Wet Dreams...

On a blustery weekend in mid September, I was on the boat alone, not alone, the German Shepherd was along for the ride. Cakes was flying somewhere, San Francisco I think.. We spent Friday night on the boat, On Saturday morning I left our mooring on the Salem side of Marblehead, I sailed east into the Atlantic. I left at dawn. The compass read 90 degrees, I stayed on that course for 12 hours. At 6 pm straight up, I turned around, set a course for 270 degrees and sailed back

Air Time is a quick boat, a Ron Holland design 9.2 meters (29 feet, 10 inches) she's beamy and at 7,000 lbs is relatively light. With her modified keel and rig she can carry a lot of sail. Air Time is a race boat, not a cruiser or a floating Clorox bottle like some boats. She has a nice tidy, practical interior, a galley and a head. 9.2Rs (the R stands for race) have been sailed in s few long distance races, most notable the Transpac, from California to Hawaii, just over 2500 miles. Air Time has won her class in the Marblehead to Halifax race and placed 2nd twice. I've toyed with doing the Newport Bermuda double-handed race in her. But I need more experience off shore and that's what this little excursion is about.

Together we averaged 5.8 knots over the 24 hours in winds ranging from 12 to 25 miles an hour. We covered 139 miles in 24 hours. The waves were 4-6 feet and well spaced. We had high scudding clouds overhead during the day, it cleared Saturday night.

The dog slept below most of the time, he'd spend some time in the cockpit with me with his nose in the wind, then head back to his spot in the cabin. He doesn't like to do his business on the boat, but he finally peed near the scuppers and I rinsed it off with a bucket of seawater. We were both hungry and had an early dinner. He had a bowl of dog food, I ate a can of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It's funny, I don't like canned fruit and seldom eat it, but on the boat I always crave fruit cocktail. I had a can for desert. The dog got a cookie.

I listened to some Dylan, then some classical music on the CD player. The boat is steered (better than I can) by a Raynarine Tillerpilot. I read  George V. Higgins until the light failed just after 7. We're heading back now and we get a sunset on the ocean, rare where we live on the East Coast. The wind picks up a little from 12 to 15, I play with the strings. The boat speed jumps a 1/2 knot, the wind has shifted a bit so were on a beam reach. I listen to the weather on the VHF, it's supposed to stay like this through tomorrow. I'd like more wind.

 I'm not tired, but I should try to sleep. I need to be wide awake when we get closer to home, a north-south shipping lane runs about 12 miles off the coast, there not a lot of traffic, but it's there. We're sailing in the Stellwagen Bank, a Marine sanctuary, once we cross the bank fishing boats show up

I've got a radar reflector and I set the VHF on the hailing channel, took a look around, propped a cushion against the bulkhead and stretched out. I dozed off and on for and hour or so. I feel pretty good. I peed over the stern rail. Every time I do, I remember a Coastie saying, "most of the time when we fetch an offshore drowning victim's body, it's usually a guy with his fly open".

Check the GPS, everything is fine, on course. I adjust the sails, go below and get a jacket, it's cooling off. Back in the cockpit, I rub my dog's ears and smoke a cigar. At midnight, I made a pot of coffee in our French press, pour a cup and put the rest in the heavy duty construction worker style, stainless steel thermos jug. We even have a holder for the thermos in the companionway.

The sky is incredible out here at night, we're still far off shore, there's no light pollution. The gaps in the light cloud cover reveal a night sky most of us never see.

We sail on. With three hours to go, I'm getting sleepy, I pour another mug of coffee, I should make some fresh. I put the Rolling Stones' "Stripped" on the CD player and crank it up. I wash my face in the sink and go back to the cockpit.

I run numbers in my head, at this speed in this boat, we could sail to the Azores in 12 days, add another 10 days to that and we could be in Gibraltar and into the Med. Believe me I've thought about it.

