Raindrops On Roses…
Confessions, The Deep, Whatnot
It’s not really a meme. It was simply a question posed by someone that sent my thoughts zipping back to some of the happy little islands that dot the ocean of my memories. So, in answer to the question and as a personal exercise in happy-island hopping, here are a few favorites:
My favorite sound is the ocean. The location really doesn’t matter. I’ve run many miles along the beach that serves as the western boundary to St. Andrews, Scotland, and that little slice of the Kingdom of Fife. There’s also this empty little plot of beach behind one of the officer’s quarters at NAS Pensacola, which provides an almost completely secluded view of the Gulf of Mexico that doesn’t suck in the least. For dramatic effect, however, there’s a lonely bench that sits along a stretch of the rocky northern coast of Scotland a little over a mile outside of the little town of Cullen. Sitting, watching, and hearing the North Sea crash into the rocks is an excellent reminder of the insignificance of so many of life’s problems. You can shove your neuroses into a bag and fling them into the deep, allowing the ocean to do to them for awhile what they constantly do to you.
My favorite sights are dawn and dusk. The beginning and the end. I flew little single-engine aircraft in Alaska while I lived up yonder because, y’know, why not? I did a number of my solos in the early mornings and the early evenings in order to beat the usual rush for aircraft time. The favorite dawn was observed (more than once) while flying north toward Mt. McKinley. The contrast between the ice fog that hugged the lower atmosphere in the winter and the way the sun lit the horizon and brought the mountain into focus was breathtaking. The favorite dusks often occurred during flying south for longer cross-country treks. It was the way the setting sun sort of danced around Cook Inlet as I followed the Kenai Peninsula down to its termination point. My family gives me no end of grief for not taking pictures of these things, but no picture that I could’ve taken through a cockpit window would’ve done the scenes justice (and it’s inadvisable to stick your head out of the window for a clearer picture). I felt at the time that a poor picture of such amazing scenes would’ve been a crime and still do.
My favorite smell and taste is pie. Freshly baked. Apples or blueberries. Of course, a la mode! Geez, what are you, insane?!?
My favorite touch. This is a toss up: Holding the hand of someone whose hand makes you never want to let go OR a clean dog (short-haired, of course). Quite the contrast, yes, but as stated here, I am an enigma.
There have been times of sensory overload, of course, when fate conspired in my favor for just a moment. While one might assume from the above that such a moment for me might occur while a short-haired dog feeds me apple pie as I pilot an aircraft toward a dusk-hued ocean or a dawn-kissed mountain range, this assumption would be more or less correct (and kinky!). Highly doubtful, sadly. There was this one time, though…
Scotland is a recurring theme in the ‘Yay’ portion of my memories. I’ve never been happier or more at ease anywhere else in my life. This one time of which I speak occurred in the winter of 2003 and followed a year in which I’d found myself being ground into mush. Back in St. Andrews staying in a B&B owned by a couple that I’d become friends with over the years, I found myself sitting in this ancient little pub along the 17th fairway of the Old Course. I had a book, there was a fire, the place was pretty much empty, and there was a dog, as there tends to be in such places. I was sitting in a chair next to the fire and adjacent to a window, through which I could see evening spreading across the course and the town. On a table sat a Guinness and a very generously poured glass of Talisker (a whisky so splendid that even God is like, “YES!! Ex-ACTLY!!”). It was hard to even mentally catalogue such a feeling of contentment as I had at that moment, though I did try; when perfection knocks at your door, you answer it then stand there like an idiot wondering what to do next. The answer came to me when a lovely lady walked over to my little corner of heaven and asked if she could get me anything else. I glanced momentarily at the dog lounging next to the fire and asked, “Do you have any pie?”
Sir @ July 15, 2008
God, that sounds glorious. Why did you ever leave?
1. Mmmm. Pie.
2. What a fantastic post. Really.
3. Of course pie came first. I have my priorities in order.
Ashley: I left Alaska because the military said it was time to go. Since you can never win an argument with a government entity, much less one that’s armed to the teeth, I left. The upside of leaving Alaska is that I landed in England, which as most geographers will tell you, is located directly underneath Scotland. I finally left the UK to come back and start grad school and while I’m certainly content where I am, I spend a fair amount of time gazing fondly in the directions of where I’ve been.
Jamelah: Yes, pie is always first. As it should be.
My Manmaw always said “Life’s uncertain, eat dessert first”.
Oooo, good call on the touches.
I fucking love pie.
But that whole handing thing sounds like you’re trying to get laid. I like that wavy section where the waist crashes into the hip. Or boobs. How can you pick a hand over boobs?
Cousin Candace: My grandmother taught me well. Please avert your eyes from what follows.
Abigail: Well, y’know…I’m a really sensitive guy with needs and I listen to The Carpenters a lot. Don’t like to talk about it, though. I cried during Terms of Endearment. It moved me.
Black Hockey Jesus: Pick hands over boobs? What in the hell are you talking about?! It’s boobs ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT!!! And as far as boob CRASHING, you have no idea the crash-action that….wait a minute….DAMN YOU, BLACK HOCKEY JESUS!!!
Abigail: Seriously, the ‘touch’ thing is all true.
Black Hockey Judas: DAMN YOU!!!
It just has to be a short-haired dog? Are you sure about that? Because I’ve got a really clean Golden Retriever that loves to be petted, and you could have him… cheap. I guess I could shave him if it’s that important to you… really, you’ll love him. It’s just, he wants to be petted ALL THE DAMN TIME. Right now for instance? His head is on my leg and he nudges my arm as I type. Not my favorite touch.
Now, where’s some pie?
Shari: I’m actually completely equal opportunity where dogs are concerned. The short-haired flavor of dogs are just lower maintenance. All dogs (except for the ones that can be considered ‘toys’ or ‘rats’) are welcome in my world.
So, maybe not completely equal opportunity.
OK, Mindy sent me over here because I made a “dirty” comment on her blog and so did you, so she said we should be friends.
Now I’ve had the chance to poke around a bit…
I think I love you! ;)
(OK, well, I’m at least really really enjoying this slice of blogpie…)
JenBun: What do mean you ‘think’ you love me? You don’t know?!? After all I’ve said and done?!?!
Yeah, I love you… I just didn’t want to be too forward for the first time! ;)
Dammit Sir, now you’re the one who’s making me yearn for the ocean. Cut it out!
(This may requrie some sort of counteraction on my part.)
You are being featured on Five Star Friday:
http://www.fivestarfriday.com/2008/07/five-star-friday-edition-15.html
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