Safe at Home (#10)

We slipped into Boot Key Harbor last night in between two competing squalls and are safely moored in our new home. It’s quite picturesque and even the trailer park across the harbor isn’t a complete eyesore. The marina is a short dinghy ride away where exotic pleasures like newspapers and laundry reside. There’s even showers, but in a building that makes my cabin feel cool. Taking one is pointless since you’re drenched in twice as much sweat as you were when you entered.
On our way in, we passed underneath a drawbridge that’s connected to a deserted island and is no longer tendered, since the road traversing it has been closed off for years. What it’s doing there in the first place is anybody’s guess, but I suspect the Fed's. While the government was looking for Cuban terrorists back in the 60's under every piling (they also made it illegal to give out the clearance height of closed bridges which resulted in a lot of snapped antennas and pissed off captains), these guys, who resemble castaways from a Defoe novel having a bad day, were happily raising and lowering the sucker every time a boat passed underneath. Then some suit showed up and said “Why don’t we just leave it up?” instantly putting that motley crew out of a job. But they must be getting a pension. You can find them right after dawn every morning sitting under a shorn banyan tree next to the dumpsters outside of the marina working through an 18-pack of Busch Lite. (With a sign posted above them that reads “No oil or gas allowed”. Maybe the city is afraid they’ll drink it.) One guy’s missing an arm and there’s often a woman with them that’s shy a hand. (At least they’re an equal missed-opportunity bunch.) I hope to sneak a picture of them but they don’t seem very friendly and I am concerned about getting conked in the head by a shower of empty beer cans. We’ll see.
We also bid a not-so-fond farewell to Fred. He’d turned surlier as the days progressed. I think he missed his girlfriend although he argued the contrary (along with just about everything else). Arguing had become his passion and we’d had enough. My epiphany came when I was sitting up on the flying bridge one evening just before sunset with a set of binoculars watching a storm gathering off the mainland. (OK, I was looking for boats w/topless girls in them.) I was scanning a really dark cloud when two funnel shapes appeared and began swirling downwards.
“Hey Fred” I shouted.
The first funnel touched the water then spun back up into the cloud leaving a small nipple hanging off of it. (Although this wasn’t the kind of nipple I was looking for, it was pretty cool.)
“Hey Fred” I repeated. “You gotta see this!” (Unless he’s discovered my I-Pod, I thought, he’s going deaf.)
The second funnel continued its descent and began stirring up the surface.
“Hey Fred!” 
“What?” he hollered back sounding annoyed. 
(Had he been ignoring me? At least I knew my I-Pod was safe.)
“There’s a waterspout out there. You should check it out!”
“It’s too late in the day for a waterspout!”  
I wondered if the folks in its path were aware of that as I watched a boat barrel by it like a bat outta hell.
“You need to tell that to the waterspout” I shouted back. A third funnel cloud made its appearance and lurched downward. “Maybe it’s over the land” I added. 
“Then it’s not a waterspout” he barked.
His hammock was directly below where I was sitting, just an arms length from a toolbox. I considered doing something Newtonian followed by a faint “oops” but paused. Who will fix all the shit that’s busted? I reasoned. So I dropped the thought and not the hammer. 
I’d say I’ll miss ‘ol Fred. I’ll certainly miss my $20.00. But I’ve got the feeling I’ll be seeing him wherever there’s a 2-for-1 Happy Hour w/free appetizers. I know I’ll be there.