I've been thinking about long distance sailing since I was 11 years old and read "Sailing Around the World, Alone" by Joshua Slocum for the first time. I've read all the solo sailing stories, Cichester, the first to do it with one stop, Webb Chiles, Robin Knox Johnson and more. I've had a discussion with Phil Weld of Manchester, the single handed Ostar race winner from England to New York City. Weld told me, "you need to learn to sail in all kinds of weather, when other boats don't go out, you go out." I read once that if you want to sail around Cape Horn you need to be comfortable sailing in 50 knots of wind for days".

When I was getting Air Time ready for this season, I met Dame Ellen MacArthur. At one time she held the non-stop around the world record of 71 days sailing an Open 50. How did I met her? I loaned her support crew a hose and my extension cords at the Alden Yard in Rhode Island. Her crew gave me a ride on the race boat, wow! Ellen MacArthur is maybe 5 foot 3 in heels.

I think about sailing around the world all the time.I don't talk about it, because when you do, people think you're nuts, even other sailors think you're nuts.

I can see the Marblehead Light, about 90 minutes to go.

At 6:20 Air Time is on her mooring. I crawled in the 1/4 berth and slept until 9, I cleaned the boat up, called the launch. The dog did his business in the parking lot, he was very relieved. After breakfast at Dunkin Donuts on Route 1A in Swampscott, we picked Cakes up at Logan at noon. I asked, "How was your trip?" "Bumpy all the way back from the west coast. How was your sail?" I smiled and told her, "It couldn't have been better."

Cakes was tired from her flight, I was tired from sailing for 24 homes, we home and took a long nap. I think we went out to dinner and a movie that night.

(A few years later I did get my chance to sail in 50 knot winds, but that's another story.)

.

Daytime TV and...

I took my car to the Jeep store to get an oil change yesterday, I was informed I need to get the 4 wheel drive system serviced and there was a minor recall too. I told them to take care of it all...this left me with a lot of time on my hands.

I sat down in the customer lounge with a cup of free coffee, The VIEW was on the huge TV, had to be at least a 65 incher. The sound was down, I was reading, I looked up from time to time and saw women yelling at each other, went back to my book, looked up, now they were laughing...I have no idea about what or why.

I wandered around in the show room, then out on the lot...it was lunch time. I strolled across the street to a sandwich shop. Nice little place owned by an Asian lady and her husband. She handles the money, he makes the sandwiches. I ordered the daily special, chips, large drink and the special sandwich,, bologna and cheese. I haven't had bologna in years. I ordered it on sourdough with everything, lettuce, tomato, peppers, red onion, deli mustard, mayo with sharp cheddar. It was at least 5 inches thick. I sat outside , it took me 45 minutes to eat the damn thing, it was huge.

Full, I needed a walk. The Jeep store is in the Thousand Oaks Auto Mall. It's big, 17 car stores, every thing from Fiat to Rolls Royce. I wander on the Mercedes Benz lot...Cakes needs an new car, I know what she likes. Here it is.

Nice isn't it? I looked at the sticker, she's not getting it. Why? It's a long, long way from need to desire.

Just for grins, I walked down to the Rolls Royce-Bentley dealer, O'Gara Coach Westlake. No asphalt lot here, the cars are parked on manicured grass around a pond 1 salesman on duty in the showroom, 9 cars on display inside, 6 Bentley's, 3 Rolls. I'm adding up the sticker prices in my head as I look at the cars, divide by 9, average price, $250,000. over 2 million in inventory in the show room, there are 22 cars displayed out side, 5 and a half million parked in the sun including a Rolls Royce Dawn convertible with the top down The leather smell wafts through the showroom. I'm getting dizzy from it. The salesman calls the upholstery "hides". I have on khakis, a Boston Bruins t shirt and flip flops, he makes no assumptions about me. He asks what I'm interested in, I tell him my wife needs a car. He asks what she's driving now, I tell him a BMW 550, he smiles a says, a very good car. He tells me about Bentley's lease program, I can get Cakes a Bentley GT (2 door hardtop) for 10k down, $1,886 a month for 36 months and get this, 2500 miles a year. I smiled, shook his hand, took his card and scurried back to the real world. I didn't bother to look at O'Gara's selection of Lamborghini automobiles.

