2 weeks in

Somewhere down there my camera spies up at me still.

Thursday, November 14 (two weeks in)

After two weeks of doing anything, one tends to have a good sense of whether or not another  two weeks or more of the same is doable. I use this logic when I think of any endurance type test; juicing kale for a month; having relatives over; letting a steady lover keep a tooth brush next to yours. After two weeks, you know.

But, there’s still and always will be things you don’t know. Another two weeks and what you never-thought-to-think, turn into possibilites, complaints, facts of your life that day, that hour.

You deal and flow, or fold and sink, but the ship keeps going.

Like my camera did yesterday. Yes–not going to make a big (fucking) deal about it, but–one of the few material loves of my life fell from my arms–damn thing slipped out of my backpack actually while bending over to get under the rain fly–the other day while boarding my boat at night; and in the blackness of that night, the little turd-plopping sound I heard, truly was my camera sinking silently out of my life, without a farewell kiss, or a review of the final images held on it’s SD card. Forever to remain fifty, a hundred, hell I don’t know, feet or miles or whatever, below me … probably being sucked and slimed upon by the nudi I photographed last week …

I’ll be okay. It’s a thing, not a person.

Photographers never retire–they have to die first. Although beloved, the camera was merely a tool for my use (much of my blog is filled with images from this camera) and I will always be replacing one or another for the rest of my days.

I may be clumsy but I’m only clumsy once. After I’ve stubbed my toe(s) on every corner of the table(s), I’m sure footed enough to never let it happen again.

As for living on a boat with minimal facilities at my disposal for the duration of my stint in B.C? I think I’m in love. For once it’s not a woman. Although one or two had been in the periphery–a slight of hand at tempting me here–it’s ended up being me–me and my intentions and it’s good.

The Isle feels like home, even if she’s not lover I’ve had before. Everywhere I go, every pub, dock, mart I mingle in, I meet people and make connections that feel right. The challenge will be making time to be alone, rather than feeling isolated. So, writing is still the focus and the music, fishing, golf and such will have to be extra bonuses.

Some say I’m picking the worst side of her to view–her cold and wet winter side. But it was her spring and fall that I fell for first. If I can put up with her bitter bites of cold in winter, past the holidays and into the new year, then  I’ll clearly see myself rolling in the loveliness of her soon-to-bloom lushness of summer. We all have our moods.

So onward it is. And, Is it wrong to wanna golf in January, like normal people do? I hear that’s normal for here at least… even the boarder cop shook his head in affirmation when I explained what I was planing to do in his country: “Oh yeah, ski or golf every day somewhere here,”

You’ll be glad you brought your camera.