That said, I feel no compunction about relishing life and the opportunities
for joy on this day — or any other, for that matter — and this weekend has
offered a welcome respite from numerous stressors, most specifically the
brutally sad job of dealing with my mom and brother’s deaths. The resolutions
for both estates are progressing in their ways, and the depth of grief, if not
truly diminished, is generally more manageable than it was for some long time.
Still, this is the hardest, most stressful time of life I’ve ever known, and
the accompanying fatigue, both emotional and physical, has at times thrown me
for unexpected loops. Add the stressors of the pandemic — now somewhat
lessening, thank Yog, since I opted to bear the unthinkable risk of taking the
COVID-19 vaccine (yes, that is a dig at you, some of you unconscionable fucks)
— and it is fairly safe to say that, at the very least, life is not boring.
As for My World and Welcome to It, I did something on Friday evening I haven’t
done in ages: stay up till the wee hours watching movies without falling
asleep halfway through. These days, I tend to be vigorous until about 8:00
p.m., zonk for an hour, then get a second wind that lasts until about
midnight, give or take an hour. But for whatever reason, the other night,
20-year-old Mark saw a resurgence, and somewhere around 11 p.m., I started
John Carpenter’s
Prince of Darkness, which I have not seen in
at least three decades. It was about as I remembered: intriguing in its way,
but not nearly as polished or engaging as Carpenter’s films that came directly
before or after. Once Prince of Darkness was over, undaunted by fatigue, I took to searching the Roku for
something entertaining and, eventually, settled on
Splinter (2008). This one struck me as the
perfect late-night (roughly synonymous with “drive-in”) horror flick. This ran
until damn near 3:00 a.m., at which time I contemplated starting something
new. Alas, by then, the old body had begun to argue. I shuffled off to the
bedroom and slept till almost 9 the next morning, which is not an “Old Mark”
thing to do, not by a long shot. Generally, I am up far earlier, despite my
most fervent hopes, wishes, and dreams.
Saturday morning, a couple of new geocaches awaited my attention, one of which
was dedicated to friend Old Rob (a.k.a Old Rob), placed by
devious friend Ms. Fishdownthestair (a.k.a. Natalie). This one
took some serious hunting, in difficult terrain and oppressive heat and
humidity. But find it we did, and thus earned the ever-dubious first-to-find
honors. Afterward, I found another of Ms. FDTS’s new hides before returning to
Casa di Rodan. Toward evening, Brugger and I drove Burlington way for another
nice cache, and then we settled ourselves for wonderful dinner at
Simply Thai in Elon. Following, we watched the 2009 remake of
The Taking of Pelham 123. We had just watched the original, an old
favorite of mine, a while back, so we wanted to compare. The new one wasn’t
bad, not by a long shot, but it remains inferior to the original 1974 classic.
|
| American Gothic, the Creeple People edition |
Yesterday, the No-Dead-Weight Irregulars — this weekend’s
incarnation comprising the aforementioned Old Rob and
Ms. Fish — headed to Winston-Salem, first and foremost to
put the finishing details on my brother’s house so that it can be listed on
the real estate market this coming week; secondly to hunt geocaches. Most
happily, we avenged a couple of DNF (Did Not Find) attempts from a
while back, and we discovered a loverly trail system in historic
Bethania that includes an old mill and a scenic, serene graveyard
dating back to the early 1700s. We had lunch at
Village Tavern in
Reynolda Village, which has, historically, been one of our favorite destinations for mealtime
on geocaching days. The food was its typically good self, but service was
S.L.O.W. beyond the bounds of reason, considering the place appeared to have
more than adequate staff for the number of patrons. Now, I am willing to give
any establishment the benefit of the doubt for the occasional unsatisfactory
experience, and given the number of places needing help, I wonder if there
wasn’t some training of new folks happening at the time. That being the case,
I am very understanding of the situation, and I just hope things will improve.
No, Village Tavern has not struck out with me, not by a long shot.
This morning, a single Old Rob cache lurked out on the
Owl’s Roost trail near Bur-Mil park, so Ms. FDTS and I met at 10:00 a.m. and hiked out to
it. We managed to find the little bugger after a relatively brief search. Then
we headed over to the nearby Palmetto Trail so I could perform
maintenance on one of my really old hides (“No Dead Baby Jokes, Please” [GC2YVWF].
And that brings me around to where I am. Remember why Memorial Day is what it
is; get yourself vaccinated, if you haven’t undertaken this ungodly monstrous
risk; and try to treat your neighbor better than I do. That can’t be very
damned hard.
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| Old dude’s playhouse? Old dudes will play, after all. |
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| Abandon all hope, ye who enter. |
Old feller with one foot in the grave
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| No wonder the British lost; Cornwallis’s road peters out after just a couple of hundred feet. |