Jimmy Buffet Songs In My Head

As I walked down the dock, I started humming a Jimmy Buffet tune, "Changes in Lattitudes, Changes in Attitudes." I particularly liked the phrase, "Good times and riches and son of bitches I've seen more than I can recall." Bottom line for me though was the chorus line, "If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane." Now, ain't that the truth.

I re-tied the dinghy sitting on its side on the dock, checked other lines, and went inside the boat. I poured myself a stiff one because it was a long week and I had a lot of reflecting to do. The only way I can stay sane is by sitting in the port-side chair, sippin' some rye, looking out at the water, and slowly recanting each of the week's past events. One good note though is that this blog got recognized by Motor Boating Magazine as its "Blog of the Week." Woo hoo. Unfortunately, I noticed I must be doing a lot of this reflectin' lately because inside the cabin is getting to be a mess. The cabin sole needs sweeping, there's things that need to be stowed away, decks need sweeping and cleaning, and the engine oil needs changing. Oh my, what kind of skipper am I?

Funny as soon as I realized this the CD player was playing Buffet's song "Sandbar." Coincidence or is there a message here? Well I took the easy way out and poured myself another two fingers of rye, picked up the log book and re-read some past cruising entries. I figured this would get me out of my funk, off the mental sandbar, and get to doing some chores. Nah, instead I looked out the window some more and simply dreamed of far away anchorages and warm days. Winters in the NW can be just too depressing. Oh my, I was really stuck on this mental sandbar.

By now the Jimmy Buffet CD was playing the song "They're sending the old man home, back to where the buffalo roam." Huh? Again, coincidence or is there some sort of mystic message being sent to me? I was about to go into a trance but my cell phone rang reminding me that I was still attached to shore and reality. "Yes, I will be home soon" I mumbled into the phone. By now "Margaritaville" was playing and I had the strong urge to pour another finger or two of rye, but no; my short dock-side trip was drawing nigh. I picked up a few things around the cabin, checked to make sure the galley pump was off, turned of the CD player and lights, and exited out of the cabin via the stern door and my Friday adventure was once again over.

As I walked down the dock toward shore and another week I found myself humming the tune to a song, "So young Mr. Moon flew away in the night with his best friend Magnus right by his side; The sun was rising, they’d be home by noon, humming the words to this magical tune."