A little sidebar is in order: I know a corporate car guy in Florida, his family has a Rolls store, number one in North America. One salesman, the guy makes over 500k a year. To put things in perspective, He only sold 22 cars last year. World wide, Rolls builds and sells just over 4,000 cars a year, less than 25% in North America. The majority are sold in the Middle East.

I wander past the Porsche store, Land Rover, BMW, Lexus and Ford stores. Finally, I'm back at Jeep. I check in with my service guy, about an hour to go. Back to the waiting room, grab a bottle of water, set my phone to their free wifi. I check the news, read my email and look up, a stunning blonde woman, not a kid, is on the TV and like Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London" her hair is perfect. At minimum, a 500 hundred dollar Beverley Hills cut, color and style.. Her make up is top flight too. This blonde is in a padded cell, she's wearing a straight jacket, she's being restrained by a large man, obviously a psych ward attendant. A large, powerful nurse has a box in her hand, she opens it and inside is a huge, horse sized hypodermic needle containing an evil looking amber fluid.

A commercial comes on, I go take a pee. The rest room has an automatic light switch, as I'm standing there peeing, the light goes out. The switch is across the room. Fun.
I felt my way out out of the restroom, the TV is still on, Something has happened in the padded cell, the blonde's hair is mussed up and she's very upset...who wouldn't be?

My service guy Chris sticks his head in the waiting room, asks me if I'd like a complementary wash. I take it. When I finish with Chris, a woman is throwing a Molotov Cocktail on the TV...the show ends with an office on fire and a guy handcuffed to a piece of furniture all while a woman is laughing hysterically. The credits come up, It was General Hospital.

I wonder what my grandmother would think of one of her "favorite" shows today? Apparently GH has been on the air for 55 years. I don't think I've seen it since I had the Asian Flu in the 70's and I was too sick to find the remote.

Treason Live on International TV...

I watched our *president on International television this morning side with Vladimir Putin against his own country...

"I  have great confidence in my intelligence people, but I will tell you  that President Putin was extremely strong and powerful in his denial  today," said Trump, repeatedly denouncing the special counsel  investigation into Russian interference efforts, which intelligence  officials warn are ongoing.

"I don't see any reason why Russia would interfere in the 2016 election," Trump said.

trump said, as he has countless times, that there was  "no collusion" between his campaign and the Russians. "We ran a  brilliant campaign and that's why I'm president," he said.

Then there was this bullshit...

Trump said he held "both countries responsible" thinks the  United States has been "fooling" and that "we're all to blame."

"The probe in a disaster for our country. There was no collusion at all."

Putin, speaking through an interpreter, once again denied what he  described as "so-called interference of Russia." He called it "nonsense"  and insisted the Russian state had never interfered and would never  interfere in the American electoral process."

Then Putin offered to "help" the United States get to the bottom of this. 

Putin sounds like OJ when he said he was going to find the "real killer"

Russia is a 4th rate country, terrible economy, well behind Italy, their economy is based on extraction industries, they don't make anything worthwhile. Their military is suspect, old equipment, bad leadership and a weak navy. Who knows if their nukes even work anymore. 

Ask yourself, when's the last time you ever bought anything made in Russia. Even the oligarchs can't get their money out of Russia fast enough.

Why trump's suck up to Putin? 

It has to be money, he owes shady Russians a lot of it. He couldn't borrow from any American or any other major banks for years, except one, Duetsch Bank, one of the few major banks in the world that will handle money for Russians. Duetsch Bank has been fined heavily numerous times for money laundering.

Trump properties got cash infusions from Russian buyers, buyers who seldom if ever use their condos and apartments. There is a trump condo complex north of Miami, over 60% owned by Russian nationals, most of the condos are empty, the lights are never on.

trump settled a money laundering suit with the state of New Jersey, the inference was it was Russian mob cash flowing through his casinos.

If the republicans in the house and senate don't step up and do something, they are as complicit and bought and paid for as trump. 

And there is no way in hell trump should get a vote on a Supreme Court Justice like Kavanaugh, who doesn't believe there are any restraints or legal jeopardy for a sitting president.

