When Crisis is a Good Thing

Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have broughtus in safety to this new day: Preserve us with your mightypower, that we may not fall into sin, nor be overcome byadversity; and in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of yourpurpose; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

-Book of Common Prayer

Back at 407 this morning.

I spooked an osprey and a blue heron when I snapped that shot, the awesome predator chirping like an oversized parakeet as it flew aware, the wading bird squawking like an old chain smoker as it glided away across the bay toward Redfish Point.

Yesterday was a very full one, indeed. We woke up on the lake at Canandaigua, drove down to Corning so I could pack, and before noon I was in the air bound for KFPY. After 4+30 airborne, I landed on a hot, dry afternoon in Perry, checked the mail at the farm, and after stopping for gas drove another 2+40 to Panama City, stopping in Callaway for groceries to get through the week. I arrived here around 7:30, and immediately scorched a steak in the skillet and threw it onto a plate with half a bag salad for supper in front of the television, watching the Chiefs and the Giants compete for the mantle of worst team in the Meadowlands that night.

I had visions of getting some work done after that, but was weary to the bone and fell into bed well before nine, only to toss and turn with a head full of worries going into this week.

It'd all be fine if P were here, but she's not. So here I am pecking away alone on this computer, cranking it out before driving to Destin to mediate a case I'm hoping doesn't take all day.

I was thinking about the etymology of the word "crisis" as I was lying in bed this morning. I know, most folks think of more salacious things in that dim morning light, but I'm by myself so that wouldn't have been such a great idea.

The Greek root for "crisis" means a choice or judgment. I think that's where we are, P and me. She's already sort of made one choice for us, rather abruptly telling the folks at Wyldswood that we weren't taking any more event reservations after 12.31.25 because we're sticking a sign in the yard and calling it quits. Too much to maintain, too much outflow that requires the two of us to work at a level we don't want to work anymore. We won't get 9.22.25 back, and P's sitting up there on her day off while I'm down here toiling in the vineyards by myself. So much of that is necessitated by the great financial maw of Wyldswood, a place we love but not so much that we're willing to sacrifice or compromise the Last Good Part to pay for a bit of nostalgia. There's still time to make memories, somewhere else.

I foresee the time after I finish at NYC being a season of near-retirement for P, scaling back to maybe a couple days a week and only in the neighborhood around Corning or maybe Canandaigua. I don't see her coming back here to work. I will, of course, although perhaps on a more limited basis, but by that time it'll always be with P in the passenger seat, spending her time here planning dinner parties, swimming laps in the condo pool, and playing with her photography hobby.

I've been reading On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder, a must-read little pamphlet about the current political situation and the lessons of the last century regarding how to respond. In yesterday's reading, Snyder counseled reading book instead of doomscrolling, and suggested the Gospels might be a good place to spend time in response to the amoral moment in which we live. So this morning I pulled out the morning devotional from the BCP, quoted above, a passage that started every morning for me for a couple years back around the time of the Great Storm. Time to get back to those things, to find some wisdom and joy in the space currently occupied by the daily news screened for your viewing pleasure by Dear Leader.

Time to hose off and start driving. Destin's a lot farther away than it used to be.