The stage was set the players were ready.
The problem was however, that there was no music.
Well, Ok, there was music. But not my kind of music. I wanted presence,
clarity, force, emotion, carnality, and percussion.
This day there was soft melody, the stuff of elevators called muzak.
I paced back and forth. Fortunately no one takes note of one pacing
on this stage. It is expected. Well, maybe not expected, but understood.
I kept looking around, hoping, pacing. I wanted to scream to the
heavens, WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TURN OFF THE MUZAK.
Muzak can be nice mind you, but it belongs in elevators. Can you
imagine, playing some music with drama in an elevator? Doors open
to the 1812 Overture or Bolero plays on the express elevator to
the 133rd floor.
I decided to rest. I lay back, closed my eyes, felt the warm sunshine
and bolted up after a good - 30 seconds or so.
Some days you gotta have music with a beat, rhythm. I wanted something
to move the soul and make my heart race, not more muzak.
Finally, I thought to myself, "I surrender - just how bad
can muzak be?"
On the shore my harness and lifejacket lay in a crumpled bundle.
The Hobe-Cat was angled into the wind, sails lifeless. Waves rolled
lazily on the shore, devoid of energy. They were steady, and boring,
maybe one to two feet in height.
A young boy sat half buried in the sand, making a sandcastle.
"Wanna come?" I asked.
"Nah
Weenie" he said.
The boy's father grabbed one life jacket and threw it over his
right shoulder. Sitting on the back of the trampoline he tore loose
the straps on the waterproof sandals and threw them on the harness.
Golden sand now covered everything. Who needs foot protection when
you are going to ride in an elevator?
The boat was angled down toward the water. Grabbing one of the
guy wires I dragged the reluctant traveler off of the shore. The
shallow water was tinted brown from the churning sand.
Taking off on a northwest heading the sails caught the southwest
breeze.
Life! The boat was coming alive as I threw myself up and onto the
trampoline. There was to be no harness this day or tying the mainsail
rope to the lifejacket. Clip, Clip. The life jacket was safely put
to bed on the trampoline, clipped to one of the ropes.
August on Lake Michigan. The warm breeze filled the sails and the
boat began to move with a bit of seriousness. As soon as the shallow
water was cleared the rudders were locked into place and I leaned
back into the afternoon sun.
I turned my head to shore just in time to see the boy wave and
walk up the beach toward the swimming pool. Tough life, I thought,
a young boy spending a couple of weeks of summer on the Lake Michigan
beaches.
Daylight had already entered the 4th quarter.
Soon
the launch onto the lake turned into a moment of magic. Sunlight
sparkled across the water and transformed the lake into a sea of
diamonds.. A few high cirrus clouds rode on the horizon, the sky
overhead was a hazy pale summer blue.
Whoa, I said to myself. Floating just inches above the water, the
angle of the sunlight and the angle of the wind was perfect. The
best wind was had by sailing right into the sparkling water. Lazy
swells, inky blue water, and a billion sparkles of light lay ahead.
I cleated the rope, pulled out the tiller extension and stood up
on the trampoline. With my right hand on the tiller and left on
the mast support wire, I stepped out onto the left pontoon.
Balance
A gentle breeze, pale blue sky, and diamonds on the water. I stood
and sailed and sailed and sailed. I did not look back for the longest
time, because I did not want to break the magic of the moment.
It was not a sail into the sunset, nor could it have been. It was
not a sail into a pounding and snarling sea full of high drama.
I was however, a sail into timelessness when wind and sun and water
came together in a gentle melody of life.
I was still sailing, long after the little boy had looked out on
the lake and asked his mother "Hey Mom, Where'd Dad go?