Fuck these guys and the NRA too, See the indictment today of the cute little Russian who has been rubbing up against  Wayne La Pierre?

Resist!

Road Trip Rituals...

Grand Forks was a good, maybe even an excellent place to grow up in. Like some of us, I moved away as soon as I could, I was glad to leave…but always glad to come back.

I have a friend, a successful music executive in Nashville. Carolyn is from a small town in Texas. One night over dinner, Carolyn said she often drives from Nashville to her hometown. She times her trip to stay overnight at the Texas-Arkansas border, gets up early in the morning, puts on jeans, a U of T shirt, cowboy boots and with the top down on her Mercedes, drives across the border at sunrise with a Pearl beer in her hand, her left foot on the dash and Tanya Tucker’s “Texas When I Die” on the CD player. Hell of a picture isn’t it.

I told Carolyn I’ve done a similar thing. Driven into North Dakota, usually in the late afternoon, turned north towards Grand Forks, rolled down all the windows, cracked a Grain Belt beer and enjoyed the smell of the land and the crops coming in the car windows and the huge prairie sun off to the west.

Caroline asked, “What music do you have on?”

“Depends, last time, I think it was Neil Young.”

“What song, dammit?” Carolyn said.

“After the Gold Rush” or maybe “Cowgirl in the Sand”

“Why Neil Young?”

“He’s from Winnipeg, the north end of the same valley I grew up in, he’s my age and I like his music.”

Carolyn, a bit of a music historian, said, “Why not Liz or Lynn Anderson, they have roots in your damn home town?”

“I’m not a fan of their music.”

“What the hell, you think I’m a big Tanya Tucker fan?”

"Real Americans" have short memories....

                    Who is a "Real American", anyway? 

The majority of Americans don't live in the "Heartland" We live in cities on the coasts, east and west. 

We get branded as "Coastal Elitists" by the minority of Americans who don't live in major cities or high population states. These "Real Americans" are convinced we aren't 'Real Americans", we aren't patriotic like they are, we don't honor the flag. We don't go to church, etc, etc. 

I've had it pointed out to me that we wouldn't rescue a lost puppy! Apparently the traffic jam I was trapped in on the freeway caused by a dog rescue was just a figment of my imagination. I've had it pointed out to me that we aren't interested in helping our neighbors, we just don't care. I guess when I'd shovel my elderly Back Bay neighbor's sidewalk after nasty New England snow storms doesn't count, because I'm not a "Real American".

I grew up in North Dakota, can't get anymore Heartland than that, can you? 

In my home county today, here's a profile of "Real America".

There are 970 farms in my home county of 70 plus thousand people, in short, there are no farmers. These "Real Americans" tilling the soil enjoy a median household income of $171,000 a year, higher than Greenwich, Connecticut. Just the salt of the earth, right?

My dad's mom was the daughter of Norwegian immigrants, her first language was Norwegian, why? Because that's what they spoke at home. Guess what, I worked for a guy, his parents were Italian immigrants, they spoke Italian at home and like my grandmother's Norwegian, his first language was Italian. Like my family and Norwegian, his kids don't speak Italian.

Hispanic families are in the same situation, so are Vietnamese families and all of the people of the diverse immigrant community where I live. When the 2nd generation shows up nobody speaks the family's native tongue anymore. The only exception is if grandma or grandpa live in the house. The same as it was when I was a kid.

When I was growing up in North Dakota, you didn't have to travel very far out of town, actually you could stay in town, to hear people speaking Norwegian, Swedish, German and a lot of older people spoke broken English, English so broken they were difficult to understand. My grandmother used to have telephone conversations in Norwegian in the 50's and 60's, by that time, her family had been in the country since before North Dakota was a state.

My great, grandmother on my mother's side was born in Land's End, England. Her parents immigrated to Illinois with out her. Little baby Alice Allen was left behind, too young to make the trip. Little Alice came to America at age three, bought by a relative to the USA to join her parents in Illinois. Even under the loose immigration laws of the time, I'm not sure Little Alice was ever legal and here she was benefiting from the dreaded 'Chain Migration" Good thing Alice Allen wasn't Chinese.

