalism for me has ranged from country weekly to metropolitan daily. I like to take what I call "mock sabbaticals" from journalism. When I am in a more taunting mood, I refer to these episodes as what I did in "another life." That is closer to the truth than most people recognize. As example, I've also taught journalism at a university (I did not say a BA was the only degree); I've done paid, partisan, political public relations; I've been a policy-management analyst/writer; plus I've taken a couple of jaunts outside the field of writing. All these things have been fun (really), but I tend to get restless after a year or two and begin yearning for different scenery (lakes, rivers to canoe, mostly) and new challenges. During this time, I have lived in four states and have visited several others, as well as a few other countries.
I have unforgivably disappointed at least two women during my relatively brief existence. While wandering the sea of blogs, I noted several instances where writers (mostly women) stated that they are living with their "soul mate." Frankly, I doubt there is such a thing and wonder if these writers are a bit delusional. To me, such a statement carries the believability of a pitch from a used car salesman. But, the beauty of it is that I might be wrong. There might be such a thing as a "soul mate" for some individuals. Still, I wonder how often this arrangement actually is a two-way street. I suppose I am pretty much a nihilist in this regard.
I have spent a great deal of time in a canoe, and generally drive my companions to the brink of anger because I never want to stop. I want to see what is around the next bend; I am impatient to traverse the distance from one point to the next. I have lived out of a canoe for as long as a month at a time. Possibly, that is where I am the happiest (at least temporarily), drifting in a canoe with the wind behind me and the sun in my face.
I think I am ready for another change. Maybe travel for a year or two until I run out of money. Maybe buy another "refuge" in some (warmer) back country and sort of live off the land for a while (but only for a while); many people do. Maybe jump off to another country altogether. If I cannot read or understand the language spoken there, life would revert to simplistic basics, which frequently seems like a good way to live. Maybe even become the proverbial beach bum. No, I guess no, not that. I need to have too, too many books around me.
Now, the new loop begins. There is birth; there is death. Between them there is life. With all the possible things within our own lifetimes to do, with all the possible places to see, with all the possible people to meet, how can anyone be content to spend 25 or 30 years living in the same city, maybe in the same house, maybe at the same job? Why does anyone do that? Why?
There is so much wonder in the world, to see and to know. My choice would be to have experienced 1,000 jobs in 1,000 different locations before I "cash in." Maybe I might make it if I quit talking and start moving once again. How about you?
Music Note: Currently listening to Johnny Cash ....
Specifically, "Solitary Man" ....
(A couple of really super songs here, such as "One")