Sunday, September 13th open thread: ‘Sail’

You’re welcome, and thanks, Steve. This week, we might finally get back to normal since the flood. I put a bid on a house across the canal where we lived. It is at 11.5 feet above flood tide mark and the flood was 10.5 feet, so the house was untouched but the owners are playing games with the price. I bid on the house this past April and again in June. Now, last week my final offer or we walk. My neighbors across the canal would be my neighbors across the street. Wide-line high ranch to fit the usual of grandchildren and a house full on Sunday of kids, grandkids, neices, all, for Sunday dinner, as before. Downstairs is a garage that I would convert to a workshop and I would then probably have enough room for a 9-foot pooltable. My brain is like an over-ripe melon, but at times I get some good ideas. My old house, when I pass by, tears my heart out, and my nextdoor neighbor’s house collapsed. He had a stroke later and died. He was a retired State Trooper and like a brother. His photograph was given to me alond with his Captains whittled figurine by his daughter. I hope this week goes well. If not, I started looking at properties in Maine, but the wife is complaining about it like I dragging her of to outer Mongolia. Of the seasons, on the water, winter is the prettiest. I feed the buzzards (seagulls), in February when they perch on the pilings and ask for food. The swans, I fed daily from my hand, and when the tide came over the top six times a year, Papa Swan would knock on my kitchen door with his bill. Mama Swan and the cygnet babies would be lined up on my deck, and everyone said I looked like a priest when placing bread into their mouths. The seagulls like cold leftover spaghetti and slurped it down, and we fed them turkey carcasses that they tore apart and devoured. I used to tell weather by walking to the edge of the bulkhead and reading the tide and current. The flood ruined everything. After the flood, that lasted 10/29/2012 through 11/03/2012, a six foot Mako swam around my barbeque. Not an eight footer. Not a five footer, it was a six footer either disoriented or swept in with the flood. If I would have known it was coming, I would have dragged it into the kitchen by the tail and made steaks out of it (Tastes like scallop). The life on the water’s edge, is something that I can never shake out of my system. Years back, I sailed to Belfast, Maine, walked around, did some shopping, ate at a bar, then sailed back. Priceless memories.

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