Mystery Train

for days, this corner of the eastern seaboard has been socked in with clouds and smatterings of rain. O! Virginia! How spastic are thy meteorological whims!

enough, already. this cycle of four days of gray and damp, with a day of sun lodged in between, is the stuff of crappy eating habits and prodigious beer intake. these are not traits that will transfer well to the mantra of job chasing: "Project Confidence! Self-Promote! Convince Prospective Employers Of Your Can-Do Attitude!"

"I am convinced that I would be a dynamic force in your fast-food franchise! I would bring cutting-edge pride and ambition to the brightly-hued uniform!"

sure.

ironically, that "career opportunity (the one that never knocks)", is one of the choices in the provincial mid-Atlantic. and physical therapist. and IT professional.
and that, basically, is "it". oh, sorry... "Food Lion cashier". not much room for "re-invention", there.

so, i've busied myself with repairing all of the lawn equipment at two addresses... shaken the dust out of every corner of the house... carried bags of old clothes to Goodwill... and wrote my district delegate, a Republican that voted in lockstep with his party cronies to reject the Federal Stimulus Package.

to say that his replies were "perfunctory" or "snide" wouldn't be too far off the mark.
so, to the local newspaper they go.
Don't Hate The Player, Del. Scott. Hate The Game.

still, i keep attempting to make something positive out of all of this discord. my Finnish grandad's genes make me contort around any flash of color with the camera. i brandish a chainsaw to tame the wilderness of the home place. and, i find myself drawn to a door that needs to be opened.

i ready myself to do something which i have dreaded for months: re-inter the cremated remains of my grandmother and brother, and finally commit my mother's ashes to the family plot in the local cemetery. it looks monstrous to see this in print, or to even consider. but, years ago, my mother sold the land that surrounded the little unconsecrated plot in the woods... and the present owner will jump at the chance to sell, as soon as the economic climate thaws. i know this. i have called this person "friend". but, for some, "friendship" only goes as far as a big pay-off.
consequently, i can't bear the thought of them in the middle of a parking lot, or plowed over by construction equipment, though i be damned for all time. it's my move, my choice... my responsibility.

yet, with every effort i make, i uncover mysteries. i wonder what my "Finnish granddad" thought when he married into this very English, very American dynasty... from whence these "mysteries" abound.

as i pieced together this entry, i stopped for a shower... i may be disconnected at this point in my life, but wearing pajama-bottoms past noon is a non-starter. but, away from the keyboard, rinsing off the grime and dust, i questioned why i need to pry open this long-closed door. instantly, i recalled my first trip to Los Angeles: in the gloom of a winter's early night, faced with piloting a rental car through unknown LA freeways... knowing that to not take up the journey, there would be no Good at the end of it.
maybe that's the point: though this subject might be a bit morbid, and challenging, the attempt to unravel it may conclude with some kind of resolution. and Mystery, resolved, may be considered "good", in the long run.

so, this train i ride... to wherever it takes me.
because, in the end, "when one door is closed, another is opened".

to be continued.