Gone Too Long or maybe Too Long Gone

It’s a few minutes shy of three in the morning, Friday morning. I woke up around an hour ago, after falling asleep while trying to watch the Daily Show. I woke up to infomercials, with two Giant Chinchilla rabbits frolicking around and remembered that I had left a couple of fresh Tilapia in the sink downstairs, one scaled, one not; with the “How to Cook Anything” cookbook opened to the section detailing how to clean fish.

For some reason, it had seemed like a good time for me to learn how to do that. As I started to gut one of the fish, it struck me that it really wasn’t a good idea. I mean the idea itself might be worthy, but the timing certainly was not. That actually might be a good analysis of much of my wanderings and musings. Cindy has always been a good balance to this trait of mine. But she has been away and even with regular and consistent phone therapy, I am veering much to close to the edge.

This morning or rather yesterday morning, Thursday morning I was up at 3:30. By 4:30 I had Skye up and we were on the road to San Diego to pick up a couple of rabbits that we had fallen in love with on our Tuesday field trip to the 2009 National Rabbit Breeders Association convention.
We dealt with the official aspects of buying “pedigreed” bunnies and set forth to contend with the exodus of 13,000+ rabbits and their human devotees, after their week-long cultural niche orgy love-in. We then headed back to LA or rather Carson so that Skye could fulfill her obligation as Impromptu Master for her Public Speaking Club.

It was after she finished this and while the other club members spoke and did whatever else speech makers do when they get together (I say this blithely even though I was on my Speech and Debate team in High School) that I went to the local grocery mart to get some water for the aforementioned and still unnamed bunnies. Turns out it was a Philippine market with a pretty good selection of fish. So I picked up some Tilapia, so that Skye could see what the 30+ inch-long fish in the 180 gallon horse trough in our garage were going to grow into and so that I could get some experience in processing said fish. I also picked up a squid to grill and chicken to do up “Beer-can style” for the Inaugural Backyard Buddies gathering we were hosting on Saturday.

Backyard Buddies is my idea. A good idea, I think. But good ideas are little more than that until put in action. And that is where my timing, practically and convictions often collide. It is at that intersection that my wife Cindy has taken on the difficult job of Crossing Guard/traffic cop, duties that don’t really translate well to long-distance, remote participation.

In her absence, I have managed to fit in a Ken Keesey-like 3 week “car schooling” road trip, to visit her on location, in Georgia. I have set in to motion, our own little Urban Farm, complete with chickens and rabbits, Tilapia and catfish, worm farms and soldier grub pods, more plants than one could ever imagine fitting on our very vertical piece of rock. All the while juggling Skye’s education that includes Shakespeare work shopping, book and public speaking clubs, Girl scouts, various martial arts, Aerial Arts (Trapeze and the like), her social networks of “park days” and weekends full of birthday parties and holiday themed get togethers. We managed to shoe horn in at least 4 costumed events and yes we designed and sewed her outfit. And a second yes to doing the 3 R’s and a goodly number of “electives”

For good measure I have been trying to keep physically and mentally sound by keeping up my FUNctional fitness routines, Brazilian Juijitsu and of course I have my gauntlet run of marathons, starting with the Malibu Marathon in week or so.

My listings and ramblings are but a tip of the iceberg of my recent going-ons. Thus far my Titanic has yet to collide in the seeminly global-warming impervious ice-berg field I’m barging through. But that could be said of the White Star’s crown jewel until that fateful April night.

It is now 4:15. I am signing out, dozing off.