The summer is getting away. I find seasons are like pages of a ledger in that great "To DO" book. I've accumulated three accounts which remain unbalanced. In one case, information has piled up, while acting upon it has gone undone. In another, a purposeful ride was interrupted by the elements, derailed and condemned as a partial failure as few pictures were taken and fewer funs had. And, in yet another, a previous ride was erased from these pages as it was a cluttered mess written in a style which made me uncomfortable, being a reflection of my then mental state. Or, maybe it's my present mental state which makes me uncomfortable. Whatever.
To revive that ride, another ride to the area was ridden. A lot of riding, no? This time there were distinct changes due to reversals and progressals. I make up the words as I go.
These lingering accounts have bothered me. Yes, I do let little things bother me while some larger don't. I've decided to clear the books. This trilogy of little putts are diverse with no connection. I could have called them "Miscellaneous" but I won't.That name is taken. Maybe
"Balancing the Boogie" or "Taking Care of Bizness" would be better?
No.
Because they've lingered, some of the information may be clouded.
So what's new?
What we got here, number one, cher, is a ride to Ponchatoula, uh, no, Pensacoula, nope, to Pascagoula, yea. I get those "P" named towns mixed up, one of the reasons I'm lost a lot. The second one, but not in that order, maybe, is a ride to Grant Parish to see some stuff you didn't know was there. The third is that re-ride down to a place where you can actually see salt water from Louisiana without being in an industry which allows that pleasure at your company's pleasure.
Here we will go at my company's pleasure. I'm going to publish them one at a time because to do them all at once might break the bank of my energy and endurance.
Let's go to that "P" town first.
Dr. Fagan, renowned for his embellished roles in the "Following Fagan" sagas, has invited me over to Pascagoula, MS, his home port. I e-mailed him a while back that I was coming. I took off across the southern part of Mississippi and was stopped cold in my tracks outside of Saucier, a town with arguable pronunciation. We say "so-chey", they say "saw-sure", an Anglican corruption. Where was I?
There was threatening weather waiting at the corner of Miss.67 and Bethel Rd. I proceeded into the wind and rain, then I turned and ran as lightning crashed ahead. I was threatened by the Monster several times, fleeing as far north as Columbia. I made it home wet and beaten. I'll ride in the rain. Beyond rain, I stop or run. Running is more fun and healthy.
I wrote Ray of the disaster.
In his short and sweet style, he replied. "You mean I did dusting for nothing! We didn't have any rain here". So, for the next attempt at the pleasure of his company, I didn't write. I figured if this attempt failed, I would only suffer the results of my own doing and forgo any chastisement for undue dusting or character assassination over where it rained.
Or didn't. |
