“The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides.” – Jules Verne
I’ve been to the desert, and I’ve been at sea. There’s magic in both places, but give me the ocean. But what of the trees? I write this listening to the trees that surround me alive in the wind, with life stirring on all sides. Surely there’s magic here too? True, but I’m too far inland to smell the ocean, and that just can’t stand forever. And what of mountains? Aren’t they also alive, singing their siren call in seductive whispers? Indeed, but the waters of the mountain yearn for the sea and so do I. My mind’s on the sea, for I’ve grown to be a salty dog and prefer the ocean swells to the shifting sands and even tree song and mountain whispers. The sea is alive on all sides, and it stirs life in me when I’m a part of it. And haunts me when I’m away. I’ll return again, as the mountain stream inevitably does, and will rejoice in the union.
Perched on the Northern Shore at the Mouth of the Tagus River, Belém Tower is a time machine back to the Age of Discovery. It was built while Ferdinand Magellan was still making the first circumnavigation of the globe, a high point on a string of maritime milestones for Portugal. It was designed by Francisco de Arruda as a “permanent ship” to help defend Lisbon and the river, and features the Portuguese Manuelino style popular during the lifetime of King Manuel I. That it stands largely as it was built 500 years later is a blessing. Countless souls have walked through Belém Tower, from kings to prisoners to tourists from all over the world. I’m lucky to have been one of those souls. As travel remains a dream for the future, I thought I’d return once again.
Belém Tower is an island dropped in the waters of the Tagas River. To visit it you purchase a ticket next door and go stand in line on the small pedestrian bridge that spans the lapping waters that swirl around the base of the tower underneath you and then splash up the stairs that circle the tower on shore. Apparently the island was once further out in the river but an earthquake shifted the land and moved it closer to shore. Better for tourism today, and it’s likely that the prisoners held in the lowest level didn’t really care about a 360 degree water view anyway.
You enter into the bastion at the base and the arched ceilings grab your attention. There are views of the magazine from when it was a fort, or where the prisoners were held when it was a prison. As you climb, you visit the Governor’s Hall, the King’s Hall and the Audience Room. I quickly learned that the staircases are very tight, and require you wait your turn to climb up or down in a controlled fashion. I didn’t expect to be waiting at traffic lights in a building built half a millennium ago, but sure enough I did. Great indication of just how many people visit, and how cramped those staircases are. Like other spiral staircases built long ago, these were tight for this tall writer. There just weren’t a lot of clydesdales walking around in 1520, something I’ve grown to accept as I duck my way through history. The other thing you notice is the ornate gothic details adorning the building. This was built as a fortress, but also for a king. There are wonderful details throughout, and I did my best to take it all in. Traveling solo, I was able to allocate as much time as I wanted for Belém Tower and managed to explore all parts of the structure open to the public.
I fell in love with Portugal and wonder when I’ll get a chance to return again. My visit to Belém Tower in January of 2018 capped off an incredible week in my life that marked a new beginning of sorts for me. I visited before the tower’s birthday, before the pandemic, before a lot of things. It would be interesting to return again someday to see Belém Tower with fresh perspective. To feel the energy of Lisbon and the possibility that the Tagas River offered those who launched their own discoveries sailing right past the tower. I was so busy looking back during my visit that I wasn’t fully aware of the future that Portugal helped launch for me. My own age of discovery, if you will. In many ways, it started right here.
I dove into deep water Saturday, grateful for the pool heater and the money to pay for the luxury of it. I’m pretty sure that if I had to do it all over again I’d never have invested in a pool. I’m not wealthy, but I might be if I didn’t have it. And since I made the financial leap 13 years ago who am I to ignore it now? A pool has a price that goes beyond the installation and maintenance costs. It’s an anchor in your backyard that holds you just as firmly as a garden does. When I installed the pool I had two young children and a highly active Labrador retriever (dog ear infections from swimming too much: yet another hidden cost). The children are adults now, the retriever has finally escaped the fences of this world, and I’m still looking at a hole in the ground that doesn’t care whether I want it there anymore as long as I feed it money.
