Authentic Nautical Accessories, and Custom Furnishings
Over the past four months, I returned to the 1960s and '70s for some good and not so great memories. I've always tried to keep within limits of what could have happened when I took a frolicking detour from what occurred. I cleaned things up.
I invited Charlotte to Community boating to go sailing. We were not on the water five minutes before asking when we would get to where we were going. I had to explain that we were already there.
When I lived on or traveled to coastal Maine in the seventies, I was tied closely to my wife's home town by bonds created by that marriage. Back at the university, I was for studying for a career in anthropology. In Maine, I was understudying for the Cap'n on board his 34 foot ketch, being introduced as his son, and learning how to fit in.
It's been decades. But every time I visit Portland, it's inevitable that I'll think about those cookies. Losing a good friend is always hard, but losing a great molasses cookie. That's tragic.
"Lo, how the mighty have fallen."
it was the reek of pure Old Woodsman. Over the long lifespan of the boat, gallons must have been spilled in it, because no amount of restoration would ever remove all that smell.
Sitting on the float, I could look at my reflection in the water. If I shifted focus, I could see the thousands of small jellyfish swarming around the float and the nearby wharf.
Listen, candy is sweet, but you can't make a steady diet of it.
Boats need cleaning, and as general maintenance helper and crew member supreme, it was generally my job to sweep, swab, polish and groom the pride of the Cove; Psyche.
The story, said to me at about age five, was that an ancestor had hung for piracy. Kids of five don't forget these things when they get raised on whole rafts of sea stories and pirate movies.
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