First, the story is about a family which buys a 55′ catamaran and sails the world. The first part of the book is about how they interact with each other and how the husband (John) falls off the band wagon and starts drinking when they arrive in Bermuda. The story then goes on to describe the places and faces they encounter and how their kids are growing up as fine adults.

The trip then turns a bit sour when they encounter 30 foot seas in a force 10 storm. The Captain (John) talks about how he rode the waves up and down for what seems an interminable amount of time. In other words, he passes himself off as an experienced sailor.

The story takes a bad turn when the boat hits a reef and sinks. Here’s where I have some problems with this tale. Anyone who has ever sailed knows where they are, what lies ahead of them (in relation to their course and potential land/reef threats). I sail and I can tell you that it’s exhausting work. Its not like driving a car, you actually have to think and pay attention 24/7 – no exceptions.

At some point the Captain is downstairs with the wife, the son (Ben) is upstairs at the helm and then they hear boom! Surprised, the husband states ” I thought we were miles” (don’t know how this statement ends) as with the “boom” he heads up on deck and his boat is on top of a reef and the reader is then treated to flashbacks of how they finally come to rest on a reef.

Part two of the book is no better part one, as the Captain tells the story of the Julia Ann, which hit the same reef in a year when they truly used the stars to navigate by. I mean, come on. With all of the the equipment the 55′ cat had on-board like GPS, charts and such, how can anyone not know their going to pass by a reef (at night no less). The storyteller actually talks about how the Julia Ann arrived in this dangerous area at night – not a good time to pass through areas you don’t know.

The pictures of the boat on the reef (in the centerfold of the book) would make you think a blind man was at the helm. Why let a 15 year old child navigate in such a dangerous area. It’s not like it’s one little reef – it’s like a chain of small reef islands. Throughout the story, the son, Ben is passed off as an experienced sailor as well. I find this all so hard to stomach and don’t feel sorry or empathize with people who take unnecessary risks.

The wife writes in the afterward “happily a London insurance company paid for the boat in full”. I guess every story has its silver lining, however, this book is a definite pass, as no true sailor can take such stupidity seriously and in my opinion – the story is just that – a story.

The beach made it up closer to the house during high tide last night and washed up all sorts of goodies to collect. Shark’s teeth seem to abound on this stretch of beach and it makes me wonder just how many sharks might be in these waters. Maybe “freebie” beach house really means “freebie beach house with sharks for company”.

Our neighbors (a stone’s throw away) are born again Christians and carry their bible with them wherever they seem to go. Last night, they sat down to dinner and “grace” seemed to go on for five minutes. I just wanted to lean over the fence and say “hey, your dinner’s getting cold – get to the amen part already”.

When I say they are close by, we’re close enough to hear them but, far enough away to somewhat ignore, however, they seem to go out of their way to constantly turn over to our side of the beach and talk and talk and talk.

The husband has some type of “neat” fetish, as he never stops hosing crap down and he’s always moving outdoor furniture from here to there, back over to here and then back over to there (you’d think he was Gay with all of the non-stop furniture moving going on).

The guy never stops (well, we know what the Bible says about idle hands). He even spent time with a rake doing some sort of feng shui design with the sand. Well, after watching him do ALL of this work, I came out with my tablecloth, laid it on the table, put two candles on it and turned over to his side and said “well, we’re all set up”. He threw me a look like “what - that’s all you’re going to do to your side?” You got that right Jack – we might be gay but, not all of us have a desire to decorate the world – no, no swirling the sand with a rake for me.

Well, it’s time to go for a swim and I’ll cut this short but, will update it when I more to say.

Black Wave

Well, we finally made it to the beach and settled in. Dolly did well on the thirty minute ride to the beach and immediately claimed the king size bed as hers. We jumped in the ocean and it’s abut 90 something degrees. We  jumped out as quick as we jumped in as a ray swam buy and swatted me with its tail.

