On today's walk, I crossed the upper marsh from the far end to the near end, stepping on bubbles all the way and feeling very frustrated. My flight is at 6:10 tomorrow morning, which means I must leave the house by 4:00 and that means I've got to be up by 3:30 and since I seldom get to sleep before two or three in the morning, it kind of makes going to bed seem pointless.
But that's not what frustrated me the most. I had a number of things I planned to get done before I left again. I got some done, but there was even more I didn't get done.
Something's got to give. Too many things are vying for my time. I think even this blog is going to have to give some - quit a bit, maybe. But I won't stop this blog, no matter how futile it is. You notice I didn't say, "seems." I said, "is." Because truly, this blog is futile. But I like doing it.
I have some more thinking to do.
A little over week ago, we had just a little bit of snow. The snow did not melt. It has been far too cold for that. But for most of last week, as I neglected what was going on around me daily and took this blog back to the first week in October, the wind blew and blew and blew.
It scoured the earth, ripped the snow away and sent it flying to who knows where. Maybe it destroyed the snow; sublimated it, blew the atoms right out of it.
This is the near end of the Upper Marsh. When I reached it today and looked at this house I thought, "what a strange world I live in. What a bizarre world!"
A bit later, Margie and I had lunch at Taco Del Mar, a taco and burrito place decorated in a surfing theme. As we ate and I looked at the faux surfboard and the painting of the girl in the bikini I thought, "if I can survive that long I will work until I am 70, then I will plant myself by two surfing beaches - Yakutak in the summer and some tropical place in the winter. I will surf every day until I die and if I die surfing, that will be just grand!"
Wait! Remember that surf I showed you back in October in Barrow and then in Wainwright? Surf made possible apparently because of a warming climate? Maybe by the time I am 70, my summer surf city can be Barrow or Wainwright.
I can surf with whales and polar bears and wave at Shell Oil workers as they pass by overhead in helicopters, going to and from work. And then I can die, in the Arctic Ocean, surfing as I have dreamed so many times.