The Gentle News

Contrary to what you may have heard, vomitting while riding a bike is not at all fun.

The Gentle News header image 2

Changes In Gratitudes, Changes In Platitudes

July 16th, 2009 · No Comments · Potpourri

This entry needs pictures, but I don’t have any that fit. When you reach a point where you need an image in your brain and I haven’t properly painted it, go take a look at Revjim’s blog entries or B’s photostream from the week following July 11 and just pick one.

I took off for a weekend last month
Just to try and recall the whole year.

I actually did this several months ago and never stopped. I’d love for the success I’ve seen at making a living this way to continue and increase. I keep running into physical limitations that could be exercised if I just stretched more, and mental limitations that could be stretched if I just exercised a little more. We’re not in any danger of hitting the really scary limitations, so I’m going to keep at it until we find the right mix of togetherness and evolution.

But enough of that, I’m writing about the trip. The trip through central and southern Texas, that is. Sorry, that was probably confusing.

We saw the Big Ass Tree in Rockport then scooted down to Galveston, stopping at Buc-ee’s on the way for some fudge, Imperial sugar Dr Pepper in a plastic bottle, and the best roadtrip bathrooms in the world, no shit. What, me, a shit joke? Never!

All of the faces and all of the places,
wonderin’ where they all disappeared.
I didn’t ponder the question too long;
I was hungry and went out for a bite.
Ran into a chum with a bottle of rum,
and we wound up drinkin’ all night.

We only spent a few hours in Galveston. We walked a decent stretch of the Strand, saw some shops, got some decent photos (I think), and then had Daniel’s birthday dinner at Willie G’s. I’m sure we could have found something more suited to him, but there’s always next year. Or next month.

It’s those changes in latitudes,
changes in attitudes nothing remains quite the same.

After dinner we moseyed on down to the seawall for more photos. Read some lovely graffiti from the local National Socialists. I think I got some video of it, you’ll love it. Walked out onto one of [ insert word for those sand/rock thingys that jut out from the beach into the bay a few hundred feet ] and saw a little water and a lot of trash. It wasn’t until we had left the island that I realized I cheated myself out of some shaved ice, but I was so full of fish (cooked this time) that it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea.

With all of our running and all of our cunning,
If we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.

We got to my Uncle Harley’s house in Crystal Beach shortly before he went to bed, then went down to see Mama, who was staying in a friend’s RV 3 houses away. A little leisurely conversation and one midnight trip down to the water, then we went to bed. B and I slept pretty well because we had a very cuddly black kitty named Simon keeping us warm and smiley until Uncle H got up at 3:30. Yeah, that’s right. Dude gets up at 3:30 every morning for work. Old people are weird.

These changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes,
Nothing remains quite the same.
Through all of the islands and all of the highlands,
If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane

Daniel got up shortly after Harley and went for some sunrise photos. I haven’t seen those yet, but I’d really like to. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen the sunrise down there. We lounged for a bit and then went to Dad’s to cook him breakfast before he went to bed, since he had just gotten home around 8AM after a night shift in Beaumont. I cut off a piece of fudge to leave him and then went ahead and forgot the whole box there. Oh well, there’s nothing wrong with paying good fudge forward. Later I found out that he had woken up at 1:30PM needing some fudge, so I guess fudge happens for a reason.

Reading departure signs in some big airport
Reminds me of the places I’ve been.
Visions of good times that brought so much pleasure
makes me want to go back again.

Daniel and I went down to the beach with Mama on the golf cart. They played in the water while I played with cameras. Mama was supposed to go flirt with the dudes who were fishing and get us some free lunch, but we ended up at Coconuts instead. I had, essentially, roast and rice and gravy with green beans, which I’m going to call harrycott vurt from now on, because Daniel loves it when I do that. Mom had stuffed fungus and mediocre gumbo. Daniel had the crab nachos, which aren’t as good as Bob’s (R.I.P.) were, but are incredibly delicious. We brought a second order of crab nachos back for B, who may or may not have shared them with Simon. I’ll never tell.

Daniel and I went to take photos of the lighthouse at Port Bolivar. He couldn’t quite get the shot he wanted, but we got more than we set out for when we found some Cool Old Destroyed Shit. We got a little depressed when we found the gutted motel that had obviously housed people who didn’t make it out before Ike tried to kill them and trapped them on the peninsula for Frank-knows-how-long.

That night we watched and recorded B spinning fire on the beach. More of D’s photos I can’t wait to see. I don’t know how well the video I took will come out, but I think I’ll edit that part first. I blistered my thumb while being a very nervous and ineffective Fire Safety. I’m getting there, soon I’ll be a pro. Post-burn we grilled some hot dogs and talked about how much we love food and hate racists. Heavy stuff, I’m sure. Of course Uncle Harley had valuable input: “I think if the only reason you’re doing something is that it’s always been done that way, then there’s probably a better way.” He was careful not to add anything resembling “and we should keep trying any other way until we find a better one.”

We gradually, but optimistically, made plans to drag Daniel back down there with his daughter in tow before the leaves hit the ground. She’d love it.

If it suddenly ended tomorrow,
I could somehow adjust to the fall.
Good times and riches and son of a bitches,
I’ve seen more than I can recall…

Harley is acting as my eyes and ears down there to help me gauge when I ought to bite the bullet and buy some land down there so that we young and virile sex machines can continue to have our wild orgies at the beach once the old folks are telling us to get off their lawn. I doubt it will happen this year or next, but if I had the dough to spare right now I’d do it for sure. I thoroughly enjoy staying with family down there, but I’m certain there will come a day when the amount of time we want to spend at the beach exceeds the amount of time my Dad or Uncle wants to tolerate us keeping them up with booze and grilled meats way past their bed times.

I think about Paris when I’m high on red wine;
I wish I could jump on a plane.
And so many nights I just dream of the ocean.
God, I wish I was sailin’ again.

We got up a little after 6AM this morning and started our trek back home the same way we started the trip, at the Good Day Insurance Agency. That is, we got donuts. Dannay’s in Crystal Beach has an awesome new building, and some new types of donuts. They’re getting better. The kolaches have come a long way. 350 miles, at least.

We replenished our Buc-ee’s fudge supply in Madisonville and I finally gave those famous bathrooms a full audition. BELIEVE THE HYPE.

Oh, yesterdays are over my shoulder,
So I can’t look back for too long.
There’s just too much to see waiting in front of me,
and I know that I just can’t go wrong
with these…

These, indeed.

What good is equating pessimism with realism if it doesn’t help you any? At some point it ceases to be a valid defense mechanism and starts positively eating away at your mind and body. Have another hot dog. We’ll see Paris, I promise.

Most of us try very hard to live for the now and not dwell on issues passed, but we are all mostly incapable of doing so until those issues actually pass us. Since, in most cases, there is no real transgression to examine, trying to pick apart arguments or perceived failures to find some kind of closure is often a futile exercise in never-ending disappointment.

Sometimes silence really is the best answer. I prefer to serve and consume my silence with 1 part rum, 3 parts cheap-ass pina colada mix, ice blended, and a smile hanging off the rim of the glass.

pixelstats trackingpixel

Tags: ··

No Comments so far ↓

There are no comments yet...Kick things off by filling out the form below.

Leave a Comment