Friday Afternoon - Pier 3 - KDM

Yeah, I'm in the wrong pew down here. I took Oreo out for his afternoon constitutional and Mike and David were just pickin' and plunkin' everything from John Denver to Bobby Goldsboro through a rousing medley of Beatles tunes.  And me with terminal tone deafness. If ever they hear my versions while I'm in the shower, I will be asked to move to another dock for certain. I don't think my lack of musical talent is infectious but who knows? My blossoming musical career came to a screeching halt at about age 10. My music class in grade school was asked to participate in a city system-wide concert with all of the other music classes grouped by age. During the practice sessions in our own little class of twenty warblers, the teacher singled me out and asked that I just mime the words without making any sound. Of course I was absolutely crushed but at least I did get to wear the fancy shirt we all received for our participation. I love music. I love classical, I love pop, I love rock, blue grass, country, jazz, ragtime, you name it.... well, on second thought, I'm not overly fond of Kiss.  I have always blamed the powers that be for cheating me out that stellar career I could have had on stage if only I could carry a tune.  But no, as my Dad would say to me, "You couldn't carry a tune in a paper bag." What he failed to mentioned was that no one in our family could. Genes DO matter. So this afternoon when I walked by these two guys just having a great time, I admit, I was jealous. Not bitter, just a little jealous. My life has led me down many paths that have ended in crushing disappointment (and one or two successes that balance it all out in my opinion) so I have devised a knack for pretty good Plan Bs.  But that first school episode?  Ahhh, that was a toughie.  Never forgot it, but then. after all, how does that old saw go?  "You always remember your first!" 

Mr. Contrite 

This is me unshaven, un-awake, un-caffeinated, and un-repentant but I am slightly contrite. In life, I am not normally a look-in-the-rear-view-mirror kind of person, preferring the view out the front windshield to anything drifting away and fading into the past.  That's not to say I don't use the past to frame my future rants but I rarely go back over things I've written because we change everyday and if you look back you'll want to change something which of course is an idiot's folly.  What one CAN do is adjust future actions. I recently learned this revolutionary concept (for me) is called learning.  It is a little strange to me but most of you may have heard of it. So this morning, one of my new neighbors on the dock mentioned that he had read my blog and enjoyed it but for some unknown reason, I suddenly felt a slight twinge.  Back in my hole at the computer, I perused a bunch of posts (there were far more than I remembered writing) about me and my aversion to change.  I was horrified to note that it could be construed by some that I have been having a bit of fun at the expense of my new surroundings and new friends.  Nothing could be further from the truth. Once again my personal myopia has led me a wee bit astray because everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, has been incredibly welcoming and kind, They have offered help, advice, wine and even laugh at my bad jokes.  These are wonderful folks down here and I will mention that I have traveled a bit in this wide world and nowhere have I found a welcome as gracious as I have received in this little corner of Kentucky.  My intention has always been to have a good laugh at myself for not being a big enough person to recognize my own provincial attitudes. It has never been to make small of regional cultural differences regardless of how weird they may seem to me personally.  As someone who cares a great deal about words and how they are positioned next to one another, I want to apologize if any of you have been offended... oh wait, that's not what I wanted to say... I really don't care if I offend you, so let me re-phrase...  it is NEVER my intention to hurt... but if my chronicling of personal observations is hurtful to a few, perhaps the issue is not my observations.  Strong protestation often brings to mind Willie Shakespeare when he said (not to me personally) "methinks she doth protest too much."  Oh oh... Now I am sure I am going to get a note from my editor and great friend, Nic Allez, who promptly corrected me on my Henry V quote the other day regarding"'once more UNto the breach," not "into the breach," as I so prominently displayed.  In fact he sent me the entire soliloquy so I could grasp the context of the original since I was bastardizing same. Under his breath, I am sure he was muttering, "When is he going to learn?" As I previously mentioned, this whole concept of learning is new to me.

