I had planned on writing a post tonight regardless. I have a list of about 10 that I've been meaning to get out there, but summer, with it's visitors and distractions has made procrastination easy.
Then something happened tonight that trumped all those other posts. Suddenly, any such nostalgic words I may have strung together seemed meaningless in comparision.
I am not a boat person. While I aspire to like boats more every day, I don't think I'll completely succeed in my remaining days on this planet. I should be more specific. The larger and more complicated the boat, the farther I'd like to be from that boat. I adore kayaking and canoeing. I find rowboats a little more tedious, but I can see the romanticism associated with them. Conversely, you may only get me on a cruise ship at gun point.
This distaste for marine activity stems mostly from my propensity for seasickness, but I'll admit to a certain level of fear as well. Let's just say I hyperventilate when I think about the Titanic and I've heard some stories about other boats that I just can't shake.
So, I married a boat person. I didn't marry just any boat person. My boat person came with a 1967 sailboat he's owned and tinkered with since 1993. My boat person repaired the motor on the 1985 Grady White we got on Craigslist. My boat person throws around words like "jib" and "winch" and "turnbuckle." Not just for Words With Friends.
Don't get me wrong, I like power boats. I like zooming around with the wind in my hair, but I have zero knowledge (nor any desire for any knowledge) about how a boat works and what to do in case a boat...you know... runs aground or something.