A friend's great grandfather was on the County Commission in Polk County Minnesota in the 1880's. Carl has some of his notes, a reoccurring theme in the meetings, held by the all Lutheran, Norwegian Commissioners is how they were going to address the "Papist" problem. They were scared to death that the newly arriving Irish and Polish Catholics were going to change the culture of the county. 

A friend of mine, his name is Alberto, came to the US illegally, worked the fields, saved his money, got his papers, went home found a wife and brought her to the the US with no papers, we were going through one of our "get tough on immigration" periods at the time. Eventually they had two baby girls, Alberto got his wife's paperwork straightened out with the help of the Immigration and Naturalization Service and life went on. Alberto worked hard, started a business and prospered. One of his girls graduated from UCLA, the other from Columbia. The UCLA grad retired from the Navy as a Commander and now works for the Department of the Navy, the other is a VP at Boeing in Seattle. Alberto's story is not rare where I live. In fact it's the norm

I buy gas from an Iranian immigrant, he owns the station. His mother recently died in Tehran, it was damn near impossible for him to go home to bury her and come back to his family and business. 

The handy convenience store not far from our house up in the canyon is owned by a Syrian, his sons, born here run the store from 6am to midnight, 7 days a week. They have family in Aleppo.

I buy an occasional cigar from an Afghan immigrant, he owns a little tobacco store near a super market where we shop. His kids, born here, are as American as you can get.

The Iranian, the Syrians and the Afghani are all Muslims, they don't wear their religion on their sleeves like some Christians do. The Afghani at Christmas wished me a Merry Christmas and added, 'we are all the children of Abraham, peace be with you my friend".

These people are not scary, they are not trying to overturn our system or our culture. They are adding to the colorful and beautiful fabric of American life just like our immigrant forefathers did. 

If these people bother you, you're not a "Real American". 

  

Our Quest for Fireworks...

We had an odd 4th of July, not that it was a bad 4th of July, just a different 4th of July...

We planned to go to the beach, Anze the Dog wanted to build his sand condo complexes. Cakes and I needed some sun. We wanted some seafood from Neptune's Net. Then we were going to cook a couple of steaks on the grill. We were going to have a cocktail or two and a nice bottle of wine with dinner. We were going to have some apple pie.

We did none of the above.

Instead, I wrote "Aftermath" cooked a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, Cakes did some 4th of July posts for her clients and some planning for the balance of the week. The three of us took a nice long nap.

Awake in the late afternoon, we looked at each other. We decided that we were too damn lazy to do much of anything. I didn't feel like grilling either. An hour passed pleasantly on the porch, now it was 5. We had a cocktail. Cakes had a screwdriver, I had a Jack on the rocks. I looked at her, she looked at me

We ordered take out from Red's Barbecue. Free delivery on orders over $25,00. Combo dinner with three sides, $28,95 with tax and delivery, I added a 7 buck tip for the kid who drove it to us. he was a nice kid, too. His parents have a ton of money invested in his braces. He complimented us on the house and the flowers, should have tipped him more.

In the huge bag from Red's there were baby back ribs, a chunk of smoked tri tip and a chicken breast, mashed potatoes, baked beans and cole slaw. A lot of food for two. There are left overs in the fridge.

We finished dinner and decided to drive the twisting, turning road to the top of the mountain (big hill) to watch the fireworks from Canoga Park, Agoura, Thousnad Oaks, Simi, and Moorpark, the summit is over 2 thousand feet and once you get there the view is hellacious. The big hill is in the Santa Monica Mountains Preserve, so there are a few rangers around.

Our ranger was a nice, thin, middle aged guy, who politely suggested we were nuts to think we would enjoy 4th of July fireworks from up there, explaing, "All you'll see is some flashes in the sky, no sound none of the punch you get when you're close, know what I mean?"

Anze the Dog did his business and we left.

Back down the twisty road with steep drop offs. "Don't get so close to the side, it scares me." Cakes said. She wasn't polite about it either.

She suggested we just go home and watch fireworks on PBS. I said "No! I want to see some fireworks, it's the 4th of July!" I was as polite as she had been.

