Tag Archives: Bowens Island

Mr. Chicken Little bites his nails as he picks flooring …


As the three of us spend less and less time on the phone with each other, our typical very short calls are largely for items that are mostly quick updates (“I arrive at the Minneapolis airport at 4:30. Goodbye.”). We’re just not chatters and FaceTimers so the letters step in to partially fill informational voids.


December 5, 2017

Ellen/Reid: Now’s the time for a bit of nail biting as the buyers have until Dec. 15 to pull the plug. To be able to keep their $2,500 won’t be of much solace should the deal head south. My Realtor tried to keep Mister Chicken-Little-The-Sky-Is-Falling calm yesterday; he cautioned that there’s always a ‘list.’ The only bugaboos to me are the water heater and a periodic small drip from the freezer, which I have already disclosed. We’ll just have to see how it goes.

All it’s done is solidify the desire to relocate in Brevard. You know the reasons. There is also something about reinvention of self with a little adventure and the unknown tossed in for good measure. What I do know is that picking flooring is not my cup of tea. Ellen, the lighter shade just seemed right so I’m sorry to have vetoed your choice. The hardwood goes down this week. You will have more opportunity to serve as my decorator; what would you think about plantation shutters? Those are what’s in the current home and I like them very much.

The final nail in the Head West coffin was poking along at seven miles an hour yesterday on I-77. One hour to drive the final seven miles to home. That’s just a deal killer. Three lanes of white lights and red taillights for as far as the eye can see. That’s no way to live, no way to drive. I’m going to do better. Already, I’m Googling things to do in Brevard and Asheville and Hendersonville.

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The kitchen is in the final stages of completion. I’m finding the hard way that decor and interior design is not necessarily my cup of tea.

To reiterate, the reason for three bedrooms is so that you and friends from Charlotte and Iowa have a place to stay on the doorstep of the mountains. There will be a definite open door policy for those sorts of visitors. And be sure to tell Tim, Ellen, that I will hold him to his oath for you four to spend next Thanksgiving at my new pad. Reid, you and Liz are welcome, too, although your T-Days seem locked in at St. Paul.

It was a good decision at the last possible moment to head early a.m. to Charleston. The fishing was unbelievable for species I seldom catch, trout and sheepshead. I mean, for a long time it was nice fish after nice fish. Bang. Bang. Bang. It didn’t appear that way at first. The tide was by far the highest I’d ever seen it owning to the Super Moon effect. It pulled the water almost to the top of the docks. It was cold and windy, too. The thought was ‘Here we go again – no fish’. Reid, I tried a new Z-Man plastic lure slipped over a jig that has a big ‘eye’ where the lead weight usually is. The trout went bonkers over it. As per usual, a black man who fishes from the dock at the put in point was the beneficiary of my good fortune. He got a hefty 18 inch black drum and a nice 20 inch trout. After all the gear was stowed at home and the fish cleaned, I dropped some off to my friends Jill and Troy. Nice to share the bounty with folks who will know what to do with it. Troy is one helluva chef. I was wrong, too, about Bowens Island as only marginally further from Brevard. It will add about 60 miles each way. Perhaps it’s time to junk the down-and-back mentality and just stay overnight and fish for two days rather than one.

As for the new hernia, jeez. The doctor cautioned me against too-harsh floor workouts which he attributed, in part, to the new bulge. But since there are no restrictions between now and the surgery date (which has yet to be set) then all will be good in terms of preparation for the move. Ideally, it would be nice to stave it off until after all is said and done with the new house in Brevard. Ellen, let Tim know I appreciate his offer to fly down and help with the packing (and heavy lifting). I may well take him up on it. Reid, I don’t know your schedule beyond Sri Lanka but don’t feel by any means that your presence here is required.

So keep your fingers crossed that the 15th will yield a set-in-stone contract. Toes crossed, too.

Love, Dad

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A travelogue from the couch …


I guess this is what retirees do. Hit the road. 

This must be – has to be – the first letter Ellen and Reid have ever received that deals exclusively with their old man’s travel. Maybe not the travel itself, but the looking forward to it. Now if only I was better at the planning …


June 12, 2017

Ellen/Reid: Tomorrow marks a drastic change for me in terms of fishing with Miss Emma in Charleston; I’ll finally overnight there to milk a second day out of the excursion. I booked a fleabag on the west end of Rte. 17 north of Bowens Island. It’ll be interesting to see how it plays out since the down-and-back in one day routine just flat wore me out. Don’t ask why this tact has not been taken before. Beats the hell out of me. I’m cheap, I guess.

