Friday night saw me out with the commander, because I really don’t do high school football games….besides, Jupiter had jacked their roller furling jib on the way in, and was tied up at the Port of Call, directly behind Renaissance. The commander gravely commented; “I’ve seen this before”, as we played Maypole with the big piece of canvas, finally figuring out what the problem was with the drum, before heading over to Gabrielles for some hot fried ravioli and cold Harp on tap.

Saturday after the weekly breakfast ritual of chilequiles at Costa del Mar, we picked up my father taking him over to Rod Bates eclectic gallery, Rio Bravo in Port Isabel. Rod has the coolest stuff around. The shop is an ethereal combination antique, nautical, coin and knick-knacks emporium….it is the antithesis of any established purposeful store, a place with a life of it’s own. Rod himself is a highly talented sort of renaissance man. He writes poetry, prose, short stories and historical summaries. He is the local metal detectionist extraordinaire.

My dad wanted some coin holders for his infinite collection, and I have been drooling over a solid brass gimbaled binnacle compass there, D wanted some antique linens, so there was something of interest for everyone.

In PI it turns out that Rod was over at Lighthouse Square at a poetry reading, so we sat awhile and listened to some of the prose, until the poetry began to take on an apoplectically political tone from some of the neo-la-raza types who used it as a platform for agenda…..I love poetry, everything from T.S. Eliot to Bukowski, but cloaked political rhetoric and agendized foment just turns me off, and I soon became rather chinge-chinge to leave.

Leave them to their own pathetic devices…..I had seas to sail.

This weekend South Padre Island hosted a unique music festival, with a variety of groups performing at various Island venues. The music ranged from hard rock, reggae, and regional caliche to jazz and country. The highlight (for us anyway) was Robert Earl Keen, a Texas icon who was appearing at Louie’s Backyard Saturday night.

We rarely miss this guy if he’s somewhere in the immediate area. If you’re not familiar with his music, check out his website. You can even download a couple of his tunes there. The music sort of grows on you…..One of his most recognized pieces is the redneck anthem “Merry Christmas from the Family”, which has been recorded by a number of various country artists, and makes it’s annual appearance from about June through May….

“Send somebody to the Quick Pak store, we need some ice and an extension cord /  a can of bean dip and some Diet-Rite /  a box of tampons and some Marlboro Lights / Hallelujah! Everybody say cheese /  Merry Christmas from the family….Feliz  Navidad!”

The day was a perfect fall day, the kind of fall day that tells us why we tolerate the searing summer Jenn-aire winds. Temperature about 78 degrees F., winds light from the southeast, water azure blue.

I knew I had to get ‘Div out of bed….

Later, after dropping my dad off, we threw a few things together, stopped at the local HEB for some provisions, and loaded Olivia up, steaming out of the fingers at around 1700 and onto a taciturn and contemplative bay. I eased the throttle to 2500 rpm, running Olivia’s iron heart at a fairly good beat in order to clean out any carbon in the cylinders, setting the mizzen sail for a little extra umph….

Tying up at the county dock next to Dirty Al’s we got cleaned up (read: opened a couple more brewskis) and called a cab to take us over to Louie’s Backyard, just in time for the beginning of Robert Earl Keen’s concert.

Here’s a pretty poor bootleg of Merry Christmas from the Family I shot Saturday night, but it does show the partisanship for REK by even the people down here. Note the two baldheaded gente in front of me absolutely getting off on this tune….

Two hours later we were at the Pizza Joint, munching on a medium special (minus black olives, but with anchovies of course), and quaffing down a pitcher of cold Shiner bock beer, when one of Robert Earls crew walked in to pick up two large pizzas that the man himself had ordered. I was even more impressed now. I wish each of you could try this place……it’s the best pizza this side of Mars, bar none, and the atmosphere is, well, let’s just say it’s unique.

Stumbling back to the boat around midnight, I instantly assumed the prone position and went narcoleptic, taking a ten minute nap until around 0930 (with the time change). Sunday morning, I hailed a cab and picked up the caddy over in PI, returning to the island to pick up the flock and back to the house in Laguna Vista (which had not seen much of anybody since Friday) for the twins to get their outfits and head over to…..

…..the Shrimp Cookoff in Port Isabel, where they performed folklorico dances once again. We hauled my dad over there, and we all ate some better than delicious bacon wrapped jalapeno-crab stuffed shrimp and saffron rice (Oh Lord, I could feel the cholesterol rise to astronomic levels) that Costa del Mar had entered in the competition.

In the late afternoon, the wind was just right out of the southeast, around 12mph, the skies achingly blue and the temperature a warm 80 degrees. Around 1600 we returned to Olivia, and hanked on the 135 genny, steaming out toward the Brazos Santiago Pass, setting sail in a traffic jam of big and little boats, all fishing in the sapphire blue water.

A single tack outbound, turning around to ran with the wind up the Brownsville ship channel, now waving to Noe aboard Fish Tales, before turning around again and heading on a tight broad reach towards Children’s Beach, back towards Div's hiding place.

We were so well balanced, that I let go of the wheel for long periods in order to give my beverage the full attention due as the sun warmed my arthritic shoulders through my t-shirt and the bow dipped and reeled, nodding in agreement with the elements blessing us with such a perfect ride.

All around us pods of dolphins, some with five or six individuals followed Olivia, playing in our wake and alongside the hull, so close their exhalations sprayed mist onto the cockpit combings. I believe that they too sensed the perfectness of the day, and the need to take a little time off from their normal routine of hunt and eat.

Heading northwest past the power lines, we poled out the genny (note to self: clean the stupid whisker pole so I don’t have to hear any more profanities from my reticent crew regarding it’s operation), and putting the main and mizzen over wing on wing glided ahead as if on a surface of ball bearings across the smooth water and under the causeway, just as I finished my ice cold beverage, and was now able to direct my attention to putting away the canvas.

As the sun set reluctantly in the west, letting us squeeze out just a tiny bit more daylight we steamed past the treacherous bar (Hey, they’re gonna dredge it someday….) into the fingers, and back to Olivias slip.

Addendum: Update on Gene’s condition after the jibe incident aboard Ciclon in the Harvest Moon Regatta:

I just received the following response to an email that I sent to the commanders dad Gene, regarding his head wound:

Jim,

Thanks for Hillaryisms - funny, but frighteningly true.    My head wound is coming along nicely - the stitches have disappeared and I'm not getting near the sympathy from the ladies at the office that I did earlier.  I have been thinking about painting it with iodine to get a little more mileage out of it.