Today I'm going up to spend the night at The Clearing outside of Ellison Bay in Door Co. to be there for an early morning meeting to talk about resurrecting their newsletter. I'm very flattered to be asked and shaking in my boots that I'll disappoint. I am a world-class procrastinator so there's a real probability that I'll put important things off until the last minute. That would not be good, but I'm also pretty good at saying what I can and can't do, or will and won't do, and I'm excellent at admitting when I screw up, so I think everything will be okay in the long run. I hope. Fingers crossed.
August 18--Miami Harbor. Tico drove the boat like there were devils on his tail. He reveled in the sheer freedom of being out on the water with the wide blue sky arching overhead and the sun making the water look like hammered steel. He slewed the white fiberglass craft around and between the sailboats moored in a row off Singer Island and saw the little islets like green blurs off the port side. It wasn't often he had the boat all to himself. His uncles left for a visit to their dying mama up toward Ocala so no one was around to say he couldn't take the boat. No one said "be careful" or "not too fast." He left a note that he was on the bay just in case they came home early. He might be young but he wasn't stupid. As he rounded little San Marco island the angle of the sun blinded him, the glare like a laser even with his sunglasses. It wasn't until he was too late to turn that he realized how close he was to the causeway pilings.
Boom. This week do something that scares you, even just a little.