The call of the dig
The National Geographic channel has distracted me this afternoon. Maybe I need a new career, as an underwater archeologist, or a forensic analyst of Viking massacres. It’s not too late for me to change course.
I’ve already got the diving and photography skills. Perhaps I just need to relocate to warmer climes; somewhere that ice doesn’t shield the surf line. Agreed, I could work on sites around here, but I appreciate the level of visibility and the temperatures that seem to prevail (on TV). And as for the Viking saga, I could probably learn to read another old language or two. After all, my love for Latin has served me well so far.
That’s the thing. No need to stay with that dead end, minimum wage career path. Do you hear me, kids? There is so much that we don’t know about underwater Viking wreck sites. Get out there, and start your grid searches this year. Forget telling people that you’re seeking treasure; this is all about knowledge that will get you a spot on NatGeoTV.
I’ve got my own conundrum. How do you prevent the car from growing ice spurs? While out for groceries, I realized that all four wheel wells of the Versa were rapidly putting down roots. If this cold snap continues, the car won’t want to leave the safety of the driveway.
Too late to do much about it today. I’m going to stay inside, watching the dog watch me. And when she goes home, I’m going to hide in a warm bed. Weekend warrior; that’s me.
