Some friends asked if we wanted to go sailing this past Saturday.
Um, gee, lemme think how we responded ... ABSOLUTELY!!
It was aboard a 12-meter — Columbia, who defended the America's Cup in 1958 — making it especially special. Not that all sailing isn't great, regardless of vessel; it is. Unless it's stormy, of course (which it may be by the time next Saturday rolls around, given concerns over Hurricane Earl), but last Saturday was perfect. Light air, meaning we went no faster than a few knots, but perfect. We headed North, under the bridge, and had a really nice time of it: talking, tacking, drinking Fresca (remember Fresca??), soaking up sights in the distance and at close-range. Columbia is pretty cool, as she bridges old and new so nicely. And somehow Mr. Betty and I hadn't been sailing once this summer — not once. The closest I came was tying a few practice knots on a home-made vessel at the Folk Festival, where I saw a guy go so far as to put down his Del's in order to try tying a bowline. When he was done, I tried ... even remembered how to do it (amazing!!).
So then (back to Saturday) I started thinking about knots ... lines ... strings ... thread ... wood ... glue ... rigging ... screws ... basically, all manner of stuff that holds stuff together. And, after sailing, we went to Belle's, at the Shipyard, where it appeared someone had just tied the knot (gotten hitched??), beside which there was a bright-red clove hitch ...
