Please look carefully at this picture, taken from our front doorway. In the middle, at the edge of the field, where the line of trees begins, do you see something, a blip? We were rather relieved it's a little blip because we already have a reputation for not keeping up our lawn "like Leonard did."
"But what is it?" says Virginia, as if she doesn't know. Look again:
Do you see it in the second full rectangle formed by the Venetian blind in the top right of the lower set of six-over-six window panes?
"Think Jimmy Buffet," says Virginia.
Owning one of these has long been a dream of mine, but not a very big dream, more of a fantasy as I have sunk my roots deeper and deeper into terra firma. It's Karen's fault. She revived the fantasy Thursday night, late, after I'd pulled up the covers and resumed reading The Economist. "I want to show you something," she said (which quickly drew my attention, and then I realized she was carrying her laptop). The picture she showed me got us thinking....
and led to the first high point of Friday, February 27. We jumped into our Subaru Baja, having decided the Dodge Ram would not prove useful, and drove down to Roanoke to see this:
"What on earth is it?" Virginia asks.
"It's Karen peaking through a porthole window," I say.
"Silly sailor," says Virginia. "That's not a porthole."
She's right of course, but I'm running out of patience and so, I suppose are you.
Today we had this craigslist special, a 23-foot sailboat, towed to our field. What it will become is fodder for another posting.