The Kitchen Blog

Cooking, Gardening, Angst and More. Including Job Search Tales and lifestyle tips about island living.

It's Black & White

Once again I find myself on the ferry to the mainland. This has become a weekly occurrence which I wouldn't mind so much if it actually paid off, but as of now I am just spinning my wheels.

Twelve hours of driving and shopping and racing around. Dash and distress. The upside is I have made a bit more money than usual, despite--or because of--not having any weddings on the books this year. This weekend is the last party I have on the calendar. After that I know not what. I am hoping there will be a repeat of last years Christmas job. But perhaps that is too much to ask for.

The seasons have changes abruptly time and again over the last few days. Late Autumn, crisp, sunny, bright and clear. All apples and leaves and chilled breath. Winter stole all that away one morning with icy rains, sleet, hail, snow, thunder and blast. Shark Grey skys cut the autumn to shreds leaving me in the middle of the field soaked to the skin like some flaccid, tide-bound sea creature. The beast didn't seem to mind, blinking at my shifting to and fro, jerking in my work to stay warm. Then the ice and frosts captured the gardens once green now black in their captors' hands. The clearer the days became the crisper they felt. Cracking and crunching my way out to chores, cursing the suddenness of the moment; my foregone procrastination in putting away the hoses, the cart, the tarps, the pile of boxes to save for the one day we may eventually move. Pumpkins carved for a treat and joy stand frozen, rooted to the deck boards. Crystalized and hollow like my mood.

And now. Now. Impenetrable grey, like some sort of metallic chastity belt of pressure zones, dripping in an icy sweat of expectation. Rain. Drizzle. Cloud and storm. Every breath is an inhalation of misty wet. Just moving causes saturation with out actual precipitation. How many months of this, week in, week out will we enjoy? Black through grey fading to black day after  damp day. Still, it could be raining. Still, it could be 5 years ago with health and non-aching bones I sallied forth everyday into this perpetual smeg to pound and hammer peoples abodes together from dissolute piles of material. The very joyful memory of power, control and pain causes me soul stirring irritation. Still it could be raining.

Yet I am now cutting through this vale on a jaunty, cheerful little ship of fools. A florescent box floating across the waters, propelled by willful desire and expectation of the day to come. 12 hours hence, ditto in reverse. The seasons change, so why can't I?

posted by: ChefNeal at November 02, 2006 09:08 | link | comments (1) |
weather, mainland, ferry travel

Comments:

#1  18 April 2008 - 02:56

 

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