"The face of the water, in time, became a wonderful book - a book that was a dead language to the uneducated passenger, but which told its mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished secrets as dearly as if it uttered them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read once and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day." Mark Twain, Life on The Mississippi
"Just A Minute"
I rose early, as I do, with special assistance from one of the cats. Apparently I didn't get the memo that breakfast had been moved up to 5 am. Well okay. After seeing to my duties I made the coffee, went up to the roof deck and inhaled sea air, beheld the sunrise, practiced tai chi. Phyllis was up when I returned. We sat in the living room drinking coffee together, settling into the morning. 'I like this 'she said, handing me a book of poetry, Mary Oliver's Why I Wake Early, opened to a poem, "Just a minute" said a voice . . . I loved the moment, the coffee, the poem, its last line: 'For the rest I would keep you wondering.'
Breakfast at Low Tide
photo by Dennis Bayer
Where Lost Keys Go
A neighbor has been away so I was watering and collecting mail for her. Then I misplaced the key to her mailbox. I looked and looked. Felt embarrassed, consulted a friend about cutting the lock and replacing it. I emailed her, she said she had a spare and would deal with it when she returned. Meanwhile, mail was piling up inside the mailbox, I could see. So yesterday I wrote a story, Where Lost Keys Go, had a little fun, but also struggled with it. Wasn’t happy with it. But I’d let the whole embarrassment-thing go and moved on, focusing on watering for her one last time before her Monday arrival. This morning I was practicing tai chi on our roof deck this morning, and in one of my moves my hand patted the buttoned pocket of a flannel shirt I hadn’t worn for a bit. Heard a subtle jingle, and well, found the key! Very happy about it. And happy that I now had an ending for my story, Where Lost Keys Go ~
Where The Action Is
There’s a little cafe where houseboat people go called the Bayside.
You always run into to someone you know and sometimes it feels
like you’re on a meal plan. We like to go for breakfast on Sunday.
Sometimes I’ll go for lunch by myself if the work’s gone well and
sit at the counter where the action is, reading Bukowski, with Egger
for backup, eating my burger with fries. Today along the way I bought
a painting for my brother-in-law, who celebrated his birthday at the VA,
from van Bo a local brother with paint smeared glasses who was selling
his art on the corner from the back of a borrowed truck before the sheriff
came and chased him away for no license, making us all a whole lot safer.
Me neighbor calls me, breathless . . .
“ There are two fat geese who have just landed on my float, exploring. Look out your window downstairs. Maybe you can take a picture!” I go downstairs where our windows are eye level with water. See the geese under the pier on our neighbor’s float, beautiful and magnificent exploring float island. Of course, geese wait for no one and as I reach for my camera one gently flaps into the water and floats on the shimmering green surface. I open the window, cup my hands and whistle, as I’ve done with seals and seagulls. The goose floats towards me. With no screen, I wonder, for half a second, if it will try to board us.
Once news of the magnificent visitors spread, naturally, everyone had to see . . .
One Day While Growing up
One day while growing up
I discovered that my son
had outgrown me. It seemed
only recently that I had carried
him on my shoulders, he in his
fireman’s hat, me & my brown
beard. But now he’s the one
with the brown beard
and yesterday he and his
girlfriend bought a couch
and loveseat for $75 for
their first apartment. And
I am left to wonder where the
time went and what happened
to my brown beard and who
placed this red hat
on my grey head . . .
Reflections Inside and Out
Last night after a small party on the dock, after some wine, an old neighbor who walks with a cane and lives alone on a very rickety houseboat with narrow precarious planks for a gangway, fell in the water trying to board his boat. Two passersby saw him and pulled him out. He was calmly sinking, more worried about his hat floating away than drowning. Earlier in the evening at the party, another neighbor was talking about a similar incident with a different, older neighbor last winter. She said if she hadn't looked over her left shoulder at just that moment he would have died probably of hypothermia. Only his fingers gripping the dock and the top of his head had been visible. She got him out, got him back to his boat, into dry clothes. We hear of older people falling and breaking hips. Here on the docks there are different consequences to consider. Thank goodness for neighbors and quick acting visitors who respond with kindness, resolve, and care.
Felines of South Forty
"So, how did your cats handle the new houseboat?" she asked. I shrugged. "They made a few demands— four squares a day, the run of the wheel house, new titles: Captain & Commodore. I saw the light. They've adapted. Or I have. Depends on who you ask."
Joint Venture
I took a photo of the upside reflection of our neighbor Dennis' houseboat in the water, and sent it to him. He returned it with an added reflection of the reflection included. True collaboration, upon further reflection. I love these reflective moments and images here on the water. It gets us out of ourselves, allows us to see how what we say and do is reflected on other surfaces. Oh!
Samson Post
My friend Neil tells me this is the perfect application for the bowline knot, temporary eye around a post. He says old wooden boats had two upright posts on the bow, like this bannister on our houseboat, strongest thing on the bow. Called 'em Samson Posts. Use to secure anchor or dock lines.
I tell him that's funny because I once knew a Samson Post back in the day. He played a little guitar down at The Temporary Eye, wore his hair long, liked to lift. Met a lady named Delilah, barber by trade, and it changed his life forever. Heard they tied the knot— a sheet bend, though some said it was a hitch or maybe square . . .
Slip knot, offered Neil, who'd obviously been there.
enhanced by Dennis Bayer
Early Evening On Our Roof
Sometimes I send a photo over to my pal Dennis and he sends it back with a touch of magic. It's like I handed him a prius fob and he handed me back the key to a jag.