Remember, if I can’t see below my waist in the ocean, I get nervous. In any event, I sat back and started reading Black Wave by John & Jean Silverwood. Great book about a family that buys a 55′ catamaran and sails the world. In fact, it’s the perfect book for the beach!

We just sold our sailboat last year and we even talked about buying a new catamaran to live on, however, after reading Black Wave, it’s not a good idea. I have the radio going while I sit on the patio and look ot at the ocean. For the first time ever, I can appreciate the sound of a wind chime. I always wondered what the big deal is wind chimes, well, I now know:-)

I am (right now) looking at my perfect world. My Paul, my Dolly (laying in my lap as I type this entry), the sound of wind chimes, Eric Clapton playing in the background and steaks and shrimp grilling on the Barby. Today, life is just more than simply good – it’s great:-)

Dolly

I’m thinking (while I’m packing) how Dolly (our furry friend) will take the short ride over to the beach. She has only been in the car twice and that was to the vet – just a few minutes away. I found myself at PetSmart yesterday, shopping for a cat carrier. They had big ones, small ones in various colors and in price ranges that went from $59.95 and up. I finally settled on one which was $85.95. It boasts mesh windows (all the way around) and even has a floor made of lamb’s wool. When I got it home, I opened it up and put it in the middle of the living room, hoping that she would simply wander on into it and give it a test drive.

As she approached the front door, she looked left, looked right, jumped on top of it and then peered into it over the side. She looked around inside and then simply walked on into it. She purred a bit and then turned around and settled in. I mean, she literally sprawled out in it as though this was her new home away from  home. I was thrilled and elated at the sight of Dolly taking to her new environment so quickly.

After a full day of watching Dolly make her way in and out of the mesh sided piece of luggage, I decided it was time to test the waters. I leaned down and watched her – while she watched me. I picked up the door cover and zipped it shut. Everything seemed to be going pretty well to that point. I sat down on the floor (next to a bagged up Dolly) and we took a long hard look at each other. After a few more minutes of Dolly/Greg contemplation, I slowly picked the bag up off the floor and that’s when all hell broke lose!

Dolly started howling and the “cat in a bag” took on a life of its own. I quickly put the bag on the floor, unzipped Dolly and she flew out of that bag like there was a Dobie chasing her. I ran after her and called her name. Dolly?  Dolly? When I found under the bed, I scooped her up and she went into purr mode. I found myself all apologetic. I just kept repeating “Dolly, I’m so sorry” and stuff like “Dolly , daddy won’t do that to you again”.

Now, I’ve got to say that I have not had a pet in 20 years. I have gay friends, who have an entire menagerie of pets living with them and have always found myself thinking that there’s something mentally unstable about them, as when we’re out to dinner (and they start raving about their pets) I just want them to stop talking as we hear it all of time…

• Oh, Buster will be all upset if we don’t get home soon, as we can’t leave him alone for more than two hours or he gets depressed.
• Max is waiting for us to get home, we’ll see you next week.
• Polly is just so adorable and if we get home too late, she’ll make us pay for it.
• The weather’s turning bad and if I hear one clap of thunder, we’ll have to cut dinner short as Tigger is afraid of thunder and we have to be with her to see her through the storm.
• Oops! We need to get home soon, as we forgot to leave the light on for Marcy and she’s afraid of the dark.

Dolly - The Adorable One...

On the last one. I always thought to myself, what do these people do? Do they actually have a night light they leave on all night for their cat?

I never wanted to be one of those “gay” pet owners who relied on a pet to replace something missing in my life - like a child. I have often found myself holding back laughter, as friends would scroll through their cell phones to show me a picture of their pet - like that of a proud parent. I’ve walked away from  dinner with my partner and I’ve said things like “if we ever get a pet (which I doubt we ever will), please, shoot me if I end up like that couple flashing cell phone photos of my pet and telling one story after another about what great new thing she did today”.

