The Explorers' Club
№ CCXCIV - Fridtjof Nansen (1861-1930), Part III: The Nansen passport & the Nansen bottle.









I've a personal hero in Fridtjof Nansen, a man to stand alongside the likes of Ernest Shackleton & Winston Churchill, & a select company of additional latter-day Argonauts.

Objective SCHWEDEN
Independence Day & the baleful blackout made my daily constitutional any but daily, & today I walked the familiar circuit for the first time in a week. My legs were sore from yesterday's yard work extravaganza (mowed the lawn, trimmed the hedges—including climbing betwixt the hedges & the house—, pruned the oak in the front yard, & pickd up all the sticks felled by the Wednesday night/Thursday morning storm that caused the blackout), but as usual there was no better cure for that rust than a bit of exercise. My time wasn't bad, but 'twas a bit off the pre-Fourth of July pace. Nothing for it but to put in the work to claw back what's been lost.

He's Dead, Jim
My Mom came through the blackout in fine style, but on Sunday, a full day after electrical power had been restored, she was afflicted by a sudden lethargy & a harsh, persistent cough. Twenty-four hours later much of her strength had returned, & the cough was less frequent, but had not disappeared. The cough has become sporadic today, but still prompts a harsh bark whenever it recurs. She's avoided her part-time babysitting gig in order not to risk infecting the wee bairns. I am paranoid about contracting this particular strain of the dreadful sick & am watching myself closely for symptoms, perhaps to the point of mild hypochondria.

Perchance to Dream
I've recalled recently two of my dreams. Friday morning, the first long, hot, sweat-soaked night of the blackout, I dreamt of my wife. She was tall & lean, with dirty blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was French. I've no idea if she was bilingual, but she spoke no English during the dream; I was fluent in French, though of course I don't really know French so what she said & I comprehended was certainly gibberish. I swept her off her feet & we made love in an auditorium. (?) I can picture her vaguely still, & I've been racking my brain to recall if she wears the face of an actress I've seen, someone I'd recognize but who's name I've never known, or if my mind invented her beauty all on its own.

This very morning, I dreamt that in a vast, unruly pile of books I discovered a small, leather-bound volume, Seven Pillars of Wisdom by Lawrence of Arabia. I've no idea why, but this discovery sent me into a slight panic. I was very concerned because I'd also placed Seven Pillars of Wisdom on reserve at the lending library (as I've done in the waking world), & somehow this posed a problem, a grave problem. Would the world end were I to have two copies of the book in my possession simultaneously? Couldn't I just cancel my reservation at the lending library? I awoke not long after, meaning I'll never know the answer to why my dream self was so perturbed. Alas, my beauteous Gallic bride was nowhere to be seen.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Dropkick Murphys, "Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced" from Blackout (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary:

"Oh, fuck it. Who am I shittin'?
I'm a pitiful sight, & I ain't all that bright.
I'm definitely not chiseled from stone.
I'm a cheat, & a liar, no woman's desire,
I'll probably die cold & alone."