Things Part Due (Italian for Two): The Roads Oft Traveled

No Excuse. Sheer lack of time management and situational awareness (and other such Good Business catchphrases). Months go by and my handful of readers stumbling haplessly upon this blog get nothing from my fool brain. Many a thing has happened. Many a place visited. Many a night not slept (either working or being an insomniac). There may be, and in fact likely are, many more interesting posts I could make, but all things in good time. For the time being, revisiting the thing theme is my desire. Largely due I am convinced to the muchness of moving about I have done of late, I am inspired by the various paths and vias out there that get the World from a to b (and beyond!). Be they manmade, or just a path in the woods.

I've always found the road less traveled requires an intense soundtrack. And fig newtons. And probably some patience wouldn't go amiss, either. Dodgy trucks on dodgy roads doing dodgy things at dodgy speeds...

 Because really, one never knows, does one? When a truck full of highly explody flammable fluid will have a whoopsie and cause a trifle bit of bother.

On the other hand, the road most traveled just requires patience and a good goal - unless that goal is just the same office one inhabits every day, in which case the final ingredient is an active imagination. And jerky. Any drive can become a scene from one's next novel or the next great psychological thriller, if one just lets one's mind wander. Even the weather knows when the end goal is a less than ideal place to be. Seems to say "nooooo... don't gooooo...only pain and darkness lie this way...turn baaaack..."

Whichever type of travelled road one finds oneself on...is the journey just as good as the destination? People are always saying it is. I am always saying it depends (about more than just this...am a trifle waffly about things). Sometimes, for example, the journey is all firey and burnt on both sides, and smells rather like soggy leather.

But sometimes out of the smelly burnt dark, come signs of life. Friendly signs of life, at that. Serving as both a momentary companion and a part of the beautiful view along the trip, moments like this make the journey much more tolerable, and downright lovely at that.

I was recently the victim of a hit and run. And no, it was not in my current residentiary city (Naples, Italy). In a crosswalk on 6th in San Diego - with the little glowy man telling me it was my turn - some prat in a large SUV swung round for a left hand turn and clipped me with his dirty great bumper. So aghast was I that this had just occurred, I did not have the presence of mind to get the vehicle tag. Too, there was but one bystander/witness, and he didn't have the angle. Thus, just a rose for my trouble did I receive from said bystander. It didn't make my leg not hurt, but it did make my heart swell a smidge and renewed a bit of my faith in humanity (which the guy who hit me had severely dinged).

Right. Sorry. Blog about roads, not flowers. But still. How do these things happen? Any rate, back to it. Say your road becomes less, shall we say, supportive. Whatever then? This simply means the journey becomes more precarious, but there is certainly no need to fuss in excess. Watch your step and enjoy the ride. You might even learn something, or better yet, enjoy the trip all the more for it.

Just to be a bit cheeky (do contain your surprise), I believe that the water is just as valid a "road" as anything else. Mayhaps being of the Naval Profession has influenced this perspective. Regardless, I like a bit of sailing. Or swimming. Or floating. How great is it to just cruise and not be restricted to the same, em, restrictions as those landlubbers in their wheeled transport.

But really, what if there were no roads? Easy there, Doc, I don't mean like that - though I'd certainly take the hovercar were it to be invented (I'm talking to you, sciencey types...). These folk don't play the car game, and it seems they have a good thing going. Sure, there are boaty issues to think of, and the whole city sinking might give one pause, but those are easily dealt with, and only persons with unlimited life spans need worry about Venice totally falling into the drink.

When it comes right down to it, we are all of us a'travlin' on along many a road, route, via, or way (deep, I know). Things don't always go according to plan, but usually the view is pretty great along the way, and the right mode of transport and the right companion make all the difference.

Besides, any day now, my TARDIS may come, and one must always be of a mind to go.

Tahoe in my Dreams

Big, grandiose views. Gorgeous panoramic vistas. No one will argue that Lake Tahoe is rather pretty; especially in the winter and spring. All that deep clean snow, and the springtime melty bits, make the place seem at once untouched and idyllic, and peacefully inhabited.

From my point of view, much like the devil, the beauty is in the details. Along any road, trail, or footpath, there are millions of small, seemingly insignificant background elements that are on their own far more brilliant than their credit would indicate. These elements do not seek the spotlight the way the postcard inspirational wall hanging scenic views do; they are happy to sneak past the sight of the gluttons for scenery, and observe from the sidelines. But they are so important for sake of the whole picture. Apologies in advance for the cliche, but no one really wants to ignore the trees to enjoy the forest. Without the trees, a forest is nothing but greeney browney lines, hardly the stuff of awe. Even the rather tiny and a bit out of place have a certain something:

Besides, it was not their decision to get plonked down six feet from the water. They don't even realise (or perhaps they do) that once the runoff hits the lake, they will find themselves becoming aquatic evergreens. A bit sad, really, if I'm being perfectly honest.

Birds have a slightly unfair advantage. They are as a rule naturally rather pretty and are quite good at perching in very photogenic manners.

All well and good, that, but I am more interested in their other, more stroppy side.

On a psychologically predictable level, I find it highly poetic that even something with plumage glinting in the dawn light can turn its backside on what it deems unimportant (i.e. me with my camera and lack of feathers and wings).

Continuing with observations that reveal more about me than they do the subject of the observing, the broken, disused, and general rubbish of the world strikes a chord.

Whatever the cause of the destruction or disuse, the fact that some poor object cannot do the job it was created so to do is sad. Not cry into my beer sad, but rather wish better for an inanimate object sad. Unlike people (or so we like to think), a boat is made with a singular function or purpose in mind: to float, and theoretically to carry cargo of some variety. Excepting for self destructive tendencies, boats want to be able to do their job; dirty great holes caused by outside forces make that impossible, and without additional ourside intervention to repair said holes, this spells certain abandonment to the elements or outright death.

Some disuse is not nearly so sad. At the moment of idleness, one may wax distraught, but there sometimes is a sort of end in sight.

Barrring disturbances to underground pipes, a rusted, calcified water faucet will see use again once the temperatures rise and jolly boat-goers have need of a place to attach a hose. The very lack of snow on the surounding ground is a bit of an optimistic sight; spring is trying to sprung.

Some of the devilish details have less to say beyond a somewhat self-effacing, "Hullo, there. Do you think I'm pretty? I bet in a certain light, I might be picturesque, too..."

Or perhaps a more contented, "Not much to see here, but the day is lovely and the sun is warm. How are you?"

In the immortal words of Satchmo..."Wooooah. What a wonderful world!"