Regular readers know that next to me, Favorite, our families, and La Luna EW loves music best. (Sometimes some of us may temporarily pale in comparison, but I’m not complaining)
Now that I have a job or two, and now that EW is the only music guy in the mooring field, I don’t always go to his events. He’s OK with that and has expressed chagrin that he may be a bit obsessive. In addition to Saturday morning, his favorite weekly schedule includes music jams on Sunday, Monday, and Thursday nights. (And the perfect Monday has two events.) Sometimes I go with him and sometimes my role as a “Band-Aid” consists of simply helping get the guitar into and out of the dinghy.
Such a night was last night.
EW left early enough to stop for a shower on the way to the venue. We tie the dinghy from the stern since the nearly constant IWW traffic of power vessels create waves that cause lots of bouncing and chafe along the side. EW doesn’t put the ladder down because he’s a macho kind of guy. Last night I was on deck, stationed along the starboard side with the guitar ready in the cockpit when I glanced back to see EW perched with one leg on the ladder while bringing the other over the lifelines. Unfortunately, the handle for his draw-string Stewart brand bag was looped over his foot. I started aft to help, but disaster struck before I could reach him and the bag fell in the water. EW moved to the lower step, hung on and reached for the bag….
You are all waiting for him to fall in. You are nasty people.
Before I could arrive with the boat hook, EW snagged the bag and tossed it on deck. I told him to get the dinghy ready while I got a new bag and dry clothes. Now, EW and I have two different methods for this shower-on-shore lifestyle. I always wear boat clothes or exercise clothes when going to the shower, leaving my clean clothes in the bag. EW dons his clean clothes on board and takes just his towel and shower stuff.
In the sopping wet bag, I found his towel, socks, and a shirt. I knew he was wearing clean shorts and they were still dry. I replaced his bag and grabbed a towel, socks, and a shirt. I am a good Band-Aid. He thanked me profusely, and off he went.
Let’s move on.
During the evening, EW messaged me that he was having a great evening. (One I would have liked to witness.) He said there may be photos on Facebook. (The photo above was taken by Frank Reed.) He said he did a great job on “Dixie Chicken” and that people really responded to him.
EW had a good night.
So, I’m on deck enjoying the breeze and reading on my Kindle, when EW comes back to the boat. I grab his guitar and we hear our neighbor hailing him. Zack and his family live in Pointe Vedra; he’s moored right behind us and plays the bass and the two have jammed a bit. Stew took the dinghy over to Zach’s for a short visit. I stayed on deck and read. A while later, after messing around with guitars, EW and Zach were back on deck and I could hear…something…a mild agitation..scrambling. Shortly after that, EW and Zach arrived alongside La Luna requesting strong flashlights—our dinghy had gone walkabout on a dark night.
For the next couple of hours, I remained on deck while EW and Zach tried to figure set and drift and to find Lunah Landah on a cloudy night. I called the marina to notify them, watched the lights of the search dinghy, noted when they had returned once to fuel Zach’s dinghy, and refused to worry. Shortly after midnight, they returned in victory, Lunah Landah having fetched up on a private pier over on Anastasia. In the meantime, the marina office had called me to see if the friend helping search for the dinghy was from mooring 47. “Yes.” “I’ll let his wife know, she called worried about him.” It was that kind of night.
So, EW returned victorious and relieved, and I offered him a “nudge” (known as a “nip” in some circles) and a chance to relive his various victories of the evening and to tell me about his new music friends. One he described thusly, “There was this one old guy. Well, I’m not sure how old. Hell, he’s probably my age.” When I stopped laughing he continued. It had been a great music night. He was elated. One of his new friends was a woman who plays the fiddle and she joined in when EW played “Another Cup of Coffee”. Later, a couple invited him to a rehearsal of their band on Wednesday. (Yet another music night.) EW was pumped.
And then he quieted down, paused and looked at me. “When you got clothes for me, did you notice that anything was missing?”
“I didn’t have any boxers.”
“They weren’t in the wet pile. I assumed you were wearing the clean ones.”
“No,” with a look.
I smiled. “You were commando all night?”
He grimaced and I laughed.
“Well, you had quite the night, Old Man, quite the night!”