The Descension of Events

We’re back on a hook, not THE Hook, mind you, but a hook. A hook I might add, I do not trust. I didn’t build this mushroom anchoring system and I haven’t seen it so all I can do is hope that this (unseen) rig holding us to the bottom of Salem Harbor is somehow capable of keeping our 5,670 kg boat and her crew of three from drifting out to sea. To be honest with you, I have some trust issues here. I mean, it only takes one weak link in all the links of a chain to turn my deepest concerns into a harsh reality. I’ve seen how moorings are built and maintained professionally and it sucks, let’s just hope this one isn’t like all the rest. When Dena scored the gig making grownup money after I got fired from my grownup gig a couple of months ago we decided to avoid the local… er, Officials-of-Concern (OoC) by just paying the fucking money for a seasonal mooring. This way we placate the OoC, have bike parking, a shower and a place to put our dinghy every day. Cool, right? Right now the wind has been howling through the rig like a mourning mother for almost 72 hours and the chop has been pounding through the nights like a recalcitrant tween on Ritalin …and that’s not easy to say dog-damnit. Anyway… The Descension of Events: what is that? I think the first time I heard that phrase I was on a fishing trip with my father off Padre Island, Texas, a million years ago. It was a rented power boat so of course everything that could go wrong went very wrong and it happened in a very logical, although chaotic, way. Not unlike a ballet dancer leaping off stage[…]

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