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Bowens Island is my escape route. Escape to the water. Miss Emma got a full taste of the brackish salt creeks last week, and she’ll get more of same this week, too.

There’s an added factor in that my friends Jill and Troy want some of my fish as an glitzy appetizer for a big, formal sit-down meal they plan to serve to 20 – 25 guests. They are both chefs as opposed to cooks so they’ll doll up whatever is caught and really make it delicious. So for once we will be a production fishing operation. It means we can spend way more time on the water on Day One rather than scoot out of town at 2 p.m. or so to beat the horrid Charleston traffic. So it’s exciting in a way.

Wyoming is really creeping up soon. This time next month everything might be in the pack. Got to get some new tires for the Camry for the Westward trip since there are nearly 48,000 miles on the car in barely 19 months. My trail meals have already been purchased from an outfit called Packitgourmet.com. The food is all dehydrated rather than freeze dried which takes, in my opinion, too much time to rehydrate. What I’ve seen from Packitgourmet.com is some really good stuff. Almost cuisine. Lunches will be the standard peanut butter and flour tortillas along with tuna in foil packs. Tom buys dried fruit at Trader Joe’s which is really good. Breakfasts will be equally standard; oatmeal with raisins and Starbucks instant coffee. The Tyvek hustled from a construction site has been trimmed to fit the one man tent (and the two person tent, too, Reid). That saves some weight and it compresses better than the plastic sheets. We’ll stay at the super-duper Four Winds in Jackson on the eve of the hike. Reid, Pinedale was nearly full. I had to scrounge for a motel. Must be a lot of roughnecks staying overnight. No way I want to spend another night in the car under a full moon like we did 11 or so years ago. What a memory that is.

Been paging through the Camino de Santiago guide, trying to wrap my arms around the whole idea of an enormous trip. It’s interesting that the author of the guide asks readers early in the book to consider why they would make the trip at all. Really a good question. He assumes, and treats readers thusly, that most make a pilgrimage rather than treat it like a hike or sporting event (my friends Tom and Vince and Richard who’ve all made the trip think it’s more of a walk than a hike). Certainly it’s not race walking or push every day for miles, miles, miles. As I look at the map of Spain – my sense of geography is just awful – my anticipated side trips to Madrid and Barcelona won’t happen. Both are just too far off the trail. In fact, I might book my initial flight in to Barcelona rather than an airport to St. Jean Pied de Port, France, the traditional starting point for the Camino. That way I can spend a day or two traipsing around Barcelona and then hop a bus toward Pamplona which is three days walk from St. Jean. Tom sent me his exacting and incredibly detailed (go figure, huh, Reid?) gear list and that is an enormous help. I’ve been bending Vince’s ear, too.

All this has me thinking about other adventures of this sort that might be made since we shouldn’t be afraid to live. It would be so fun to launch Miss Emma offshore to paddle the length of the Carolinas. It’d take some planning but what fun that would be. There isn’t much other international travel that trips my trigger. Reid, remember that guy we saw up in the Bridger who walked the Continental Divide Trail? Now that would be an extraordinary feat. I’d do that, too, but again, I’d need Tom’s sense of planning since such minute details tend to escape me. No surprise there. Sigh.

Love, Dad

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We were all Irish for one day in Asheville … and the hunt is on for a PT job


An old saying has it that we’re all Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.

That was true in Asheville, a town that didn’t invent fun but has perfected it. What went on in Asheville will stay in Asheville except to say Jamison and Irish Car Bombs were the order of the day. Mercifully, it was an early night.

And, like Reid, I’m prowling around for a part time job, if nothing else than to fill 6 – 8  idle hours each week.

One final note: next week’s 697 word letter to Ellen and Reid was written in 9 minutes. That is likely a personal record, but who’s keeping track?


March 20, 2017

Ellen/Reid: It’s really been colder than it ought to be down here. Our morning lows (20s and low 30s) and yours aren’t that far apart. Maybe it’s the higher humidity in these parts, but it’s just bone chilling. Windier than normal, too. I made a new platform for my container garden alongside the driveway and fully intended to sow the first seeds of romaine and spinach over the weekend but shelved that to stay inside. I won’t wimp out today and will get it done. The planting is at least two weeks overdue. This time last year the seeds had sprouted.

