08/11/06 - Ahoy, matey!

Last Saturday afternoon my husband made an innocent remark. I could tell my reaction caught him off guard. We had been sitting at a table alongside a city lake, eating fish tacos. I was engrossed in people-watching, my favorite past time. The lake had been full of various water craft, all quietly propelled by human beings. And heavenly breezes. My hubby leaned closer and told me to watch the wind surfers. "Looks like fun, doesn't it?" he asked.
     "Suit yourself," I told him, "But don't involve me in any water sports. I'm a much better spectator than participant."
     Did I need to remind him about the summers I spent at Camp Wabigoniss? All those years I paddled a row boat in circles on Trout Lake, praying my aching little arms wouldn't fall off.
     Didn't he remember the story I had told him about my first (and last) sail boat spin? My brother and brother-in-law capsized the tiny craft and I was caught under the sail for what seemed like forever. Sure, I'd been wearing a life jacket, but scared-to-death is scared-to-death in my book.
     How many times had I told him about the house boat my dad bought? It slept eight, had a bathroom complete with a shower, and could barely get out of the slip because Dad had added too many comforts of home: a dishwasher, trash compactor, even an indoor grill. Dad's fair Irish skin couldn't take the sun, so he cooked inside while his daughters baked in lawn chairs on the deck. Every time we tried to make it out of the slip, the over-loaded generator fizzled and we had to eat all the food in the refrigerator so it wouldn't spoil.
     And what about my first (and last) canoe trip? When my youngest sister and I took my two children for what was to be a lazy ride followed by a picnic. It was more than 30years ago, but I can see that afternoon as if it was today. The water was blue satin, calm as a back yard pond. Here and there, other boaters paddled slowly, just as we did. My kiddies, their heads barely visible above puffy life jackets, were wedged in to place by bags full of sandwiches, chips, and soda pop. The beauty of a noon-time glide across the body of water mesmerized us as we made our way through the archway leading to the adjoining lake. Stately mansions, bordering the parkway, greeted us on the other side.
     I was shaken from my reverie by my sister who had developed either a tic-like disease or wanted me to see something on shore. "Under the clump of trees," she whispered. There he was: a man dressed in business attire, trying to get our attention and that of other boaters by doing something to himself that the nuns said was a big naughty.
     We made a U-turn and headed back to the canoe rental building. I kept telling the children to "Look, look down at the big fishies!" as my sister chopped through the water like it was on fire. Faster than you could say Michael rowed the boat ashore, alleluia, we were in the car, eating bologna sandwiches.
     "Look," my husband said again, bringing me back to the present. He pointed to the wind surfers.
     "Men," I said, glaring at him. "You really know how to ruin a good time, don't you?"