KDM Traffic Jam

A post or two back, I showed a shopping cart loaded with stuff to take down to the boat slip. Apparently I was unaware of standard operating procedures at KDM.  This past Memorial Day weekend was abnormally busy in the marina and I got schooled in how a Southern Gentleman victualizes his yacht.  (or in most cases, his house boat)  Zero car and truck parking (the vast majority of vehicles in this part of the world are pick-up trucks) but most surprising, the plethora of electric golf carts parked on the Holy Church Hill above my pier.  The nearest golf course is about a mile away and I have been curious as to why such a high percentage of boaters also golf locally.  The above pix was taken the day before the holiday weekend and every golf cart space was filled.  By late Friday afternoon, however, this golf cart parking area was nearly empty.  Observing the arriving elderly Southern Gentlemen in their natural habitat, I was shocked to see none were packing golf clubs but nearly all were badly over-loading said golf carts with cases of booze, beer and B-B-Q.  They gingerly climbed into the driver's seat and proceeded to drive the 20 yards from their car to the pier... and continue right down the pier to their boat slip.  Now I understand that cases of alcohol and bags of foodstuffs are heavy but there are a herd of shopping carts available next to the golf cart parking area.  Pushing a shopping cart down the dock however is NOT the Southern Way.  In total I would guess the average saving in yards walked versus yards ridden in a fancy painted Kentucky Wildcat golf cart to be about 40.  The last time I experienced this level of entitlement, I was in Daharan, Saudia Arabia and local university students were driving their Mercedes from one building to another on campus rather than walk half a block. This golf cart migration to the docks and slips was eerily similar in its hilarity.  Fast forward to Tuesday post holiday and the golf cart parking lot was again filled to capacity.  I may have to get me one of those carts. I could paint a Bucky Badger on one door and a Packer "G" on the other.  Then I'd only need an Obama bumper sticker and you could read about me in the New York Times... "YANKEE GOLF CART EXPLODES - DOMESTIC TERRORISM SUSPECTED."       

Red Nek Wine Glasses... no, really!

In this Kentucky dry county, one may not drink visible alcohol in public or be subject to a hefty fine. That means no wine glasses on the aft deck even while in my own slip... UNLESS it is in a red plastic solo cup. So when a few posts ago I whined about wine out of a plastic solo cup, one of the new neighbors took it seriously and gifted Kristine with these beauties. Sorry, Melamine is still plastic.  My good friends Peter and Kathy in Los Angeles would be horrified if I used a plastic cup to drink any of their fine Sonoma or Paso Robles wines. Friday afternoons in Marina del Rey were usually reserved for P&K who would drive down from their mountain aerie in Chatsworth loaded with Trader Joe cheese and snacks AND... a couple of bottles of really, really good red that was so far above my pay grade I didn't recognize the labels. I miss those Friday afternoons, (and often long into the evening) saturated with great wine and punctuated by heated political discussions.  I once considered them best friends until I realized, they DESTROYED my long coveted ability to enjoy cheap wines. And that's not all they have done to ruin my MdR lifestyle. First they go and sell off their exquisite chocolate importing company, cheating me of all those freebie broken slabs of Belgian chocolate that I took off their hands just to help them, of course. Then, adding insult to injury, they hook me, nay, addict me, to good wine every Friday afternoon.  I may never be able to forgive them their trespasses upon my cheap wine sojourns and expensive chocolate binges unless I win the lottery which is unlikely since I am probably the only individual in the US of A who has never bought a lottery ticket of any kind. Some good news... no chocolate freebies, so I am less frightened when I look at the scale. More... the good news... I now drink really good wines, just one sixth as many bottles as I once did. The bad news... I now drink really good wines, just one sixth as many bottles as I once did. I guess having wine aficionados for friends has a downside after all.  Why wasn't I warned about this?

