I am on vacation.
Vacation from what? a skeptic or cynic or demurrer would opine.
Speaking opine, as we speak and listen and blog, I am at the Pine Tree Inn, in Brantingham, New York, at this moment.
Can you find it, or me?
There must be dozens upon dozens of Pine Tree Inns or Lodges or Motels in these parts.
Many other years, while I was fully or partially or pretendingly and gainfully (as well as stressfully and tensely) employed, I pined for a woodsy retreat. A getaway. Now I'm sort of restless, although I revere the scenic drama, the butterfly on the flower, the dragonfly on the leaf, the mile-plus walks.
Restless, because I'm not making money as a self-employed entrepreneur.
Maybe it's the Protestant capitalistic work ethic thing, Max Weber-style.
Or an ancient Catholic guilt.
Or an urban yearning.
Time to go.
Maybe we'll talk later in the week.
Oh. I do have something to write home about. I finished a crossword. The first one, with maybe a few errors, in thirty years or more. You'd think a worldly wordsmith would be good at crossword puzzles, but you should remind yourself of Pawlie Kokonuts's attention deficit-surplus syndrome.
The puzzle was from New York magazine. I'm looking forward to seeing the answers in the next issue. A few parts were puzzling.
But no blank spaces.
We like that illusion, do we not? All the blanks filled in? (In relationships, jobs, games, transactions.)
A deception, surely.