rainy day

i would like to go fishing. i don't think i've been fishing for...over a decade. (i've begun measuring my life in decades.) i don't want to touch the bait or the fish though, 'cause...that's gross. so, if anyone else wants to go fishing, i'm definitely game. except you will have to be the one doing that stuff i mentioned. (um and while we're on the topic--should we catch any fish and want to eat them, i am also not participating in any de-gutting or ripping-off-of-skin [my body is going numb]. i will happily apply spices and things once it is in a pan.)

anyways, i'm reading a book about Nantucket. i bought it once as part of a "10 books for a dollar" deal. it's really good, an ideal summer starter read. the only thing, is that it's super short. i had to stop reading it here in order to prepare to part with it. i can never figure out if my chronic resistance to ending things is a bad thing or a good thing. all this time i've figured it's a bad thing, because i've been raised in a culture of hyper-productivity...so ongoing things, things that take time, things that you can start but never really finish seem like the worst possible concept. i don't think i agree with this wholeheartedly. maybe a little--because it is good and necessary to finish/end certain things...but i really like the idea of ongoing journeys with mysterious, hazy, tangled paths just ahead...ever-searching and traversing...enjoying the present but anticipating what you'll find in uncertain future presents...

i get a little ridiculous when left to my own devices.
especially when there is a pleasant or provocative book thrown into the mix with me.

so this little faded book about the island of Nantucket. it's really pleasant. i will not pretend i'm not living vicariously through it. frankly, the ocean terrifies me, so i am not entirely sure why i am dreaming about living in it. (okay it doesn't "terrify" me...but it's scary in some respects.) the book is a lazy and reminiscent account of time spent there over the past half-century by a man who was hooked during a college summer in the fifties and ended up building his own cabin there, going through life there, etc. etc. a fascinating tale of the way we seem to take the settings of "the best of times"--fantastic dream worlds--and inevitably turn them into valuable real estate, marketed dreams, available to only the ultra-wealthy. it's kind of tragic. but kind of magic. i guess. nature and landscape and the ultimate vulnerability of the economy in the grand scheme of the world the Lord has made are comforting. the places will outlast us all, and all our silly schemes and dreams.

it's a good book. makes me want to wade in water and go on a boat (also semi-terrifying) and build a cabin and pick flowers and climb trees and sit on the beach in the nighttime and see a movie in a little theatre and visit with familiar folks on the street. saskatchewan is kind of a disgusting place. i imagine being part of a small island community would be so much nicer than being part of a small prairie community. there is no "real" nature here to capture our spirits and imaginations. all we have are dirt and skies and each other. sometimes there is grass. it's sure taking its time getting here this year. there isn't really even weather here either. wind. that is the weather here.

this really isn't inspiring. i'm pretty sure there is no point to it, in fact. i'm not entirely sure why i'm posting it here. let's just call it a standing invitation to go fishing. mixed with a vague book review. with a dash of provincial tourist information. ("avoid saskatchewan!") i'll try to find something nice about it this summer and share it with you. i'm always up for a challenge. (and for an endless search, as we've established. mahah)
but seriously on the fishing.