Rain on a Hot Tin Roof

My first Kentucky rainstorm drifted through the marina Sunday morning causing some consternation since rain on a hot tin roof is LOUD.  The drumming patter drowned out not only any normal conversation, but also several requests for a Bloody Mary refill.  I did make a snap judgement at that moment considering the rain as payback for not attending the Sunday Service on the Hill (overlooking my pier and slip as previously alluded to in this bog) but quickly realized it was raining on the Faithful as well and they were not under a tin roof.  Irony?  Or simply testing the faithful?  Not my place to speculate on what their god might consider "coin of the realm" payback but were I that preacher, I would be a bit uneasy about all that amplifier equipment getting drenched while I was holding the microphone attached to the big ass amplifier by a loooong electrical cord.  Therein lies the main pillar of my long held religious belief system. Just as I have no right to convert or proselytize him, I also have no right to interfere with his strong belief protecting him from minor electrocution or a lightning strike illuminating him and his flock. To each according to his need, perhaps, but just as valid, to each according to his level of stupidity.  I believe that to be a direct quote from the Cogent Chronicles of the Church of the Bloody Mary,  But enough preaching on this Sunday because it is supposedly their day of rest.  Did you ever ask yourself, if it is a mandated day of rest, why is it that preachers work on Sunday?  Ahhhh yes, religion, the deep spring from which hypocrisy flows unabated. Oh wait... I was still preaching.... damn it is hard to get out of the habit. However, in the long term, I guess it matters little that the raindrops drumming on the tin roof of my New Kentucky Home drown out my words... after all, I've been drowning y'all in words for nigh on to two dozen posts now. 

Back to Normal... Collecting Treasures

Boats are often thought to be small and confined and crowded.  By the same line of reasoning, a 200 foot mega-yacht should be spacious, but here's the conundrum...  all boats regardless of size are stuffed with items not normally used or needed but they seem to disappear once aboard.  Even big items come on board and vanish into some cleverly thought out lazzarette or storage space, hidden or stowed out of the way. So on a mega-yacht the 5th jet-ski probably doesn't get used much just as the two person kayak on AURORA rarely gets used. The thing is, there are so many places to stuff stuff on a boat that my tendency is to keep stuffing.  The pack rat in me will always find just the right size space to store whatever it is I believe I may need sometime in my future.  The three weeks before I loaded AURORA on the Gooding's truck, I was forced to lighten the load.  Literally I had to remove extraneous weight and was amazed (and shocked) at items retrieved that I had no recollection of acquiring, including a Veg-a-Matic food chopper in its original 1950's box.  The Goodwill pile and the toss-out pile were huge but I worked through separation anxiety and pretty much emptied AURORA of hundreds of items large and small, light and heavy.  As traumatic as it may have been for me, (they were after all, treasures collected each with its own story attached)  there was one soothing thought... empty spaces can be re-filled.   The above pix demonstrates the efficacy of that factoid...  the first load of treasures bound for their new home on my Old Kentucky Home.  

Mint-ed in Kentucky

Last Saturday was the umpteenth running of the Kentucky Derby. Before this past Saturday, I had never been in Kentucky during derby week but I knew AURORA would be there for this 2014 running.  What better way to inaugurate the new slip with AURORA than to sip a few Mint Juleps while watching the Derby on a streaming internet connection. Thus, in giddy preparation, I transported a flagon of Maker's Mark bourbon from MKE because AURORA now resides in a dry county in Western Kentucky.  I believe I have mentioned the unique regulations regarding alcohol in a glass in a dry Kentucky county previously.  My limited experience with the mixology involved, nay, demanded only the bourbon, (brought it) simple syrup, (easy-- equal parts sugar and water) and fresh mint leaves (local supply) to muddle in the bottom of the glass.  I didn't bother to  bring fresh mint because I was going to be in Kentucky for Heaven's sake... it is where Mint Juleps originated! EVERY grocery store would have fresh mint for this legendary weekend. Hmmmm!  You guessed correct... not one of the three grocery stores within 10 miles had any nor did they even carry it.  I could understand having run out on this particular weekend, but not even carrying it?  30 different cuts of ham, 14 kinds of bacon and more ribs than Rocky Marciano ever broke, but NO fresh mint for Mint Juleps?  Really?  I found myself in this alternate universe complaining bitterly to my new dock neighbor (who shall remained un-named for reasons to be revealed presently) and he, taking pity on the newbie, offered to pick some up for me when he went out on a couple of errands.  I told him I could not find any and I am sure he assumed me being a Yankee, I had no clue as to where to go. Fast forward one hour and my new neighbor raps on the starboard window and when I open it he holds up a slew of mint sprigs wrapped in paper towel. "Is this what you need?" he asked while exhibiting a Cheshire Cat grin that extended from ear to ear. "Where in the world did you find it?"  I asked incredulously.  He told me he went to three places and no one had any so he simply improvised.  He stopped off at the garden center at Walmart and snipped a bunch of sprigs from one of their plants sitting on a shelf.  Subsequently, he enjoyed the fruits of his labors with us while all the pretty horses ran around that big white fence looking for the exit. You know all those images in your mind of Southern Belles sitting around in rocking chairs on a big open porch sipping Mint Juleps?  Well the reason they are sitting is because after a couple of those Juleps, they CAN'T stand up!   I should add, my enterprising dock neighbor has a friend for life.  You know who you are and Kristine and I thank you profusely for salvaging AURORA's special inauguration on Derby Day 2014.  