To say I have a tenuous relationship with the pool is an understatement. But we’ve recently resolved some of our differences. It involved money, naturally. If time is money, then I’ve given a lot of my lifetime to this pool, and I was feeling a bit resentful. The last straw was the pool heater failing a year ago and the water never really warming up to acceptable levels for the masses. And so it became an expensive water feature in the garden, with trees shading it just enough that it never really got comfortable, even on the hottest days. And so this year we ponied up the cash and fixed the heat exchanger, dodging a $6000 replacement cost with an $800 repair. How long it lasts is anyone’s guess, but the pool is warm enough for the fair weather fans. And I danced the gleeful dance that only a pool owner can understand; I only spent $800 this time!
Look, I know a large percentage of the population is unemployed and struggling to make ends meet. I know that having a pool available when you’re under quarantine is surely a luxury, and don’t think for a minute that I’m not grateful for it now. I’ve been unemployed with the pool and two kids to feed and know both sides of this story. For the moment the pool and I are peacefully coexisting, and I’m grateful for the good fortune. With the kids home all summer, the pool may be used more than it has been in years. But I see the pool liner fading, and the cracks in the stamped concrete, and the louder hum the pump is making, and I know that this toll road continues indefinitely. A pool is a lot like a boat in this way, but without the travel. If there was ever a year to have it, it’s 2020. And so I’ll continue to throw money in the hole and hope for some measure of return on my investment. That ROI is measured in laps, and I have my work cut out for me to make it worthwhile. Better jump in again…
“Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral. But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed. Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.” – Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
“Restless in rest” sums up my weekends, and my time on Buzzards Bay, and sailing, and in the garden and in the house… and in stillness. I need to keep moving and doing things. I’m not much of a meditator. I calm the mind through doing things. Meditate? Do the dishes! Weed the garden! Paint something! Trim the hedges! That’s my meditation. Rest is not in my DNA. Even at my desk I had to put in a sit/stand adapter because I can’t sit still all day. I guess that makes me a child of space, like a worker bee. Worker bees don’t sit still. They fly far away, find and collect beautiful bounty, and return it to the nest. They simply… work. And so must I.
This concept of your house as a mast mesmerized me, for uh, verily, I’ve long thought of it as an anchor. In normal times my career takes me to faraway places to busily go about my work and then to return home to the nest with whatever I earned along the way. Home was an anchor that held me to a certain place, the opposite of a mast. Wandering souls need masts and disdain anchors, like a dog tied to a tree gnaws at the rope. But don’t we need both? A place to ground us and fair winds to fly before?
Every night I lie down in bed with a Groundhog Day feeling. That feeling of doing the exact same thing that you did the night before and the night before that. That’s what staying home does to me. And yet every day is different, full of progression and setbacks and new discoveries and familiar faces seen in a new way. And I wake in the morning and set the sails and find new ways to move forward. Shunning comfort. To be hungrier. To run lean and with an eye to the horizon. But you’ve got to weigh anchor before you set the sails, even if it’s only in your mind.
A flash of memory and I was suddenly on a 28 foot Islander motoring into the mouth of the Merrimack River late in the night after a long, wonderful evening ’round Isle o Shoals, music playing loud and rum flowing freely. We were lucky that night, reckless as we were, but all highly focused when it counted. And entering the treacherous mouth in the dark is one of those times when it counted. The entire night is a shared conspiracy between the three of us, and the stories usually come out with the rum.
That sailboat was full of challenges and maintenance issues and most of all an unplaceable odd smell we just couldn’t get rid of. The smell was the deal breaker, and we finally sold her to an eager gentleman with resolve to bring her back. I recognized that resolve, but that boat broke me just as it probably broke him. I hope not though – I’d like to think that she got a complete facelift and is defiantly darting across the waves as she once did. She was a great sailor, that Islander. She had a great name too: Kiwi. But her body odor was just too… off-putting.
