Medium Rare Bob
Yesterday on the lake: On the boat at 7:15 a.m. polishing, fixing, arranging, getting Sparkle Plenty for a day of sailing.
11:00 a.m. Wifey and friend Caroline arrive at the dock.
11:10 a.m. We're on the lake.
Wifey and Caroline waiting for their lunch. Like any good skipper I'm below plating fried chicken, cole slaw, potato salad and opening bottles of Corona topped with lime.
There was a cool breeze blowing across the lake that made the early part of sailing rather frosty. It was definitely sweatshirt weather. If you look closely you see that my sweatshirt is inside out. It's how I like it. Always. Never right side out. Always inside out.
Caroline took the helm and did quite well following my directions: A little starboard (or right), okay now to port (or left), time to come about (go in another direction).
We sailed back to the marina, the ladies went their merry way leaving me to button up Sparkle Plenty. At about 3:30 I was in the truck headed home.
Eight hours on the lake for a white boy who never thinks to apply sunscreen often brings a red complexion. This morning the face is red, the knees are red, everything else is either lightly tanned or white, white, white. I'd give anything to have just a little ethnic blood running through the veins which would bound to yield a less than medium rare Bob complexion after a day's worth of sun.
There will no rays for Bob today, tomorrow and maybe the next day.