Where in the World is Waldo?

A whole bunch of you  (OK... maybe 1 or 2)  have inquired as to AURORA's whereabouts. Thank you Google Earth for your penchant for invading every place and everybody's privacy so that I could show the above pix with the annotated location of AURORA. Luckily, there is a roof over her and you have been spared the sight of of this beer belly-ed, gray haired old man lounging on the aft deck in only a Speedo. OK, maybe I lied a little bit about the Speedo, but as gross as the Speedo may be, the sight of RK without a shirt rivals your worst nightmares. This damn aging process (in my case) is steady but undeniably sneaky.  i.e. I notice the hair on my head has stopped growing, but so as to not to make me worry about balding, hairs proliferate in my ears like cattails in a swamp. So if you are looking for RK, look for the guy with the bushy sideburns placed just a shade further back than one would normally expect.  Speak loudly... for some reason I don't hear well these days.    

Welcome Home

Standing at the end of Pier Three, Kris and Oreo welcome me and AURORA to Kentucky Dam Marina on a white capped Thursday morning.  She may be dirty but she ran the 5 mile upwind trip in an easy lope at 1850 RPMs.  20 knots of headwind and yet, the biggest wave only ran about 18 inches.  In Santa Monica Bay we'd have been rockin' & rollin' in 4-5 footers.  I guess fetch does have something to do with wave height... who'd have thunk it.....?  

Undercover Roughwater

RK Explores Alternate Entrance

In response to the one or two irate emails inquiring if I had died, this was one of those times when I REALLY did wish you were here.  Cleaning, washing, removing the residue from the yellow gaffer's tape I used to seal the aft end of the cabin top and pilot house made the last few days disappear sans blog posts but not without the intake of an inordinate amount of ibuprofen.  Constant manual labor is not one of my favored traits.  I feel in the interest of full disclosure I must mention I blew the first docking maneuver coming into slip 327.  That strong cross wind pushed me too far down the fairway as I made an early turn to the slip and I had to do a go-around. But I guessed right on the second attempt slipping easily into the slip without hitting either Kris or Oreo waiting on the finger pier.  Nothing like embarrassing one's self with a bad first impression.  Thankfully I saw only one guy across the fairway shake his head, no doubt grateful that I was not on his dock.  Serious re-commissioning now commences.   

On Board 

Wednesday 30 April 2014, 3:54 PM  -  AURORA is no longer a fresh water virgin.  She splashed at Green Turtle Bay Boat Yard on the Cumberland River and Barkley Lake after 29 days of riding on the hard across the western half of the United States.  Damage report... two wine glasses broken and a few pounds of dust and dirt trying to hide inconspicuously in corners of the main salon.  Thank you Dan and Nancy of J. Daniel Marine for taking such good care of her.  Rest assured I will always be grateful and most happy to tout your competence and professionalism to any and all who ever broach the subject of moving big boats.  I know it is selfish of me but I hope you guys never retire.  Thank you thank you thank you.