In retrospect, when we picked up Dolly, I immediately went out and bought a hundred cat toys, a module for her to play in, two special dishes for water and food (which took me hours to pick out), a nice cuddly bed of her own (which she never sleeps in, as she prefers our pillows and bed), a scratch post with some type of feather thingy on the top that bobs and up down and of course, the “cat in a bag” piece of luggage.

I have an entire gallery on my computer of her baby pictures and use one as my screensaver on my cell phone so I can show all of my friends what a proud parent I am.  You see, I’ve learned my lesson that no matter what you say you’ll never end up doing (that other people do) you eventually find yourself doing once that bundle of joy comes into your life. As for the “cat in a bag” deal, I have to work that one out by Sunday afternoon in preparation for our ride to the beach. Paul and I will more than likely try to find some solution that doesn’t stress out our Dolly. In fact, one reason we decided to stay close to home was so that wherever we decided to go, Dolly has to come along, as if we’re out too late for dinner, we find ourselves worrying about her and tell our friends we have to get home real soon.

I like to read and will read five books at a time (not all at once) but, bits and pieces of each book. I can put one down after a ten minute read and pick up another. I guess I get bored very easily. I drive an Hummer H2 and get all sorts of crap for driving a land yatch in this day and age of being “green”. However, as gas prices continue to drop I’m feeling pretty good about having my monster truck and could care less what the Prius followers think.

I needed something a bit more “cool” and figured a beach house would be the way to go.  Paul and I started the process of finding a beach house a few weekends ago. We came upon all sorts of beach houses, big ones, little itty bitty ones and of course, those who advertise their houses as “beach houses” but, are three or four blocks from what’s known as “the beach”. I live 30 minutes from the beach so, I guess I could rent my place out and call it a beach house as well, as I’m only 30 minutes from the beach, albeit further than three or four blocks but, closer than those living an hour away from the beach:-) 

So, our first choice is a beach house that costs $4500.00 per week. I don’t think so. I was thinking of renting a beach house, not buying one. Number two on the list was an eclectic mix of beach house and slumber party set-up. The place slept 18 people and oh well, you’ve got to rent the place for all 18 people or pay for sixteen additional imaginary friends. Oh, plus you can only go to beach to smoke a cigarette and the pussy “Dolly” (our cat) will be charged an extra $150.00 for good measure. Again, I don’t think so, time to move on.

Now, when looking for a beach house (on the beach) distance to the beach is akin to the distance your hand is from your bowl of chips and a bottle beer during a football game (too far and you find yourself reaching and pulling a lower back muscle – too close and you just feel like something is out sorts).

No, a beach house has to be close enough to the waterline but, far away enough away to run from mother nature. Rent a beach house during hurricane season and you’ll want to be sure that you know your evacuation route so you can escape nature’s wrath if she decides it’s time for a new curb appeal look for your locale. I guess that’s idea of renting a beach house, as if it’s on the beach and happens to end up as “true waterfront property”, you can simply walk away and find a new one - while the old one is being built to bigger and better hurricane standards.

Yes, there’s no end of beach houses on Florida’s gulf coast and if you look real hard, you can find that perfect mix of awe and wonder. We found just what we needed in a “friend”.  We knew he had a beach house but, didn’t know we could use it for free. Of course, when something is for free you’ve got to check it out, as “free” can mean, yes, it’s free - but, can look like something out of Summer Rental starring John Candy. No, I don’t need to be planted in the middle of a major thoroughfare and watch as beach nuts walk through my yard, set up their boundary lines with chairs, blankets and umbrellas (a flag) and then have to listen to the uneven tune of bottle caps snapping and popping all afternoon.

No, what we needed was peace and quiet with the perfect distance from house to waterline, some personality and a feeling that even just being 30 minutes away from home could feel more like 3000 miles in another part of the world. We found it in “Hemingway” the “free” beach house. Now we get to pack on Saturday and get ready for we don’t know how many weeks as the beach! Check back each day as I’ll post a new installment!