Kelpage

 

The Other Day

 

Off Sausalito

 

Mystic Bay

 

Ars Poetica

 The last poem I wrote

I have forgotten

And the next one

Is avoiding me.

I could blame the times

But rhyming, speaking strictly,

Is the job of the maker

And if it doesn't come easy

That means it comes hard.

--MD

Paddling: Horseshoe Cove

 

Before the fires.

Point Molate Paddling

 

Just Past San Quentin

 

Foggy Paddling: Sausalito

 

Crew / Lady / Captain / Crew

Self-portrait #59.

Lady's brother's name is Captain.

Captain is helping me with the laundry.

We are using our two bodies to keep the washer from going out of balance.

Captain takes this duty quite seriously and will summon crew from the study if such imbalance is happening.

 

Notebook: Sketchy Man, Sauntering

I.

 Sunday afternoon: I spotted a sketchy/methy white dude scoping out my front door and well-grown yard.  He had something in his hands--looked like a hammer or a screwdriver to me, definitely not a phone--as he skulked (really) up the short walk.  I was sitting in my study which gives me a clear view of the front yard, and he suddenly realized that I was watching him closely.  He straightened up, guiltily, spun about, and headed on down the road.  

I moved the cat from my lap, picked up my phone as a camera, and popped out the front door.  A block away, Sketchy Man was doing a loose-limbed saunter, head high and not looking back, just a trifle faster than most people walk and faster than his approach to my front yard. 

(I was pulled back to childhood and my own walking guiltily that way from almost being caught eating the neighbor's fruit off the tree, you know?) 

Most benign reading: He was looking for a place to urinate.

More criminal possibility: He saw the pile of mail on the floor (social-distanced, de-Covid-19-ing) through the curtains of the front window--which is what I saw from outside when I was scoping out what he could have been up to--and he figured no one was home and he'd pry the door open.  He had some kind of tool in his hand, after all.

I grew up in a neighborhood where this kind of guy was common enough.  It has been a while since I saw one (probably) in action.

II.

I appreciate the good wishes I received from friends after I described the situation, but the event wasn't really scary. I was secure at home, and the fellow immediately backtracked and moved on. The stereotypical aspects were funny, for if this had been a film, the director would have cautioned the fellow not to overact. As the son of a cop, I tend to see suspicious behavior maybe too much. 

One thought I had was, a home burglary, on a Sunday, during a smoky air emergency, during a pandemic? We're all home!

III.

Lanky dude, white, 25-35, 5'9+, 150, sunburnt/lined face, scraggly blond/brown hair, ripped jeans, bright green t-shirt -- that's my description, but is it really accurate? I have a powerful imagination and I was keyed up just a bit. Also, if he combed his hair, changed his shirt, and stood up straight, would I recognize him? We did look each other eye to eye, but in my mind I keep wondering which actor could play him--so there goes my ID.

IV.

I can imagine, now, the fellow taller or shorter, younger or older, etc. I think my description is accurate for what I thought I was seeing, or think I'm recalling, but at the time the skulking behavior, looking eye to eye, and the bright green shirt kept me from really assessing the man himself. I come from a police family, and so I was raised to observe, but IDs can be tricky certainly.

And I can see how my specificity of recall could be problematic if I were wrong.

V.

The man's memorably bright green shirt, which I laughed to myself about as crazy attire for a criminal (if such he was), now seems almost clever as a distraction from seeing the man himself. "He had a really bright green shirt, officer. It was almost glowing. And something odd in his hands. But the shirt. Find that shirt and you'll find that man."

I Wish, I Wish, I Wish I Were A Fish?

On the water, at least; if not in the water.  Looking at the fish as I glide above them.  Frankly, going swimming or diving would be great too.

I am definitely missing paddling the new board.  I had just managed to shift into that state of being in which working out is a real routine, a real need.

A selfish wish, to exercise outside, during this time of smoke and fire.

Still . . . .  

Photo by JP

Captain, Helping

 

Point Molate Images