Placeholding, in the absence of my favorite places

If you're not careful, life can spiral into all sorts of places that don't get properly documented.

Trips to NYC to see old friends get married that blend into epic efforts to race the dawn and tide back to the southwest coast of Massachusetts, only to fall asleep on the beach and become dreadfully burned.

A two-week sojourn in Maine, poorly initiated by a bout of bronchitis but culminating in an all day fest of smoking ribs over applewood, sea kayaking and log home caulking.

Cavorting with porpoises and seals in between, while marveling at how many books I seem to read in the absence of a high-speed Internet connection.

Fishing and porch sitting in NH, gazing out at the White Mountains while dreaming up all new ways not to catch trout. And removing ticks. Lovely, that.

Unexpectedly losing a housemate. And now, perhaps, gaining a new one, similarly interested in outdoorsy pursuits and much better versed in biological study.

Unaccountably taking very few pictures of the places that instill in me a sense of deep, visceral contentment in Maine and New Hampshire, though to be fair I have hundreds of the very same vistas from the past decade.

It was surreal to be back in Boston after a few weeks away north, bearded amidst the unshaven (instead of the inverse at the beginning of the trip), surrounded by friends instead of family, buildings and bridges instead of trees and ocean, digital diaries replacing analog scribblings.

If I wasn't sure of how happy I was to be back before, however, two nights of seeing old friends wiped away any reticence, as we moved from a patio BBQ to a rooftop high above Back Bay to cheer and sing as the fireworks exploded above our heads in a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, a 22-minute limbo that left me hoarse, dazzled and exhilarated.

I'm running out to see the Transformers soon, or I'd offer more context on all of the above. Seeing Live Free or Die Hard at the Criterion Theater in Bar Harbor has left me well-primed for more blockbustery goodness. And robots. Lots of wonderful, transforming, spectacularly-animated robots.

Unbelievable wheelchair halfpipe tricks

As someone who retired from skateboarding seriously at an early age (ask me about my fake tooth) these wheelchair tricks are slightly mindbinding. I love that these guys are still thrashing in any way that they know how -- and doing things I'd never imagined possible in a wheelchair.

Transition

I have no idea what the next 30 days will hold.

Now, while that technically isn't completely true, it's not exactly the converse, either. I've taken a faltering step in new direction, though the path is still unfolding.

I'd like to think that watching all Six Feet Under would have taught me that long ago, but here we are in 2007, more than a year since Sia's Breathe Me took us out of the final episode. That moment remains a sobering, beautiful resolution to a brilliant series, a reminder that we all die, sooner or later.

This song still chokes me up when I hear it.



It really took my uncle's passing last year to drive the point home, however. Memorizing the following words from the Bard long ago, in sixth grade, certainly didn't imprint that reality on my heart or outlook.

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

--From Macbeth (V, v, 19)

I suppose, at 30, I'm finally conscious of my own mortality.