The Anecdotal Life Part 87.
I sit warm in the library waiting for our first real winter storm. I am at the library because by jumping into the new facebook hubbub, I allowed strange things to invade my computer. My own fault entirely, since I hadn't current antivirus protection or spyware.
I was, just a few days ago, inhaling spring... or so I thought. My sister, Diane, had been regaling me with cougar stories, where he had been seen last, etc. Obviously, she and her bridge buddies don't have the usual bridge chit chat. It seems their sightings and collected reports of sightings have ranged from the dunes up near Empire, Michigan, to the hills across the lake from us. That is getting a little close.
I can only report a plethora of fat robins sprinkling the lawns and my cats beating the stuffings out of each other ( at any rate I think that's what they doing) and begging to go out. Everyone in the family is yearning for the Lake. A neighbor in a recent letter, whose cottage is up the hill some from ours, was fantasizing about the inevitable Hearts games we play on the porch. He was intending to capture the "two tens of diamonds" in one of our rounds. I blew the opportunity of a lifetime and sent a reply that said don't you mean the "two jack of diamonds" ? When will I learn to leave well enough alone. That would have been so beautiful.
One thing I can report for certain is that my boat must be ready and is being readied for, hopefully, a new marina across the Chesapeake. I went to a meeting at the Bodkin Creek Marina up north of me in Pasedena, Maryland to be put on their waiting list for a slip. It is a great spot on a small promontory on Bodkin Creek that leads to the bay. It will be out of the wind and perhaps now, at last , I can practice docking without having an overweening North wind bullying me into the opposite direction and ignoring my pitiful efforts to keep square with the dock and narrow slip I need to back into. At all but one practice session I had to hand it over to whichever Captain was giving the lesson and let him fight the current and wind. They all had trouble themselves so I didn't truly have to apologize, but I still felt less than competent. There was, I remember, one fine day where I did make it into the slip. It was calm and I had a calm and gentle Captain. He stood in the cockpit calling up to the flybridge which gear to use and I , all by myself for once, maneuvered the 34 feet of my beloved monster , stern first into the slip. That was such a good day. I think with the size of the boat I have , I will always need one or two people in the stern calling directions or fending off minor collisions with whatever is on each side of me. Then, after a few more sessions, that will be "good enough for government work." That's the way it with most things we endeavor though. We rarely can do it all on our own. One way or another we always need a hand.
Copyright: March 1, 2009.
I was, just a few days ago, inhaling spring... or so I thought. My sister, Diane, had been regaling me with cougar stories, where he had been seen last, etc. Obviously, she and her bridge buddies don't have the usual bridge chit chat. It seems their sightings and collected reports of sightings have ranged from the dunes up near Empire, Michigan, to the hills across the lake from us. That is getting a little close.
I can only report a plethora of fat robins sprinkling the lawns and my cats beating the stuffings out of each other ( at any rate I think that's what they doing) and begging to go out. Everyone in the family is yearning for the Lake. A neighbor in a recent letter, whose cottage is up the hill some from ours, was fantasizing about the inevitable Hearts games we play on the porch. He was intending to capture the "two tens of diamonds" in one of our rounds. I blew the opportunity of a lifetime and sent a reply that said don't you mean the "two jack of diamonds" ? When will I learn to leave well enough alone. That would have been so beautiful.
One thing I can report for certain is that my boat must be ready and is being readied for, hopefully, a new marina across the Chesapeake. I went to a meeting at the Bodkin Creek Marina up north of me in Pasedena, Maryland to be put on their waiting list for a slip. It is a great spot on a small promontory on Bodkin Creek that leads to the bay. It will be out of the wind and perhaps now, at last , I can practice docking without having an overweening North wind bullying me into the opposite direction and ignoring my pitiful efforts to keep square with the dock and narrow slip I need to back into. At all but one practice session I had to hand it over to whichever Captain was giving the lesson and let him fight the current and wind. They all had trouble themselves so I didn't truly have to apologize, but I still felt less than competent. There was, I remember, one fine day where I did make it into the slip. It was calm and I had a calm and gentle Captain. He stood in the cockpit calling up to the flybridge which gear to use and I , all by myself for once, maneuvered the 34 feet of my beloved monster , stern first into the slip. That was such a good day. I think with the size of the boat I have , I will always need one or two people in the stern calling directions or fending off minor collisions with whatever is on each side of me. Then, after a few more sessions, that will be "good enough for government work." That's the way it with most things we endeavor though. We rarely can do it all on our own. One way or another we always need a hand.
Copyright: March 1, 2009.
posted by The Anecdotal Life at 10:23 AM
2 Comments:
I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song
and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face,
and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way
where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick’s over.
- John Masefield
thank you Raoul. love that poem
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