And so it goes. I try not to be too deep in my thoughts here on Chappy, both because it’s not always healthy for me to exist too comfortably in my interior, and because too much depth can appear precocious, precious and contrived. But I find it difficult to ignore the everyday lessons Chappy provides.

Wasn’t long ago that we were torn asunder from the mainland, separated by a capricious sea. And once broken apart, the act of rejoining, of coming together, seems such a difficult task. But here we are again. Together. Deep cuts healed. I was never one for taking the beach route much (laziness would typically win out), but I do find it comforting knowing that we have an attachment to the Big Island once again.

Conversely, I also find comfort in our isolation. Or maybe more so in our relation to the immensity of the ocean. Looking out at the sea, particularly at night, I get a distinct sense that there is something so much greater than I. My little plot of land can be crossed in a day’s time, but the expanse of the ocean seems an infinite hike. And then up above, the Chappy sky, every bit as deep as the ocean. There have been sleepless nights in my cabin on North Neck where my best and greatest companions have been the clanging of the green can, or the dependable flash of the lighthouse. I know that the ocean roils with life, but it creates a stillness in me that is irreplaceable.

There was a moth on the screen of my window last night. Maybe winter is not going to last until June.

I have several loves in life, for sure, the automatic car wash being one of them. No matter the technological advances we have experienced in my lifetime, the car wash still feels space-agey to me. I find it a five-minute glimpse into a world where anything is possible. I’m obviously easily impressed. But also, there are few things that I enjoy more than getting really, really dirty and then really, really clean. Like father, like truck.

Speaking of bathing, Alphonso the Cat had a bath — thanks to the mobile grooming services of Tanya. I think that it is understandable and acceptable to have lost track of Alphonso’s brushing schedule, but the mats formed by his displacement in the hierarchy simply are not anything but shameful. He had become the feline equivalent of the grimy infant in a soiled diaper on the floor of his parents’ Chevy Malibu. I do think he was humbled by the experience, however. Gone are the halcyon days of his youth and the casual wealth of his home in Manila, where he could gaze at the street cats through the glass walls, and wonder how they survived such neglect. Now he knows. But he’s good now, comfortably curled in a squirrel ball on Etienne’s changing table. I’ll be using the bed again tonight for E’s diaper swap.

I expect I’ll be seeing more of my neighbors in the coming days, as we emerge from our rabbit holes like prematurely awakened Rip Van Winkles. Howdy, neighbor.

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