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2007!January 02, 2007 And a happy new year to you too. Winter comes and goes but mostly seems to be happening somewhere else. Yesterday it poured down rain all day but the temps were in the fifties. "Global warming" is the popular explanation, but I'll hedge my bets: the first three winters I had Allie, I rode all winter with few interruptions, but the next three were Malamutt Specials -- including 2004/2005, when one January blizzard dropped two and a half feet of snow on Martha's Vineyard. When it comes to weather, most people's memory extends no further back than the last weather report they heard on TV. When it comes to global warming, the polar ice cap is a better source of evidence. Today was bright and sunny, but cooler. This morning I started easing back into The Squatters' Speakeasy, rereading the hundred or so draft pages I'd already done. Well, they're overwritten to the max, but there's plenty of good stuff in there, much of which I'd forgotten. The dates on my handwritten drafts and notes continue nearly to the end of July 2004: it's pretty clear that what stopped me in my tracks was retina detachment #1, which happened on or about August 1, 2004. Two surgeries and recoveries, compounded by the need to pay for same, followed by an extended excursion into nonfiction that resulted in "My Terrorist Eye: Risk, the Unexpected, and the War on Terrorism," put the Squatters on indefinite hold. I've been waiting for the perfect, or at least a favorable, combination of circumstances: adequate time and money, and a publisher for The Mud of the Place. Maybe there's such a harmonic convergence in my future, but I'm done waiting for it. The Squatters are playing and singing up a storm in my head -- time to build them a Speakeasy. The bloggery will probably show signs of Squatter's Mind in coming weeks. Squatter's Mind is exuberant, irreverent, musical, and more than a bit self-righteous; it's frequently hostile to real estate agents and builders. If I say something really rude, blame it on the squatters.
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