Tuesday, July 27, 2010


Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there or don't matter or I'm all wet (is there any doubt??). But on our way back from a moderately-rough ride to Mackerel Cove on Sunday — after we'd passed Horsehead (where exactly is the horse head??) and an ongoing sailboat race just off Hammersmith Farm (did Jackie and JFK really hang out in that "lighthouse" on the lawn??) — Mr. Betty and I saw a boot. Or what looked like a boot, not a boat, just floating there. We thought about retrieving it, but decided, "Nah." On closer inspection, it looked to be a bottle-of-sorts. A motor oil bottle?? Ick.

Then, back on the mooring, we were waiting for the launch: Tango, specifically. But the driver didn't seem to see us or hear us and passed right by without so much as a wave, just as we'd passed right by the boot as well as an oily-black cormorant on its own nearby mooring. She/he was drying out between fishing trips, not far from the junk (yes, a junk), and somehow that made me think of the oil spill in the Gulf, i.e., real junk. ICK!

Suddenly I felt guilty for not picking up that bobbing boot, boat, bottle or whatever-it-was.

And when we finally got to the dock, there was a foot. Just a foot — that's all we could see — propped there on the stern of a motor yacht docked at Bannister's Wharf. Beneath the foot was a hook, as if he/she were fishing?? Or in need of a boot?? It all fits; how charming. All the while, that cormorant was out there waiting for a lift ...

Not really. There's no point to any such illusion or absurdity, except to say it feels vaguely satisfying (doesn't it??) that the head of BP got the boot, to the extent that solves anything or brings back sunshine, moorings and/or good-fishing to anyone, real or imaginary ...