Blog Dia 42: Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

It's that Time again.

Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain. Time to set the controls for the center of the sun.

Blog Dia started out wanting to be a sort of shared personal time capsule, the one place where we told our story as it is, like they say, the good the bad and the ugly. A way of telling our story as it evolves all while recording our personal 'diary'. All hidden in full display through the wide open spaces between the lines and the words that border them. Those that follow regularly might have noticed we like to write and play word games. Some will have an opinion as to whether we're actually any good at it. That's ok. We'd love a million readers but that's besides the point. We are recording time, our Time, as it trickles with the oddly consistent irregular beat of our hearts. The only true measure of time. It just doesn't always translate well.

Blog Dia, is admittedly also about content now. The epitome of shameless marketing: Sincere Pride. We make it happen. The result is easier to share than the road. So many plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines.

We share the warmth as radiantly as we can, but being in front of a white page with no clue what to write on this rainy day. So much rain, so much water. Non-stop pouring rain. It's not men, it's rain. It reminds us of the pain of living where this is the main. Odd when the news here talks about water companies cutting it. And that today will never be enough for tomorrow. There is something special about rain though, lot's of rain, when you don't see it often. It provides a sort of comfort to just staying home, home again. We like to be here when we can. It's good to warm our bones beside the fire. Put on a good record and listen to it. Let the Time go by. And listen to it. Twice.

Everything we've ever done led us here where we are happy to be, where past occupational rituals are celebrated for the pool of culture they provide (memories) rather than the life it was at the time. Although there is no doubt we passionately loved every second of it and the people we shared it with. It was in our bones from childhood. The child is gone, The dream is grown. Have we become comfortably home?

After 5 circles around the sun, maybe this very rainy day is an opportunity to shine some light on the number of days we are Obscured by the Clouds. By now this page has a gray lining. Let's fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.

Our business is about 82.4% of the time on a yearly basis and can be anywhere from there, to 0% depending on the time of the year. This very clear and real statistic (you may need to read it again) exposes the fact that behind the unwritten promise of 300 days of sunshine per year (that we write every time we mention), there are 64 days of not. It is in this other 17.6% that we get 100% of the yearly rainfall. Within those 64 days per year...not necessarily throughout. Did we just get 50% overnight? Let me just leave a few blank spaces here as expletives: ... Or not. Holy shit.

November, December, April or May, bring a big coin, you may need it for cover if it falls the wrong way. It can last minutes or hours and sometimes a day, but hardly ever as long as a stay. That's the normal part of the curve anyway. Sometimes the coin hits an object, bounces off another towards the road, where it rolls straight towards the gutter. Weather it's called good or not is part of the curve. So who knows. It really depends on which side of normal we are being extreem about. If there's someone in your head and it's not me, you're not listening to the right tune. By the Time it's played twice the clouds are on the run and the sky is any color you like while the sun is racing around to come up behind us again.

Monte-Bougainvillea had a record season labelled après la pluie le beau temps. This is a special anniversary double thank you. 5 years have got behind us and all the flamingos are called floyd. Thank you all for being in the pipeline, filling in time. Our cloudy white page now a ships' smoke on the horizon. Please excuse us while we have a cigar.