Had an extraordinarily fun St. Patrick’s weekend with my friends Sondra and Jody and Sue in Asheville. It’s just one helluva town. Lots going on and lots of fun people. Sondra and Jody wanted authentic corned beef and cabbage (the boiled variety, mind you) so we started with that and then wandered over to a jam-packed Irish Bar where Jody somehow snagged four primo corner seats at the bar. We proceeded to idle the next five or so hours there listening to locals play Irish music

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It’s not often Irish music gets jam session treatment, but that’s how they do it in Asheville. And these folks did a pretty damn good job at Jack of the Wood.

until we finally called it a night although it wasn’t that late. It was great fun. We left my car downtown overnight and wisely Ubered it back to the motel. The next morning Sondra and I were up around 6:30 to go retrieve my car. I made a side trip to Starbucks and camped there for an hour or so to read the local paper and enjoy the strong black eye-opener. We played golf at the posh Grove Park Inn. It’s a mountain course, tight and really a challenge for being a so-called short course. Jody shot lights out while the rest of us kind of muddled around on a nice day. We pledged to do the ‘Celtic Open’ again next year. St. Patrick’s Day will be on a Saturday. Yikes.

The Medicare thing is getting really old really fast. Just cannot get any straight answers no matter how many people I talk to on the phone. I mean, it’s been hours of conversation and questions. Very frustrating. In fact, one of the Social Security people said it could be up to another 60 days before a resolution is determined. Fortunately, the hernia isn’t worsening as of this writing but you never know. But if it drags on much longer it’s going to make a mess of my Wyoming plans and perhaps the Spain trek in the fall. There’s been a physical toll taken, too, in that I haven’t visited the Y in a month and walking 4 – 8 miles per day just doesn’t cut it. I can feel my conditioning slip away. The scales don’t lie, either. This predicament is all consuming for me right now.

Applied for a couple of part time editing jobs on LinkedIn. We’ll see if anyone bites. Reid, have you plied those online waters very much? I was surprised Continue reading

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Repeating myself …


There are times in letter writing when topics are rehashed – and rehashed. Then rehashed again for good measure.

Repetitious cases in point: kayak fishing, home sales, job searches, et al.

I wish it might be otherwise. But since we are creatures of habit we tend to do the same things time and time again. It’s just a matter of how you mix up the retelling of those reoccurrences. It’s all in an effort so Ellen and Reid don’t get bored more than they already are when they read the same things over and over. And over.


February 6, 2017

Ellen/Reid: This birthday thing is no big deal. It really isn’t. As of this moment I am declaring 67 to be the new 63. Knock on wood, but I’m feeling pretty good, continuing to not slow down (okay, maybe mentally) and feel generally pretty good about things. Of course, that’s a serious knock on wood. Life is fairly fragile and it can turn on a dime.

Ellen, your photos make it seem that you are ready to move in, maybe before I arrive in a couple of weeks. This really has to be a time of wonderment for the girls. They just have to be so excited at the prospect of their own rooms, their own bath, a new yard to play in. My perception is it’s a great neighborhood. Can’t wait to see it. It just looks so cool. Your contractors have really motored along. Can’t always say that about hired help. Maybe it’s the Minnesota work ethic.

Reid, tell me more about this London thing. Sounds intriguing. Are they paying you for your ideas and work? I wish I’d of visited you when you worked over there. Why didn’t that happen? That would have been a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see you in overseas action. That certainly was a marvelous experience. Once this home move comes to pass then I can turn attention to the Spain/England walkabout later this year. I’m going to pump some of the proceeds of the house sale into the trip. I’ll try to tap into the experience and wisdom of Tom and Vince and my friend Richard, all of whom have hiked the length of the Camino in one swoop. My penchant is to go over and hit the road  in an uneducated fashion but since I’m not the natural, intrinsic planner I need to take a step back and really get the logistics worked out. It will be a great solo adventure.

