Missing the person in the foreground, the one who is now midway between the yooperland and megalopolis (that’s a second cousin in the back). Not a very exciting day except for the stuff that falls into that enticing category of I-can’t-blahg-about-that (nothing bad, those who care [grin]). Trip in to Siberia to drop off a bag of recycling, add a bag of garbage to The Commander’s can and put it out by the road, eat at Kenny’s Pitchen, buy some chicken to BBQ (because I FORGOT TO BUY IT the other day even though it was ON MY LIST), and fill a gas can with gas for The Motor Boat. And Lizard Breath’s vee-hickle (does it have a name yet?). Not that she can’t buy her own gas, just because we love to spend money on our beach urchins.

Despite the on-and-off iffy weather conditions, Miz Liz womaned up and took a dip in Gitchee Gumee before leaving. I’d’ve joined her but she was already out before I knew she went in. When the beach urchins were teenagers, on the day we had to FORCE ourselves to pack up the blasted POC and head southward, we would swim just before we left and usually our hair would still be a little damp by the time we got to Houghton Lake. Hanging on to a bit of Gitchee Gumee as long as we possibly could.

These folks are out in the MotorBoat by the Pickle Finger. Little Miss Lizard Breath actually named the Pickle Finger when she was a wee tot. The Pickle Finger was being built at that time and I’m not really clear on this but when *I* was a beach urchin, there were red and green buoys out there galore. I think the Pickle Finger replaced some of those and not everyone was all that happy about it. Radical Betty called it The Fickle Finger of Fate and Lizard Breath took it from there.

That Beach Bum hat? That was Grandroobly’s. She uses his Jack mug from the USAF museum down at Wright-Patterson AFB in Dayton. When I was a kid, I toured enough old airplanes and submarines and things to last me the rest of my life. Anyway, I have guests. I gotta go.

G’night,
Kayak Woman

Oh yeah, P. S., there was the whole “where’s my iPhone” incident (not *my* iPhone, I was *using* mine at the time). Try looking in the pocket of your life jacket?

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