I’ve done this flight what seems like ten scores of times, the evening flight from Newark to Seattle. I used to do it coming back from trips to the bankers and investors and rating agencies, then back from meeting with rating agencies and regulators and increasingly agitated bankers as the old bank failed, then back from depositions and court dates and consulting meetings. Now it’s back from Maine, from parents and working online, to visit my son. There is nothing to do in Seattle any more, and it makes the plane rides themselves far easier – it makes them releases, in their way. I’m off the clock, a clock which ticks slowly when I’m in Maine through job searches, consulting work, writing, reading, waiting; instead I’m in a zone where it’s just about being a father and relishing having a son, being a partner for my ex-wife and feeling appreciated that I’m giving her a break. I’ve done this flight a hundred times but it’s easier now than ever before, even knowing I’m going to do it a hundred times more before he hits middle school.
Prophecy
My first memory isn’t really a memory.
Flanneur d’autoroute
The dog and I are going to visit a number of friends in Ontario at the end of the month, and as is my wont, I’ve already planned several different potential routes to get there and back, but I know exactly what route I’m going to take. I’ll drive south on the Maine Turnpike, through New Hampshire, avoid Boston via I-495, and then take the Massachusetts Turnpike and the New York State Thruway to the border near Niagara Falls, and from there it’s a quick jog to my first stop in Hamilton, Ontario. I’ll spend a few days there and then head on the 401 on a straight shot to Belleville, where I’ll get off the highway and circle on the winding roads of Prince Edward County til I visit my second stop, visiting my friends (including prolific commentator Viktoria). Then after a few days of very intense conversation, I’m sure, and lots of hugs, I’ll get back on the 401 until I get to Quebec, where I’ll take the autoroute into Montreal and a steak dinner with my friend from Calgary before loading up a cooler with Montreal smoked meat from Schwartz’s Deli and the final push back to Maine. Google says it’s 1289 miles, which sounds about right.
Who cares, Freilinger, I hear you all saying. This is a blog, not a trip planning site. Continue reading “Flanneur d’autoroute”
Do it well
Another weekend in Seattle. My son was lovely this weekend, his spring break starting on Friday afternoon with his last after school science club meeting (he’s starting golf on Mondays after the break). We only had three days together but the same small pile of things came over from his mom’s house: the bag of Lego trains which would be disassembled and reassembled several times, swim trunks, craft books from the library, skateboarding items, golf clubs (despite the wind and rain for the weekend), stuffed bear, box of science projects. Once he got to the apartment everything had its place and we settled into games of Sorry, cheeseburger lunches, afternoon activities, and more games of Sorry.
It’s so big
Last night I took the dog to Peaks Island for a nighttime walk. The ferry was cold and I didn’t wear quite enough layers – perfect for the walk, but the wind coming across Casco Bay, combined with the perky pace of the Machigonne II car ferry, meant I was chilled to the bone when I got back to the mainland. I put the dog in the back of the car – after a three hour walk he curled up and immediately fell asleep – and I popped into a bar for a quick whisky to warm up. The woman next to me struck up a conversation when her husband excused himself to use the loo. She was from northern Vermont, she and her husband owned a craft brewery, and they had engineered a few days holiday in Portland around a “business tour” of a couple of breweries in town.