I lived on the coast most of my life. My memories of places, people and events frame these stories. I always start with something true…but, I sometimes wander off a bit.
A Winter Evening
Mixed precipitation in coastal New England means that the rain changes from rain to freezing rain to snow and back again. Oh, Joy!
Back Cove
It was three flights down and into the basement. The big tank sat there full of kerosene. I went down every morning, filled the five-gallon can, and carried it back to our third-floor apartment. During January, I wondered if my girlfriend liked having me around so she did not have to make that morning pilgrimage before going to work.
A Christmas Caper
snow. The snowshoes were finally getting good use in the deep show of a cold Maine winter.
Chowdah!
It’s been called prejudice, but it’s loathing, and nothing is unreasoning or illogical about it. I came by the loathing step by step, day by day, and experience by experience.
Foreshore
I had never heard the term Mudlark, but I was one. I poked along the foreshore of the abandoned shipyard
Bridge and Engine Room
The Cap’n admitted that I could tell a national naval ensign from a yacht club burgee, knew port from starboard and fore from aft. He was less sure about other things being that my father was an engineer – snipe.
Under The Weather
Under the weather was how I felt whenever the Cap’n decided he wanted to sail on a cold breezy day with a lot of spume and whitecaps. He felt flush with the excitement of the ketch heeling over with all sail set. I merely repressed my feelings of dread that he’d sail us under a convenient swell. But of course, he never did.
Bay Rum
Scent is a very personal thing; to some, the right scent is a melody of pleasure
Cruise
What my wife does know won’t hurt her.
What she does know is that as my father before me, all a pretty vessel needs to do is whistle, and I’ll pack a cruise bag.
Mr. Wakey Wakey
Ah, October, readers, and writers spend time separating the cryptid from the cryptic and the insuperable from the insufferable. Vampires, mummies, witches, and ghouls cavort. Bah humbug!
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Louis N. Carreras, Woodcarver 