Monday, July 26, 2004

I like my toast done on one side...

You must be aware, if you lived within 30 miles of downtown Boston, that the Democratic Party held their National Convention in Boston during July 2004.
Was it the blanket TV or media coverage that tipped you off? No. It was just so quiet on the streets, in the restaurants and bars. Seems everyone wanted to get away before the convention came to town. The fact that there were so few ways to get downtown from the outskirts kept everyone else at a safe distance.

That is unless you were one of the more fortunate to be a fun loving out of town conventioneer and not a worker that week. Felt like a pretty clear demonstration of the two Americas. The one having fun and the one having problems making a living.
It does not have to be that way, not in our America.

As Senator John Edwards reminded us, “This is America where everything is possible”, so please, can I have my toast done on one side, because I like it done that way.

Monday, July 05, 2004

I don't drink coffee I take tea my dear...

Stamp duty, Boston Tea Party, Boston Massacre, Paul Reveres ride, the march on Lexington and Concord by 800 British troops, the "shot heard around the world", July 4th 2004, Declaration of Independence. History being celebrated, much of it originating right here in Boston, where other Englishman arrived long before me. In those days there were muskets, today fireworks. However, not this year, for this was my first year in the USA with no fireworks.

Well there were fireworks; I just did not go to see any, being too tired or complacent or both to make the effort. Next year will be different, especially as I recall past events that I have shared with a cast of thousands in Boston three times and Portland, Oregon twice. All were memorable for more than just the big day display.

The first was in Portland, anchored in the middle of the Willamette River on a 30-foot yacht, on a calm and windless night, surrounded by boats of all shapes and sizes. We motored out, cast out the drag anchor to hold against the fast river flow, and watched a staggering display and then made a dash to the shore. Or, rather, we didn’t...

With seemingly only gas fumes in the small outboard, no wind in the sails and an anchor rope straining against the river current we just bobbed there, long after the rockets red glare had faded.

The normal technique is to motor forward, take the load of the drag anchor, pull it up and take off. Each time we got it free, the motor would cut out, causing us to rapidly drop the anchor back down to the riverbed to avoid a nasty trip backwards.

After a few attempts, we made appeals to passing craft. “Ahoy skipper, got any spare gas”? Were they ALL hard of hearing or just intent only on getting into safe harbor and off the single lane road from the peninsular? In any case our shouts brought no response, save the occasional look of disbelief, contempt for our bad planning and oh yes, some laughter. Those Brits, such a wacky sense of humor…

Three hours later, a breeze sprang up inspiring a desperate attempt to start the engine. I have always considered it strange how the mind works when under pressure.
Did I mention that one of the crew was to be matron of honor at a friends wedding next day or rather today as it was by this time.
Well would you “Adam and Eve” (believe) it”. That little engine that couldn’t or plain wouldn’t, inexplicitly could and started gurgling happily. Slowly motoring into the mooring, cold, tired and in need of something hot to drink all I could think of was a nice cup of tea. You see…
I don't drink coffee my dear.