MLK Monday Wakeup Call
Some of you are off today, and some of you are still grinding at the stone. That is the nature of a Country that grinds bones to make bread, isn’t it?
Until the escape is made, to a place where work is in its proper place, the Country in general, will continue to wander at what has happened. We who are privileged to work, cannot find many young who actually want to work … work is out of place for them, it doesn’t give them the “meaning” they expect, or it doesn’t pay like the US Pandemic paid them – to sit and contemplate for months on end; what do I really want to do, what do I really want to be in my professional future?
Now that time is about up? They are not quite done pondering those questions, although the statistics (remember numbers?) say they are running out of their savings, and eventually they will all have to start their student loan paybacks (or will they?). Say “poof” to those brand new gas guzzling Toyota 4Runners with the tricked out roof tents and fancy gas cans hanging off – all the accessories absolutely necessary for the next zombie-apocalyptic-pandemic … yeah, I will take over those payments.
Going Remote
Those who were sent into the remote world during the pandemic have their own set of unreal wanderings to deal with as well. I see all forms of remote workers here on South Padre Island. They are nicely packed into tricked out vans, still pulling down high-two and low-three digit incomes from their vans … the remote elite. They’re working. They deserve it, I say with an “old man’s envy.”
The world is their oyster and they know this is the place is the pearl to come to for epic kite board wind, cheap living and safe parking. Add very little local resentment, or local police harassment? The only reason they disappear is because the wind is better somewhere else.
Thankfully, these remotes know what a good cup of coffee is, and will soon know where to find one on the south end of the Island. Maybe we should offer van hookups as well!
Week to End all Weeks
How many weeks with decisive words, like “… this is the week …” have come and gone now? Well, how about another one? If nothing else, this will be MY week in the grand history of what can be told about this professional adventure – creating a coffee house fly shop out of sand. What can I say now? I can say there are “deadlines,” and there are, “Dead Lines.” Have you ever been on a high mountain trail, and wandered off it accidentally, or with full intent, “Hmmm, I wonder what is that way?” Many of those trails end dead, nowhere. On the sand, a wave can wash your footsteps away in a second … don’t look back, no steps are following.
AND FLY FISHING
The wind. That same thing that the kite boarders come for, is the thing that keeps the hoards of boats off the Lower Laguna Madre in what would be optimal conditions on a MLK Holiday Weekend. It is brutal. It is relentless – day and night – solidly into its 36th. hour now.
We fly fishers know the wind does end, and calm does come. The learning is in just HOW LONG we get these breaks from the incessant Valley wind. This morning it is solidly from the South, stirring up Boca Chica sand and obscuring the view of rockets on the pad at SpaceX Boca. Fly fishing shelter is nowhere to be found, so I prepare for those “Dead Lines,” and delve into the social science realm as you have just tolerated! Little did Elon know he has already landed on Mars. It is also known as Boca Chica, Texas.
Category: Adventure