Like a bad relationship you can’t get past, I’d like to sail again, but I’m scarred by the first one. I know the cost of a big boat. Money is one thing, but time is another. There’s nothing wrong with spending either if you’re all in, but I’m not all in. Not now anyway. And so I crew on other boats in normal times. And I sail on small boats when the opportunities come up. And I scheme and plan for ways to get back on the water again. And follow the adventure of others who do. When the respiratory vapor settles on this pandemic I’m picking up a small boat to sail around the bay. One small way to stay in the game. I know the logistics of that aren’t small either, but nothing meaningful is easy. And sailing is meaningful.
“The opposite of quitting is rededication. The opposite of quitting is an invigorated new strategy designed to break the problem apart.” – Seth Godin
“For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.” – T.S. Eliot, East Coker
These times challenge all of us, but some more than others. Perseverance seems a quaint notion, but really what else do we have but the courage to press on in the face of it all? I write this knowing I’m less challenged than some, more than others. I’m one of the lucky ones, it seems, and yet life keeps throwing curveballs at me just as it does to you. I believe the way we react to anything is just as important as that which happens to us. Short of an abrupt ending of our existence, we have this choice of how we deal with the cards we’re dealt in any given moment. I hope to play my hand well today and in the one to maybe 16,000 days I have left (That’s a lot of blog posts: I hope I don’t repeat myself too much).
I pulled this Seth Godin quote out of a draft I’d done six years ago, well before I started writing every day, well before COVID-19, well before the current political climate, and well before I became the current version of myself. We’ve all changed, really, some in profound ways, others less so, during the last six years. In some ways the world is worse, in others it’s steadily improving. We can say the same of ourselves. And for all my tongue-in-cheek humor about repeating my blog posts, I won’t be the same person next week, let alone in twenty years, so I figure the material will change accordingly.
The other day I had a great idea for a novel. I immediately started writing down the core plot and completed a first paragraph that stirred me. I’ve been waiting for the muse to tap me on the shoulder and offer up a nugget like this for some time, and I hope to do it justice. But I know it will die on the vine if I don’t chip away at it every day. And so I’ll keep writing, keep researching, keep reinvigorating and breaking it apart. You’ll know when it’s ready – this one will take awhile to get it right. Anyway, I believe the idea came to me because I’m showing the world and those random muses flying by that I’m committed to seeing it through. To doing the work that matters. Ultimately life is about showing up, and I’ve been doing that for 702, er, 703 posts now. And I’ve got my eye on 1000 and beyond. Whether anyone reads it hardly matters, it’s transformative for the author.
Shortly after that idea for a novel, I had another idea for a business. Not a leave my career business, but a nice side hustle business that would be complimentary to my life after work. Funny how these things all come up like this, fully baked in the mind. It makes you wonder what else is up there between the ears, waiting to be set free. I do know that the reading and thinking and writing all open the trap door, letting ideas out and capturing a few along the way that would otherwise drift on by. The rest is just persistence. Showing up and doing what must be done, today and those tomorrows too. There are plenty of quotes out there from Seth Godin, Tim Ferriss and others about the tremendous value of blogging every day. I’m finding that value compounding, not financially, but in creative output and opportunities that open up from the consistent effort and the openness to receive the world. That’s reason enough to press on, writing today and tomorrow too.
Lately I’ve been re-building lists. Lists of unfinished business I have to get to. Things to see and do, as soon as this other business is over. You might call it a bucket list, but for me I’ll stick with unfinished business. Take a blank map, color in where you’ve been and you quickly see that there’s so much you’ll never see. And that’s okay, I don’t want to see everything, but I do want to see some things. Let’s begin with these.
The Aurora Borealis has long been on this list, dancing just out of reach with the Southern Cross on the far ends of the earth sky. I suppose I’ll get to each eventually, beginning in the north, where I sit, just out of reach, thinking about such things. I blame Crosby, Stills & Nash for sticking the Southern Cross in my head, just as I blame Local Hero for my obsession with the Northern Lights. Remove “blame”, add “credit” if you will.