As for Wyoming there is now one more very interested/likely hiker. His name is Ted Ingold. He’s in my golf group and it’s 75/25 that he will make the trip. As of this writing it looks as if the likely hikers are Ted, Tom, Vince, Katy and me. Not a bad core group. Ted is really keen on fishing and being part of the great adventure. It would be great if you and Liz could make it, Reid, but when you land a new job your time will be spoken for. If we could entice another 2-3-4 people to sojourn with  us that would be fabulous. The more the merrier.

The new Realtor, the W Group, seems to have their act together. All three floors have been completely reconfigured per the suggestion of their stager. Frankly, she wanted to soften the rough edges Continue reading

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An uncalibrated guidance system … softening a man’s sense of style … and Miss Emma will find a new home


It is no secret that a huge chunk of my heart wants to stay in the South. Have I wavered back and forth – and back and forth? Absolutely. My internal guidance system seems uncalibrated. What was once clear is now muddied and what was once certain is now shaky. (I wonder, aloud sometimes, if it’s a selfish train of thought.)

Ellen and Reid both know that. But there are two little ‘X’ factors, ages 4 and 1, who are the tie breakers.

As for the pending move, one of the worst things a home seller can hear is “It looks like a guy place.” Ouch. Another sign I was late to the design and decor party. It’s as if I never showed up.


January 30, 2017

Ellen/Reid: It’s 31F this morning as this is written and it feels like the cold is seeping right through the brick walls of this place. I guess that’s why they make thick fleece garments. Hot coffee helps, too. Yeah, yeah, nothing like MN (20F) or IL (16F) but it’s all relative. You get the drift.

You need to know I’ve waffled on the move so much in recent weeks that my flip flops have surpassed the total waffles served at the local Waffle House. Some guidance has been sought from friends and the substance of their counsel boils down to ‘what makes you happy.’ Hence, the conflicting thoughts of simply staying put vs. 10 seconds later considering a move to Minneapolis rather than Des Moines since it would cut down on travel and would offer cheaper flights to Chicago, Reid. I’ve tried to balance the Salt Life, weather and friends here against the need to be closer to you guys. The lack of a relationship is a factor as well. There seems to be no going back, however, on the decision. Every time I see a photo of the girls it just solidifies it. Granted, it’s something of an atypical retirement move in reverse; heading North when loads of people up there pull up stakes to make their home base down South. What I’m not afraid of is reinventing the social/activity wheel. As much as it pains me to leave friends, I can always find things to do and people to do them with. I just have to keep looking at photos of The Girls in the weak moments.

The new Realtor takes over this week. He’s very aggressive and optimistic and at the right price point. He’s also pushing me somewhat on ‘staging’ although I have pushed back to encourage him to sell to the intrinsic strengths of the house. His agency sent over some ‘suggestions’ last night but the file has yet to be opened. If they wanted repainted walls and such, they can forget it. I’m not gonna second guess someone else’s sense of decor and style. Years ago, one of my Assoc. Press questions was to what degree do new homeowners repaint or change carpets. It was 80 percent in the former and two-thirds in the latter, so what’s the point? Sell to the basic strengths of the house. One thing I did agree to was a verbal suggestion to swap the leather furniture on the middle floor with the smaller, more fabric covered living room set on the first floor since it was deemed there was too much manly leather in a small space. That point makes sense. Funny that the first bid on Zillow was $345,000. Go figure. The house sale may put a crimp in my plans to drive up to your uncle’s retirement soiree in Grand Island. We’ll see how the first few days of the listing go.

Miss Emma and me will head back down to Bowens Island this Thursday. I am feeling the pinch to get down there with even more frequency since the house sale clock is ticking and the opportunity to fish will vanish entirely when the home sells.

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A fine trio of slot redfish … ideal for my Feb. 17 fish-a-thon. I dearly love the saltwater and will miss everything about it immensely but granddaughters Emma and Georgia are the tie breakers.  

Miss Emma will find an eventual home up at Cass Lake where you guys can put her to good use. The rods will stay in my possession. If/when I return for visits I can always rent a boat at Charleston Outdoor Adventures. They featured us in a video for their web site but I’m not sure it’s been posted yet. If/when it is, I’ll let you know.

There’ve been enough political rants – however well deserved – made in recent days that there’s no need for me to pile on any more other than to say ill-considered executive orders does not a leader make. He bypasses the other branches of government entirely. He’s just not very good.

