Course Correction

It's an odd thing, picking up where you left off over a year ago-

So after the move from Isle au Haut, and the purchase of a new house, I began a new blog.  Thus far, in my history as a web logger (pause to think of peavees, flannels, and axes... and the Monty Python Lumberjack song)...

And we're back.

My blogging history.  Each blog took its name from what ever domicile I happened to call home- the house with the view, the saltbox, and now our farmhouse.  Starry-eyed with dreams of a well balanced life, I titled this "The Boards, the Boat, and the Barn."  The title assumed that those three things would have something to do with my daily reality.

Yes, I would work in the theater- a given, since it'd help pay the mortgage.
I would still manage to get out on the water.
I would enjoy the domestic life that comes with 5 acres, an old house, and a barn.

The creation of the blog assumed that I would actually experience and then write about those things. Then the world let out an 18 month

                                  Snicker.

The choices of what to do and what not to do were mine, certainly.  But how I led my life failed in any way to reflect those assumptions- or should we call them hopes?

Since taking my job, I have had a growing sense that I misplaced myself somewhere in all of the movement.  That under a box of flotsam in the back of a closet, or maybe down in the basement, there's the core of who I am, trying not to mildew.  A living salary and health benefits have made me so dreadfully serious.  Because the job is creative, it is personal: Because the job is public, it is painful.  So many strings attached.  I have made my own prison out of the position- the job requires leadership, and I have kicked and screamed the whole way, since I prefer quiet and anonymity- to tinker in the background.  I am very much my own enemy, and this year will tell whether or not I can actually come to peace with the social and political aspects of my work.

I've been all consumed with it.

No boat.  No barn.

All boards, and I have pretty much just been bleeding on them.

It's not how I want to live- so, Morgan- how are you going to fix it this time?

Where Was I?

Hmmm.  Blog block.

Once upon a time, I wrote quite a lot.
That was a happy time.

Then I managed only to chronicle the slings & arrows in my journal, a few times a month at best- old fashioned, private.  Pen, ink, paper.  Moments stolen from work, in an attempt to cling to sanity and sense of self.

It was a less happy time.  Correlation, causation: tomayto, tomahto.

So I have been absent from the blogging scene, minimal though my presence was to begin with.  And this post- this is just a teensy foray, a tiny pebble cast into a giant sea, for the sheer pleasure of it.

Plink.  Plop.  Plunk.

Once I wrote, once I took photos.

Today, I start again.

Update: Summer's On

Stuff in the garden is going edible, which is nice; the air has gone faux autumn, which is a good reminder of what's coming down the pike; I have approximately 4 weeks to get my head together for the coming year of work. 

Pepe, true to his doggy nature, has been sprayed by a skunk, leaving Dave and I to learn how best to give a cat a peroxide and baking soda bath.  In the meantime our boy is sprawled out on the deck in exile, wafting skunk stink through the open windows. 

Now to get to work and (hopefully) make the best out of a summer Monday- see getting my head together...