These are the things I should be writing about: providing a post-Comicon wrap-up; discussing a recent trip to Bermuda (and providing “before” pics that Hurricane Bill may turn into “after” pics – but hopefully not, because Bermuda is a lovely place); perhaps updating on Strongman 2 or 27 (both going reasonably well); or even talking a bit about some of the music projects I have going on, but I don’t much feel like doing any of those.

I’m sitting at a desk that has, by some measures, an unbelievable view.  It looks west along 42nd Street in Manhattan, and has a view of Times Square (well, a sliver of it, anyway).  The sun is setting, and as we enter golden hour the many, many skyscrapers in my field of view are becoming tinged with beautiful amber light.  The city turns into a sepia photograph, and it’s always one of my favorite times of the day.  

Despite the nice view, I wish I were in Michigan, which is one of the places I hail from.  Because it’s so close to the western edge of the Eastern time zone, the sun doesn’t set in July and August until… well, it almost doesn’t.  You can start an evening at 5 or 6 and it just lasts forever – the golden hour that’s already fading from the sky in Manhattan as I type this seems to last from about 7-10 PM.  There’s a place I go most summers, about a mile and a half from the speedway (close enough to hear the cars doing their laps – I’ve never been to a race, but I like the sound as it drifts over the fields, particularly during the day when they’re practicing, qualifying, doing time trials or doing whatever it is those folks do).  I used to spend months there when I was little, but these days it’s harder to get to MI for extended periods of time.  Last year I think I managed something like three weeks, chopped up into little chunks over the course of May-October, but this summer I’ve only spent five days there.  This is a place that’s been in my family for 27 years, and I have endless memories tied up with it – it’s my Walden Pond, I suppose.  If I’m lucky, I’ll get another two or three days there, maybe a week before we shut it down for the winter and then no joy until mid to late April.  And due to some developments that don’t really belong in a blog, this might be the last summer we have the place period.

So, my thoughts are more focused on the past, and other August evenings I’ve spent sitting out back at the farm, citronella candles keeping the bugs away while I drink a beer, or grill a steak, or run around the yard with my brothers and sister, or talk books with my dad, or lock horns with my mom on some dumb issue, or make out with a beautiful girl, or set up a tent with a 6th-grade best friend, or play the guitar, or be lonely but happy, and I wish I were there.

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