We get on Los Angeles Avenue, a pretty busy street, but tonight it's like the 405 at 5 on a Friday afternoon, we're a mile from the Community Center complex, the traffic is bumper to bumper and cars are parked on both sides of the 6 lane divided street. The sidewalks are filled with people hauling coolers, lawn chairs, kids in strollers, kids with balloons, we're crawling along at 5 miles an hour. My idea is to park across the street from the Community Center in the train station parking lot, we're about two blocks from the turn off to the lot. There are cops every where, lights flashing, they can't get the traffic moving so they are standing around by their cruisers, shooting the shit under the flashing lights. Nice.

I'm stuck in the right hand lane so I hang a right into a grocery store parking lot ignoring the huge sign saying "No Event Parking" we creep, bumper to bumper in the lot for 10 minutes hoping against hope we can find a spot to park and walk to the community center. I finally find a spot behind the Smart and Final grocery store. I park across from the loading dock, there are a couple of mugs with their truck blocking the driveway right behind where I park, they have dayglo vests on, they must be official because nobody wears a dayglo vest just for the hell of it. I ask them if it's okay to park there, the fat guy shrugs and says, "I don't give a shit." We stay put and parked. We can hear music from the event, the girl singer talks too much between songs, but other than that...the band isn't too bad. More cars and people show up. People are putting blankets down on the asphalt for chrissakes! Kids are running around, there's drinking going on in violation of the law, nobody is worried because the cops are standing around in bullet proof vests telling each other cop jokes.

I hook up Anze the Dog to his leash and walk him around, he makes friends with a dozen people, licks a few faces and falls in love with a little Asian girl.

Back in the Jeep, we roll back the sun roof. Cakes take off her sandals, stands up on the seat, gets her camera ready as the countdown to the show starts, 9-8-7-6. There's a hedge and a wall next to the car. 5-4-3-2-1. We hear a whump on the other side of the wall and then the sky lights up.

Whump, whump...

Whump, whump, whump...

The fireworks are exploding right over our heads...what the hell!

The guys shooting off the display are right on the other side of the wall! After all the bullshit we've gone through to see fireworks this year, we end up right  next to them, wow. We are not only stunned, but amazed! Not only do we get the full treatment up close, the back wall of the grocery store bounces the sound right back at us and it it's loud enough to give you a punch in the guts and a kick in the ass! And it doesn't bother Anze the Dog a bit!

BLAM!

It took us forever to get out from behind the store and out of the parking lot. Everybody was courteous except the asshole in the old Bronco that obviously can't pass the emissions inspection, the exhaust stink was so bad, I had to roll up the windows, close the sunroof and turn the AC on recirculate so we could breath. We made in home with smiles on our faces, in bed and asleep by 11:30. A good 4th of July after all.

July 4th Roundup-Aftermath

Mom looks like Katherine Hepburn, her best friend Betty looks like Donna Reed and her other best friend Margaret looks like Loretta Young. Movie stars, the three of them. Right now they are doing dishes, it's late at the lake. The men? They're sitting out in the yard, lying to each other, that's what the old man calls it anyway.

Ginny's mom, Betty is divorced, Ginny hates, with the power of a thousand burning suns, her mom's boyfriend Mike. I don't like him either. I get the feeling nobody likes him, except Betty. I've heard bachelor Bert mutter, "Jesus what an asshole" more than once.

We only have two bedrooms at the lake, 5th wheel Bert and the two couples are staying in Mentor at a drive up to the door motel. At the last minute, Ginny finds out she is staying with us. She storms out of the cabin yelling "I hate you, you are disgusting!" Ginny knows what's up.

Mom and dad are standing out in the driveway saying goodbye, they are loud and laughing. I join Ginny on the front porch steps, I start to say something and she says 'Just shut up." We sit and slap mosquitoes.

The old man comes out on the porch, he's got a shopping bag, Roman candles are sticking out of it. I perk up, he says, "Come on you two, let's have some fun. We head down the steps to the dock.

