As I type this, my brother and childhood best friend are getting soaked at the beach. Check it out:
Photo courtesy of the incredibly gifted Shannon. She’s not only a Mashpee native, but she’s a professional photographer. You all need to check out her work by clicking here or here. And then hire her.
Storm time counts as one of the moments where I really miss being on Cape Cod. This is probably a direct result of memories where I tangled with questionable weather events as a child. Be it a blizzard or hurricane, my damn crazy elders (really, more on the Hallinan side) were quick to hop into the truck and serve as a human weather vane. I remember once driving with my Dad and aunt in complete white-out snow conditions, because they thought that the package store was still open (it wasn’t).
But it’s summertime right now on the East Coast, and that can only mean one thing:
I know that I have posted this before, but this is me, Molly and John at Nobska lighthouse. My Dad took us out to the beach as Hurricane Gloria was getting underway.
Fast-forward to about an hour ago, with Hurricane Irene in town as the honored guest. My Dad is now staying at home for the storm, but my brother is all in for this show. It would appear that the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree…
After I get the preceding photograph, Shannon then sends me this video. When I voice concern over the immediate future of my brother’s life, she reassures me by saying “don’t worry, we’ve got our wetsuits”. Oh goody. Still, I kinda wish I was there with those damn fools.
So courtesy of Facebook and instant gratification picture media, I am able to enjoy my slice of the hurricane while sweating my ass off here in Dakar. That’s one reason to be excited about today.
The other thing is a bit more mundane:
That’s right, another trip is in the offing. I’ve packed my suitcase, painted my fingernails to match said suitcase, and am getting ready to shove off again. I can’t help it- I’ve developed a nasty addiction to perpetual movement while living in West Africa….
Most of the toubabs here can understand where I’m coming from. Most of the people who you find out in these parts are here because they share the same chemical imbalance as me. We feel as though we can’t capitalize enough on the opportunity to travel, and as such there is a constant push to go go go. Paradoxically, the more places that we see, the more we realize that we haven’t seen much of anything in the world. There’s just too much out there to be learned, and while I figured that by age 34 I’d be slowing down on the travel circuit, that doesn’t appear to be in the cards.
Kind of like weather systems, wandering out into the unknown never ceases to be interesting.
So I’m ready to go, and have crammed everything I need into my suitcases (again). Well, almost everything. For the past 12 years I have made it a habit to always travel with my own form of personal protection: my grandmother’s rosaries. They would go everywhere that I went, and they were passed on to me from my father after he retired from the airline business. Fast-forward to two months ago when four Tanzanian a-holes robbed me of my possessions, and now they are gone. I’m still pretty upset about this, and I find myself hesitating to leave my apartment without some kind of magic feather to protect me. Call me superstitious, but that’s how I roll.
As I was rolling my suitcase to the front door, I looked up at my car rapide keychain holder (which never actually holds keys) and saw these used hockey laces. These were sent to me months ago by my brother, as a part of a care package from home. I love them, and I think that I just found a pinch hitter for my rosaries….
So with everything more or less right in the world, I’m ready to head off to the airport.I’m not sure what new adventures await me yet, but I’m fairly certain that you’ll see me back in Dakar before the 36th of November.