Okay, I’m off to the Y to get today’s workout in. Ellen, heres to hoping your strep throat is healed by the time you get this. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. And Reid, keep your mom and me posted on your job prospects. Our fingers and toes are crossed for you. Hi to Liz.

Love, Dad

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Oh, for a beer to go with oysters – a by-product of generosity and a delicacy on the grill …


Salt water fishing is a recurring theme in my letters. 

I like it so much I wonder why it took so long – eight years – to cast my first line in the inshore waters south of Charleston. The total investment is upwards of $4,000 in a kayak and associated gear – not to mention the travel and early morning departures to pursue red fish and black drum and speckled sea trout. It’s some of the best money I’ve ever spent.

I wouldn’t have it any other way. And that means Ellen and Reid often – too often? – read about the all-too-frequent and goofy/poor skills fishing mistakes as well as the triumphs. 

But that’s why I write weekly letters – so they can know what I’m up to and why – even if it reveals my obsession with the Salt Life.


November 28, 2016

Ellen/Reid: Reid, thanks for the invitation to join you and Liz for Christmas at Marco Island. Sounds like fun, and I’ll be there for sure. That sounds like about the right length of time for a visit without overstaying my welcome. Keep me posted on the fishing charter. That will make a bit of difference when I arrive. Miss Emma will drive down with me. I may stick around in another part of Florida or head up to Louisiana to try the red fish up that way. Tim keeps saying how good it is and that might be the time to give it a go since we’ll be in the general vicinity.

Really have done well the last couple of weeks of fishing. Lots of reds (for a change) and big black drum. When not anchored at the barge I still have trouble catching anything in waters that are still a bit tricky to me. It seems you have to fish when the tide is headed out or by oyster beds. What seems to bite the most in the channels are the speckled trout which are, by the way, a truly delicious fish. The tactic to use is a popping cork, a rig with a sliding bobber about two feet above the hook. There are some plastic beads that make noise when the bobber slides back and forth, ostensibly attracting fish to the noise. Caught a nice flounder by surprise on it for the first time last week.

Came upon a trove of fresh oysters on Thanksgiving Day as a result of some dual generosity. I’ve gotten to know an older oysterman, Richard, and gave him a spare redfish a couple of weeks ago, for which he was most appreciative. While the reds were really biting last week – even for this hapless fisherman – he was across the salt creek working hard at an oyster bed and I gave him a yell to see if he wanted a red.

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Here’s my take home pay the week after Thanksgiving; a trifecta of black drum, red fish and speckled sea trout. On T-Day, two red fish didn’t make the trip home with Miss Emma and me; they stayed behind with the oystermen.

He nodded ‘yes’ and when his local harvest was done, he and his crew mate came over to retrieve the 19” drum. When the fish was transferred to his flat boat, the boat hand surprised me by dumping a bushel of oysters, maybe 40-50 pounds worth, in the back of Miss Emma, nearly pushing our stern underwater. That gesture was worth another fish so now they each had a nice drum in their boat and I had big, juicy oysters. The three of us sat there for awhile as Richard pried open a bunch of the shellfish for our de facto Thanksgiving meal. ‘Oh, for a beer,’ I said and we all laughed. After the fishing was done and the boat was loaded atop the car, I poured the oysters into one of the rugged, untearable 35 gallon plastic sacks Richard uses to deliver oysters to a few top-end restaurants in downtown Charleston as well as the diner right there are the Bowens Island put in point. The oysters were covered in mud so when I got home in early evening I dumped the contents of the bag onto the driveway and washed them down as best I could and put them on ice in the cooler than held slot fish: two red drum, three black drum, and one trout and flounder each.

We roasted the bi-valves on the grill over the weekend, and holy cow, what a feast. They were just incredible.

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Toss South Carolina oysters on the grill for 8 – 9 minutes, open a cold one and some cocktail sauce – now that’s some fine eating. It’s no tough task to open the bi-valves. Their shells wedge open during the roasting, putting the salty, succulent meat within easy reach.

The first night I overcooked them a bit – their shells tend to pop when really hot – but the second time they came out just perfect. Not bad with a beer and some horse radish. Since the fishing should still be good, Miss Emma and I will head to the barge one day this week and my salt water license also covers the collection of oysters. I’ll use a brick to jar them from the pillars near the barge and other open oyster beds. That will double the fun.