And then there’s sailing across the Atlantic Ocean (and back again on a southern route). Long list on both sides of the pond, and of course in between. Iceberg spotting in Newfoundland, hoisting a pint at The Brazen Head in Dublin, a fish sandwich on raisin bread at Woody’s in Bermuda, and lately, Christmas in Salzburg and Hallstatt without the throngs of tourists. I definitely have unfinished business in Scotland, beginning with The Quiraing and the sunset at Neist Point and heading south to an immersive distillery tour in Islay. Across the channel and Normandy calls, and then a host of other Sirens scattered about Europe, taunting me; There’s no time to waste, you fool. Don’t worry, other Sirens, I haven’t forgotten you…
Another west coast calls me; Napa and some time with those redwoods, a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway to Monteray and Big Sur and a trip inland to Yosemite. There’s something about west coasts that draw me, I suppose. Maybe it’s that restless northeast kid longing to get out there? I’m a sunrise guy (greet the day!), but I do love a good sunset too. I’ll follow the sun and see where it leads me. Perhaps it will lead me to unfinished business in faraway places like Cocos Island and Easter Island and Iguazu Falls in Argentina and Machu Picchu in Peru. I’ve never given you enough attention South America. That’s an omission I hope to remedy, given the chance.
And what of the world beyond? So much unfinished business from Hawaii to the South Pacific to Australia to New Zealand to Asia and India and Africa all stacked up waiting their turn. So much to do, so little time… unfinished business all of it. So let’s get this pandemic behind us, there’s a world to see, and precious little runway to take off. Join me?
I’ve seen the challenges, the ten albums that have influenced me. Such things frustrate me because I don’t want to commit that much of my time to posting daily to social media, yet intrigue me because music is a good chunk of who I am. So in my typical stubborn fashion, I’ll just run with the concept here. Forget the rules! Instead, I’ll honor ten of the many albums I could have chosen, but with live YouTube performances of one (or a medley) of the songs from that album. Why play by someone else’s rules anyway? So here you go, ten albums that have influenced me, in a slightly different way:
Pink Floyd, The Wall
When this album dropped I’d just moved to a new town at the fine age of 13 and was myself dropping into a new school system. The radio played Another Brick In The Wall constantly because it’s catchy and short, just the way radio likes a song. But the gold in this album lies deeper, and in extensive listens. A lot of people point to Dark Side of the Moon or Wish You Were Here as favorites, and I can’t argue either choice, but for me it’s The Wall. I’m sure I could find a Pink Floyd live performance, but since I’m breaking rules let’s go with the version that still blows me away with two other favorites, David Bowie and Eddie Vedder in the 12-12-12: The Concert for Sandy Relief performance:
U2, War
A close second in my formative years was U2 exploding in my world with War. Sure, not their first album, but this was the one that MTV rallied around, especially with that foggy, rainy Live at Red Rocks EP that we’ll call War, part II. U2 picked me up from my awkward teenage years and carried me into my adult life with stepping stone albums from Joshua Tree to All That You Can’t Leave Behind to How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb to No Line On The Horizon to Songs of Experience. All worthy candidates for this list but I’m only picking one per artist. Frankly, I’m wondering why they haven’t been more active during the pandemic rallying the world with a flag. I’ve been lucky enough to see U2 perform this live many times, but there are two performances I wish I’d seen with the sweaty masses, the Super Bowl performance and their Red Rocks performance. Let’s go with flag waving Bono and the youthful band playing the edgy rebel song/not a rebel song Sunday Bloody Sunday:
Eagles, Hotel California
I can remember this album dominating the airwaves back in the 70’s. I was just a kid then, figuring out what I liked, mostly being influenced by whatever I heard playing the most. The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac seemed to be playing the most, carrying Southern California culture to the world. The album is the band at their peak, and it eventually destroyed them, but what a trip. You could make a case for a number of songs for favorite, but I’d be lying if I didn’t come right back to the title track:
Pearl Jam, Ten
