How does a duck know which direction south is? Or how to tell his wife from all the other ducks?

-Crash Test Dummies, How does a Duck Know?

It is raining hard this morning, something that is somewhat unusual for wintertime at Latitude 26

I have never quite acclimated to the heat. The Bering Sea forever altered my thermostat, and it is much easier for me to work in the cold than the scorching summer here, so I like winter time in the semi tropics allright.

Generally the days are mild, and even the cold fronts that come send little in the way of rain. Certainly not like tropical season. The cold northers that do make it here come with some degree of regularity, and one can almost set a schedule to them. Predictably, the first sign of an impending weather system are gusty strong winds in response to the tightening pressure gradient, winds that howl in from the opposite direction, our normal south-southeast. Then, just before the front arrives, the wind backs off to westerly, offshore. It is a transitory period of ideal wind with which to ride the surf that has piled up from the long fetch southerlies of the preceding days, and surfers crowd the waters next to the granite jetties of the Brazos Santiago Pass.

And then, the cold front bears down, pounding through this flat, featureless landscape like a Goliath freight train locomotive, more often than not setting up gale force conditions, confining all but the biggest ships to port as the brutal north wind whips the open Gulf of Mexico into a churning confused caldron of steep, violent short period waves. Waves which die exhausted against the sand dunes of the barrier island, carrying with them secrets of the open seas and distant shorelines, Portugese man ‘o war, Sargasso seaweed, fishing floats, driftwood and all manner of other gifts from the insistent and unrelenting sea.

Finally, after the front expends its frenetic energy, it begins its flaccid exit and a period of Lilliputian winds usually follow (if another front is not barking on the heels of the last), bringing ideal sailing winds, and anyone with any sense can be seen ghosting along under full canvas on the now tranquil sea, taking full advantage of this magical period before the augmentative period of growing wind develops in anticipation of the next norther, thus beginning the cycle all over again.

Yesterday was an indecisive day of wind, clocking around seemingly from all directions as this low pressure system developed offshore, an odd and atypical condition for the time of year.

I have been steadily pushing ahead with a project to construct a bimini for ‘Div. Several times I have contacted the folks at “Towers etc.” in Laguna Heights, wanting to just contract out the chore, but have been unsuccessful at getting them to come out and even initiate the project by looking at the boat and taking measurements. It’s not that they’re even all that busy, especially right now. No, rather it’s the mind set of the tropics, especially here, where everything is pretty much relegated to the status of manăna. So, being a former aircraft structural mechanic, I decided to just do the job myself. Besides, it’s an excuse to acquire a few more replacement tools…..

The thing is constructed of aluminum, stainless and composite, and when completed it will be an elegant, lightweight and extremely strong unit. The aft portion will serve to mount a solar panel, the rest covered with ‘Sunbrella’.

Taking the measurements and design drawing at the boat, the top was constructed in my ‘shop’, and yesterday I brought it down to Olivia to install and trial fit, needing to get measurements for the supports. I bailed from work right at 1700, hoping to get that chore along with several others knocked off before the dark and rain set in.

Hopping out of the truck, key in hand ready to hurridly unlock the Wind Fit compound gate, where I am now moored, I glanced up the street toward Anchor Marina, noticing Dock Mama (sans Dock Boy) furiously peddling her miniature bike directly towards me.

“Oh Lord, this can’t be good” I mumbled to myself knowing full well that I was probably going to get waylaid for a goodly amount of time, but seeing no way out I just braced myself for the onslaught.

And the onslaught came.

“Do you know what is happening now?” she queried. Not waiting from me to reply she continued; “We have charges filed against us. Assault charges. We got served by the police. Benny wouldn’t throw the new charges out. We went to the judge and she asked us what we wanted to do about the other charges. What did we do to deserve this? Don walked over to our yacht and took pictures. I don’t know why. We can’t sleep, we can’t eat, we can't have sex.”

Ohhhhhhhnoooooo, I shuddered and mumbled; "That's waaaayyyyy to much information for me"

On and on it went, scattergun, rambling, disconnected jargon until I finally stopped her and asked the logical question;

“What do you think it will take to make this better?”

Dock Mama stopped her tirade for a moment, with a single tear rolling down her cheek and said somewhat introspectively that she didn’t know, and then again launched into another lengthy dissertation bordering on the philosophical, failing however to elucidate, to identify any reasons for the conflict.

It was beginning to get late, and I almost felt sorry for her, but try as I might I could not get her to realize the cause, the raison d'ętre of the conflict that they have brought upon themselves.

It is a simple failure to live harmoniously with others, a lesson not easily learned by some. In fact some never learn it. On a grand scale, some societies never learn it. It is beyond a simple matter of being a square peg, it is a matter of trying to force a square peg in a round hole with a sledge hammer.

Jim tells me that Anchor Marina might soon be sold. Apparently Mark has a perspective buyer, but in typical Mark last ditch-get-what-I-can-for-me fashion, he produced an ancient and superseded survey which included both Jims and Dons properties, attempting to sell them along with the marina, much to the aggravation of the homeowners.

I fear that Anchor Marina will soon be swallowed in a vortex of negative energy and bad karma, but I hope that, like the aftermath of a violent storm here at Latitude 26, there will be a subsequent period of calm.

Jean is back at home now with hospice, and we will visit her this week. I will try and keep it together just one more time.