Thursday, December 7
Captain and First Mate
"Get gas yesterday?", the carver asked, as he heaped pit barbecue on my plate. Small world, I thought, as I commented that I had to run down to Mears Point Marina in Oxford to take on fuel. I ran into this guy the day before at Easton Point as the pump ran dry and the gas trickling in my tank amounted to 52 cents. With another full tank onboard, I ran south to Oxford. The water was the color of tea, infused with fall leaves, and I had to swerve to avoid prop bending logs. It was three on a Friday and a late lunch for me. Earlier, I decided it was time to take a break from the grind, and take James out to wet a line. I gave him my best sell, describing fish actually jumping in the boat. He stopped me in mid sentence. "Can we go tomorrow? There is a dog jumping show I want to see. Do you want to come with us?", he exclaimed. My feeble salesmanship was pointless. Trying to sell the ride to this one would be like offering him tickets to pee wee football when he is sitting on the 50 yard line at the Super Bowl. With a large popcorn. As I grabbed my gear and walked out the door, I gave him a look of mock disappointment, but he did not bite. He did have one last hook for me. "Hey Dada?! I hope you have fun on the boat", he offered. The fall azure skies reflected in the mirror smooth water, as I broke a wide grin. At that moment, there was no place on Earth that I would rather be than at the helm of the MariJames. Captain and First Mate that day, I wore both titles with pride and joy.