Stranded with this bitch called hope. ¶ I think we've all had the experience of losing our appetite. In some cases, this can be the result of over-excitement, and for all the stomach pain this brings, it's not so bad. Losing your appetite from actually sailing in choppy waters, however, is not at all pleasant. Couple this with losing one's nerve, and you're guaranteed to be focused on little else. The day was Saturday. The place, Port Stanley. I wasn't actually sick as I managed to curtail that unpleasantness by way of keeping focused on the horizon. And though I didn't count on losing either my appetite or nerve, losing the latter angered me. It proved impossible to retrieve. We were never in any actual danger, it must be stated, but sailing is both unpredictable and psychological and when you're flailing in your mind, very little can act as remedy. At least for me. Sunday was a different matter. The main difference was the wind. It was much calmer out there. I was also experienced at this point with both my appetite and nerve in tact. If I were Truman and you were watching my Show, at one point you would have caught me sitting on deck, legs overboard, blissed out. Minutes later I was diving off the anchored boat, swimming. It was heavenly as Lake Erie posed convincingly as the Pacific: seductive blue and expansive. Never mind that the sun was also turning in a perfect performance. We all walked away with a significant set of experiences under our belts. ¶ Our buffet and hutch arrived just before these adventures took place. It is not only handsome but also suited perfectly in our humble home. I'll take that pat on the back, even if I'm the one giving it.

Labels: Furniture, Gratitude, Lyric, Vague, WeekendUpdate

¶ 4:30 PM