Abort the Mission
There is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.
-- Kenneth Grahame
Saturday, July 1, 2000
One year ago: Daria-esque
Two years ago: Jury Duty
Three years ago: License My Roving Hands
Jack spent the first night of our stay at his parents' house in the recliner, upstairs in the living room. He did stop by the guest room on his way up, to say goodnight. He wanted to make sure I wasn't upset or mad, since I'd disappeared without saying good night. But I wasn't, at all! I was just tired, so I went to lie down and read. I knew that he'd come in to change his clothes before going to sleep, so I could kiss him goodnight then.
I didn't mind that he was sleeping up in the recliner -- it's much better for his back.
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We had a relaxing day, because we couldn't get the raft out of the shed until Jack's father got back from an expedition to Yakima. (We needed more hands to lift the thing.) Jack's father had a line on a used propane tank up there. Apparently the local propane company had been sticking it to their customers, since you have to pay to rent the tank and they were the only game in town. But Jack's father found a company in Yakima that would deliver propane, so long as you have your own tank. Now all he'll be able to wheel and deal tanks for all his neighbors, and get that Yakima company more customers!
When he returned with the tank, we managed to move the raft from the shed where we'd stored it in April. Jack and H--- hosed the raft down and pumped it up to full inflation, then we attached it to the trailer.
Jack figured we could do a raft run from his parents' place to the town of Klickitat, a few miles down the river. Jack was in the rowframe at the back of the raft, and H---- and I paddled.
This trip was doomed before we began! The wind was so strong coming up the valley that we couldn't drift downstream. The raft kept getting blown to shore. We made it around two bends of the river, then gave up. Luckily there was a good place for us to pull out. Jack sent his daughter running down the road, back to his parents' place, to tell his mom to drive the trailer to where we were. His mom and H--- were back in a few minutes, and some neighbors drove by, stopped, and helped with the raft loading. (One of the neighbors rejoices in the name of "Gutshot", from a time when a gun accidentally went off in his pocket.)
Jack was very frustrated! But we'll try again tomorrow, earlier in the day when the wind hasn't started.
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About this design: I've used the picture of me two years ago, in August of 1998, but I like it. The font is Niederwald, from the Scriptorium. (If you download it, the main heading of the page will show up in that font.)
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