If The Wall came at me in a time of massive change at age 13, this album did the same ten years later, as I was out of college and figuring out what next. Next involved finding myself in an impulsive, bad marriage and alone in New York. But there’s a reason for everything. I eventually found my way to a much better life, and this album was a bridge for me across the chasm of crazy I found myself married to. This version of Black resonated particularly well for me during that time:
Beatles, Abbey Road
Everyone who is a Beatles fan has their favorite Beatles album, and mine has always been Abbey Road. I was listening to it constantly when John Lennon was shot, and it shocked me as it shocked the world. The driving force with Abbey Road was Paul McCartney, and the medley was a good example of making something amazing out of a bunch of scraps. But let’s not forget the masterful contributions of George Harrison, my favorite Beatle, with Here Comes The Sun and Something. The album, like me, turned the 50 mark and keeps going. The irony of Come Together being the last song the Beatles recorded isn’t lost on me either, but that medley, capped with The End, is what most people think of when they think of Abbey Road:
Steely Dan, Katie Lied
If one album grabbed me in the middle of my college years, it was Katy Lied. And the song that the title was derived from, Doctor Wu, remains one of my favorite Steely Dan songs. I once dated a girl who loved Steely Dan, and I went out and bought every album they ever made so I could keep up in conversation. I’ll call that my “Steely Dan phase”. Anyway, I never did see them live, and I think it’s because I really like the studio product and don’t want to ruin that. Twisted logic, perhaps, but so it goes.
Jack Johnson, In Between Dreams
Deep into adulthood, I discovered Jack Johnson with his debut album providing a bit of joy in the dark aftermath of 9/11. Deep into marriage, I smile when I hear this song, and like much of the album it remains in constant rotation on playlists well after the album released. Sure, I could have put a Led Zeppelin or Rolling Stones album on here in this spot, but they don’t dominate my playlists the way In Between Dreams has.
Billy Joel, Turnstiles New York State of Mind, Summer, Highland Falls, and I’ve Loved These Days are the foundation of this album, with Say Goodbye to Hollywood being the “hit”. Like others on this list you can make a case for other albums by the artist – certainly The Stranger deserves consideration as the “best” Billy Joel album, but for me, Turnstiles is the one that takes my breath away, and that seems like a good indicator of where it stands on my list. You definitely know you’re listening to a 70’s album when you go deep, but isn’t there charm in that too?
Jimmy Buffett, A-1-A
Yes, I am a pirate, thank you. And a Parrothead too. This is another album that’s charmingly locked in the 70’s, but once you get past A Pirate Looks at Forty and the string of songs that follow (Migration, Trying to Reason With Hurricane Season, Nautical Wheelers and Tin Cup Chalice) remain my favorite block of songs from Buffett on any album. Life is more than angst and anger and melancholy, and there’s nothing like some beach music to get the party started:
Bruce Springsteen, Born To Run
I really started listening to Bruce somewhere in my early teens, with this album and The River dominating my record player for a long time. Born to Run has a restlessness to it that resonated for me then, and does again. Like U2 Springsteen is one of those artists I’ve stayed with through every stage of my life. I particularly love this version of Thunder Road, with a young Springsteen singing a stripped down version in a darkened London venue. You really feel the power of his voice – Bruce is one of the great rock and roll voices, and this performance highlights that:
I’m doing my best to get rid of things, and for the most part I’m making good progress on this front. But we all need those essentials to get through the days, and some of it grows quickly to be your favorite stuff. Anyone who knows me will recognize the tendencies on the following list: work, walk, garden, music and coffee. Shocking? Anyway, here are five things I’ve picked up over the last couple of years that have grown into my favorites:
G-Pack Pro Standing Desk Converter – I’m working from home a lot right now, and candidly I don’t like sitting on my ass all day. It’s not good for you, and that nags at me the longer I’m parked in front of my desk. So this winter before any of us thought we’d be social distancing I purchased this sit/stand desk converter. And I’ve found it to be remarkably easy to use. I simply press a lever, pull the desk up or push it down and I don’t miss a beat in working for hours on end at my old desk, now new again. I have a laptop and monitor on one side and a Mac on the other and it just… works. Wish I’d gotten this thing years ago.
