Barbecue weather this week. Heatwave arrived Monday did a little higher temperatures Tuesday with the big finale today— National Weather Service has our respite arriving late Thursday night.
Bay Area sailors do their best to put a smiling face on all our wind and fog, sailing is a bundle up affair. Terrestrial creatures are scalding at this hour, San Francisco is pegging the meter at 91 this afternoon. Natives from the City are in panic mode.
I’m on the hook on Treasure Island in Clipper Cove with a fine breeze coming off the bay keeping below decks a remarkably pleasant 77.
Thank the gods for irrigation. Our yard can fend for itself why we toil onward. On that account I’m aboard just finishing work on the last scene in my current screenplay. This is a big musical number, mother-daughter, members of the band, extras from the local road repair crew that somehow have become background dancers in work boots, denim and hard hats.
Louis B Mayer said make it big and give it class— OK will do.
Experience is king in life. You do something for long enough and mostly you end up knowing your stuff. I have been a creature of the stage over the last five decades. I don’t know much but on the other hand I do know stuff, like I know my way around a scene, how to start one, how to build it up, how to structure its flow and how to land a laugh, spur applause, touch an audience’s hearts.
I could have worked at the local tire shop. I’d be pretty good at changing tires had I gone that path. Silly me I ended up working in front of audiences for a buck. Turning your passion into your full time job isn’t all that it is cracked up to be. Sometimes those 30 minute workouts, trying to put the finishing touches on a new juggling move that isn’t quite consistent enough to make into your show without another year of practice, yeah that’s not always so easy, but that’s how it is done.
Among my greatest pleasures is lulling about on anchor in sticky weather, warm swimsuit weather. If you anchor far enough from shore your favorite friends will not come fly over to bug you. Stay out of the sun, fix a line, clean off bird droppings, turn on the generator and top off your batteries.
Earlier this summer I had a fiasco with a new anchor and line. The new line wouldn’t work in my windlass, it jammed in the gypsy that pulls the anchor up or drops it down. Matters got out of hand when the tide turned and current increased to 3 knots. Out comes my trusty serrated sailing knife and with a few back and forth cuts I lost a favorite anchor, galvanized chain and length of rope to Neptunes locker. Nothing is cheap and I am not in the habit of saying goodbye for good to $500.
All is forgiven. Time has healed this sailing scar. I’ve got a chipper attitude and have put my boat back into regular anchoring tackle order.
So, drift I will on anchor this afternoon while waiting for my partner to arrive by ferry from San Francisco. I’ll paddle to shore pick her up and we’ll while away a second evening enjoying good food, a glass of wine while we pick over today’s most recent court filings to do with the decade long crime wave named fondly by a fellow social media account member as the man with yam tits.
Hold on to your hats— as we ready to close the book on this decade of belligerence and bellicosity— bloviating has never taken so terrible a turn—