Here are a couple of fragrant eucalyptus leaves from a tree along my daily route. In the early darkness on Saturday and Sunday I’ll pluck a sweet smelling leaf from the tree and crush the aromatic foliage in my fingers just for the heck of it. Adds a little zest to the walk. Emma should like that fragrance. Thanks, Ellen, for Face Timing the girls with me. Love it.

Okay, over and out. Don’t be too late to get me your Christmas lists. ASAP. Stat. Pronto. As for me, it should be the usual – nothing. Really, there’s nothing I want or need. Other than a house sale but no way you can assist on that front.

Love, Dad

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Losing at fishing and a countdown to the Bridger …


I’ve been AWOL the past few weeks with my blog posts (the letters to Ellen and Reid have still gone out) as I’ve wrestled with internal turmoil about my newspaper gig. That’s resolved now, and it’s time to keep on keeping on.


May 31, 2016

Ellen/Reid: Geez, there have been better weeks than the one that just passed. I dunno, stuff was just setting me off for all the wrong reasons. The letter to you is usually the first thing on the priority list but even it got bypassed for the first time in a long while. There just doesn’t seem like enough time to do the things that I want to do.

That includes a purge of stuff to get ready for the sale. The garage is a good starting point, then the closets, and maybe some of the furnishings. Only enough needs to be kept to furnish a two bedroom place. Hopefully, one can be found on a single floor so there’s no more going up and down the infernal steps (I re-goofed up the left knee by jumping out of a moving golf cart about a week ago. Idiot.). Things are pretty ship-shape mechanically speaking – knock on wood. Units here appear to be selling fairly briskly and at reasonable prices so we’ll see. The goal is still an Aug. 1 date on the market. Ellen, you guys came out smelling like a rose on the sale of your place, and the inspection report was a good one. That gives you clear sailing to pack up and move out. Let’s hope that holds true for the home you’re buying.

Went back down to Charleston with my buddy Ted and he crushed me from his rental kayak. He nearly swept all the bets we shook on. I got the first fish but he claimed the most and the biggest. What was disappointing was we only caught one in the slot, a speckled trout, which we gave to a black woman at the dock.

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My friend Ted enjoys a cold beer – at my expense – after he out-fished me on what should be my turf: Bowens Island. But if you’re going to lose a bet, no better view than the elevated deck at the Bowens Island Restaurant.

Ted caught nine or 10 black drum to close me out. I caught eight, including a small shark. For like the fourth or fifth straight trip, there were no reds boated which was really disappointing. Reid, I think the barge is completely overfished and there’s not enough time for the fish to replenish their numbers due to all the unceasing pressure.

Since we intended to shove off at 3:45 a.m., he stayed the night in the guest room. The ride down and eight hours on the water were fine enough, as were the shrimp and grits at a really nice restaurant Ted knew of in downtown Charleston, but the ride back just finished me off. I only drove about 50 miles before ceding the wheel to Ted. I literally zonked out in the passenger seat. It was the most tired I’ve been in my adult life. I just could not wake up. We pulled into the garage about 11 p.m. and once we got everything situated and stowed, I re-zonked out in minutes. There has to be a better way to do things. Maybe it’s time to experiment with a new place on the water. I may try the open ocean just off Folly Beach but it would be a two hour paddle to reach there from Bowens Island so I’d need to find a closer put in spot. But this down-and-back nonsense has to stop.

Played golf twice with my group and didn’t comport myself very well. At the last second people re-jiggered my announced pairings and it throws everything out of mental whack for me even if their changes are minor. It just throws me for a loop and unfortunately, I teed off on people to let them know it. I need to bottle that in rather than let my emotions get the best of me. I embarrassed myself. But I’m a short timer in that someone else will take over the helm and we’ll organize by committee. A group of 12 has agreed to rotate the responsibilities to put together outings. I’ll be scot-free in terms of zero responsibility to herd the cats. I’m really looking forward to that, as no doubt are the people who witnessed my outbursts this past weekend. Perhaps that’s what really has me in a pissy mood this morning. But I am looking forward to two-plus weeks in the Bridger not that long from now. At least that will give me something to look forward to. That, and videos of Emma learning to ride her bike. Ellen, you can send as many of those as you can. Let Tim know the big Gregory pack and a few bags of coffee beans, plus some little things for the girls, will be shipped this week.

Love, Dad

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