These aren't regular roman candles, they are mortars, military grade fireworks. The old man says,"Ralphie's dad ordered them special for us, not supposed to have them." Ginny is momentarily un-pissed, I'm so excited I feel like I have to.

"Ka-god damned-boom" a red ball of fire arcs out over the lake, it must be 200  hundred feet in the air, then another and another, red, green, yellow balls of fire. The old man hands me one of the candles. You could hold off a Panzer attack with one of these babies...the old man lights it with a Zippo. My arm recoils, Holy shit, a burning red glob of fire shoots across the lake. Ginny is jumping up and down. My eyes are as big as saucers, the old man is  laughing, "point up a little more, Jesus not that high, it'll come down on your head...blam, blam, blam. This great!

The old man lights the last two for us, Ginny has one and so do I. Boom, blam, ka-boom. This is so good, I think we both have our first orgasms!

Back up the steps from the dock to the cabin, we're laughing, mom isn't, she's on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, she looks at the old man and says, "I'm glad you're having fun." The old man announces he's, 'going to bed". Ginny and I help mom clean up. Done, Mom smokes a cigarette out on the porch, she's tired and pissed. Ginny, pissed again, sits next to her on the porch swing, mom puts her arm around Ginny's shoulder, Ginny is sobbing, mom is patting her hair. No place for me, I stay away, lips zipped. Like Ginny, I know what's up.

Mom goes to bed, Ginny crawls in with my sister, my little brother is on the cot in the "kid's room". I'm on the sofa in the living room, wide awake under a Hudson Bay blanket, a red one with black stripes.

4th of July Round Up

First actual cook out at the new lake cabin, the old man lights the grill using boat gas...mmm good.

Same time, same place. The bottom paint on Gramp's fishing boat is peeling after 4 weeks in the water, fact is he used barn paint, pointed out by smart ass grandson who noticed it while swimming underwater near the dock and handed him a chunk of paint...

M40 goes off a foot or 2 from my hand, hand is numb, the old man's words cut through the ringing in my ears, "Be careful with those, you could blow your hand off"...

My grand parents on both sides are from the generation who dress up for cook outs and picnics, one grand father has a tie on and it's 90 degrees...they both wear hats too

A few years later...

Mom and dad have a bunch of friends at the lake for the 4th. I'm 12, Mom's best friend's daughter Ginny is 13, we ask, politely, a very drunk Bert if we can take his T-Bird for a ride, Bert says sure, we ask 5 more times...

Mom and a couple of her friends want to go for an evening boat ride, I don't check the fuel (I'm 12 for chrissakes) we run out of gas in the Flyer 3/4 of a mile from the cabin. Can't row a runabout. I go over the side grab the bowline and side stroke the boat back to the cabin while mom and her pals smoke and enjoy the evening breeze...when we get back smart ass Ginny says she's REALLY glad she did go along...Ginny's mom Betty says, "you're quite the swimmer"...

Setting off fireworks later in the evening, my little brother is running around with a sparkler, trips and burns his hand, starts wailing, shuts up when he gets a Popsicle shoved in his mouth...my young sister changes her clothes for the 10th time that day (encouraged by Ginny) gets her ass chewed by mom after she sees all the clothes on the floor of the "kid's room"...my sister weeps for a minute, promises to be good, changes her clothes again and comes out for the fireworks wearing lip stick and rouge applied by Ginny...mom gives up...

The old man likes fireworks as much as I do, I notice  he seems a little unsteady as he bends over to light them off, probably something to do with all all the Canadian Club he's been drinking since noon...our adult supervision doesn't notice that Ginny and I steal a couple of cold beers out of the cooler...we drink them under the birch trees along the driveway...

We have the old original outhouse out back in service and it's being put to good use by the men, Bert is sitting in there and my dad's best friend Bobby lights an entire pack of Black Cats, opens the door and tosses them in the privy and holds the door closed, Bert comes out more dazed than when he went in....Bert called Bobby multiple bad names, as a ex navy man he knew a lot of them....Ginny and I decide it's not a good time to ask him if we can take the T-Bird for a ride again.

Happy 4th...