AeroPress Coffee and Espresso Maker – I’ve written about this coffee maker before, and frankly I don’t know what I did without it. Making an entire pot of coffee is wasteful and prompts me to consume more than I should. The AeroPress makes a great cup of coffee, every time, in close [enough] to the time it takes to make a K-cup. And there’s a ritual associated with it similar to making tea that is quite satisfying.
Sony WH-CH700N Noise Cancelling Headphones – Purchased for flights, but really handy in this social distancing world where there’s a conference call happening in the dining room, a class discussion happening on the porch and me listening to tunes between calls in the office. Comfortable, rich sound and immersive.
DeWit Welldone Serrated Trowel – I spoiled myself with this trowel. Feel the heft of it, the quality: This is a lifetime tool, and it makes the ritual of planting a joyful experience with a tactile assurance that it’s up for the task. Gardening is my escape, and I don’t need the distraction of crappy tools when I’m doing it. This trowel is pure bliss.
Merrell Outmost Vent Hiking Shoes – I purchased these shoes to replace another pair of Merrell’s that walked with me in Portugal, Newfoundland, Arizona and moderate trails in New England. The most recent pair have made the trip around Scotland, from Arthur’s Seat to The Storr and Camusdarach Beach. Yesterday afternoon I took a walk in a nearby town forest With trails and ledge wet and muddy from a day of rain. These Merrill’s did the job offering enough reliable traction and water resistance to allow me to focus on other things, like the silent embrace of hundreds of wet hemlocks reminding me that the world will go on.
“I hope you’re haunted by the music of my soul When I’m gone” – Greg Allman, My Only True Friend
There is what feels like a thousand Black-capped Chickadees living in the holly bush next to my deck. They’re the state bird of both neighboring Massachusetts and Maine. New Hampshire, sitting between these two states, opted for the Purple Finch. Don’t tell that to this cast of characters – they don’t much care for state borders and such human concerns. The party never stops in that holly bush. But now and then a solo singer will fly up on a branch somewhere and sing that familiar “fee-bee” song and it transports me back to earlier days. That song’s been playing my entire life.
One of the first things I notice when traveling is the ambiance is different. That’s obvious to everyone when you’re seeing the Eiffel Tower or the Grand Canyon, but close your eyes and listen past the sounds of humanity.. There’s a vibration to any place, a soundtrack playing in the background. Wind, water and trees offer their voice, and of course the local bird population sings their own greatest hits like a house band in a local pub. I’m a bit of a migratory bird myself, stuck in a cage at the moment. But I’ve learned to listen in new places and long for the exhilaration of immersion in faraway places.
With fewer long drives I’m listening to fewer podcasts. I’m reading more, and I’ve grown tired of most of the interviewers I regularly listen to. Instead I favor silence more, or listen to WMVY streaming from Martha’s Vineyard. We all have our greatest hits playing on repeat, but I’ve always sought out new music. WMVY offers music you don’t hear on some corporate iHeart radio station. Respectfully, I prefer to find my own soundtrack. Someday, maybe, I’ll get back to that island. In the meantime I listen to the familiar voices and think about the ferry ride to Vineyard Haven and fried fish and beer at The Newes From America. Island sounds are different from mainland sounds, but for the life of me I’ve lost the sounds beyond the bustle of crowds and the crash of waves. I do need to get re-acquainted, picking up just where we left off like old friends seem to do years between seeing each other.
The music of a place goes beyond the songs played on the local radio station or in the local pub, it includes the buzz of outboard engines or lawn mowers or street sweepers or chain saws off in the distance, of laughter and chatter coming out of open windows, and the birds occupying the local shrubs catching up on local gossip. The place doesn’t hope you’ll remember it, it just keeps on going as it always has, so long as humanity doesn’t bulldoze it all away anyway. I suppose Greg Allman was thinking about his legacy in the lyrics of this song. We all hope we’ll be remembered in our own way. I write and let it all fall out the way it may. Mostly it’s a familiar record I might return to someday. Like fond memories, revisited.
I believe I’ve held onto this post long enough. I think it’s time to release this bird from its cage.
