Water Landings

Today’s post comes from the renegade skipper of the pirate ship Muskellunge, Captain Billy.

Ahoy, landlubbers!

There ain’t many habits of livin’ on land that me an’ me boys wants t’ adopt.  We likes th’ open air, an th’ wind in our faces.  An’ we’s happy t’ say there ain’t no dogs or cats, no gettin’ woke up in th’ night by train whistles, th’ lack of streets, an cars, an’ consequently, no parking issues.

Th’ sea is wide an’ vast an’ deep an’ ya never has t’ worry that some careless slob is gonna put his Hummer in yer spot.

But lately we has seen that th’ dastardly billionaire Elon Musk an’ his henchmen are on a mission t’ figure out how t’ park their space rockets on a barge out in the ocean.

This notion is an insult t’ all seafarers everywhere.

Th’ ocean is th’ province of sailors an’ pirates an’ fish. Space folk is only able t’ use th’ ocean by crashin’ into it. That’s all they has ever been able to do. An’ what falls in th’ water is fair game fer anyone.  Fair game! I won’t say that we on the Muskellunge has picked up a rocket or two in our time, but I won’t say we hasn’t, neither.  

There’s a reason our vessel is th’ fastest pirate ship afloat.  Piracy has it’s rewards, an’ a successful water landing would mean the end of free space junk! Th’ water is our turf, which is t’ say there ain’t no turf on th’ water, which is why there can be no water landings.

That term don’t even make sense. Water Landings? “Water” an’ “Land” is two completely different things.  

Ye might as well wear life jackets t’ prevent Land Drownings!

An th’ universe agrees!  Just one month ago Space X was s’posed t’ launch an’ land a rocket on their barge an’ it crashed instead supposedly ’cause there weren’t enough hydraulic fluid in th’ booster. Yesterday they was s’posed t’ finally make it work, but th’ mission got scrubbed on account of some radar that weren’t functionin’ fer unknown reasons.

Reasons unknown t’ most, but not to me an me boys! Ain’t that right boys?

Oh yes, make no mistake.  We is determined – there will be no rockets landin’ on any barges at sea!

Yer determined skipper,
Cap’t Billy

When has your turf been invaded?

45 thoughts on “Water Landings”

  1. OT: I think I told you how my son in December drove from Seattle to San Diego in an epic storm, heavy rain and flooding, high winds in the mountains? He set off Saturday afternoon driving a small Uhaul and pulling a trailer with his car on it so only going 55. He stopped the first night in Salem. Yesterday in Northern Ca, Yreka and Weed, he hit torrential rain, being driven sidewaysby winds gusting to close to 60. So he had to pull off in Weed.
    On his way this morning in lighter rain and little wind, but he has to extend the truck by one day.


    1. I am sorry, Clyde, I am not keeping up. Does this mean your son is heading to a job that involves also having his family with him?

      Sure hope so for the sake of one and all.


      1. I have said very little. So not inattention on your part. Briefly, he has changed careers from software producer to IOS programmer. He went to school this fall for the training. He has left Seattle with regrets about the area, but he took a job in LaJolla (up-up-upscale suburb of San Diego) which reunites him with is son. He has persevered through many months of dumb luck and problems of his own making. This trip is the latest in that string of bad luck. But he is on his way.


        1. I wish him all the best.

          I’ve made a few ill-considered choices in my day too (also known as mistakes). Perseverance is sometimes the only way up and out.


    2. Being stuck in San Diego at the end of the run might make it ok. Not many places as wonderful as San Diego.
      Northern California this time of year is Minnesota in March, gray and cold and now with terrestrial down pours it is downright ugly
      I was therefor mudslides in December years ago to bad he can enjoy hwy 1 and the coast
      Life doesn’t always allow next case scenarios
      Hope it goes well


  2. Greetings and a hearty good morning to all baboons! I was wondering why there have been so few comments yet, knowing the early morning habits of many of you. This sounds stupid and it opposes my constant wish for more help around the house — but I don’t like Jim or the boys in the kitchen with me when I’m cooking. Not that I’m a great cook or anything — but I get perfectionistic about the things I have little confidence or skills with. In the kitchen, I’m slow, messy, and I take my time so it turns out right. Chopping vegetables can occasionally be an exercise in perfection, like making salsa. Sure I can make it in my Vitamix (carefully by pulsing the button), but I prefer the veggies perfectly cut in the right size and shape, not slashed up in the Vitamix.

    One time last week, Jim made supper and he cooked up the pasta. Unfortunately, it was still crunchy. He said it’s “al dente” — but I know better. and I had bit of a hissy fit because I don’t like crunchy pasta — and it wasn’t even near “al dente” — it was way undercooked. Is that turf protection or just ridiculous perfectionist tendencies? Whatever … it’s embarassing.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. How grand indeed to have you here!!
      When we designed our kitchen for the addition to our house up north, the man at the cabinet shop told my wife that she should redesign it because she had designed a one-person kitchen. Sandra told him that was the point of her design.
      But these days our kitchen is more my kitchen.


    2. You are correct, Joanne, salsa should be chopped, not blended.

      That said, I get us fed however I can these days- s&h will not tolerate fast food, so it is good stuff and hopefully well-balanced, but not prepared with the attention to detail I would like to give it.



  3. Do I even have a turf anymore? I guess the tiny cottage in St Paul is about it.

    I do recall the day when I was still full-time in a costume shop when the brilliant idea was put forth that from now on we would no longer have a work table (corporate equivalent would be a cube or desk) that was “ours”. You were issued a fishing tackle box to put your personal shears and such in, but otherwise, you were expected to pick up your box and go the the table belonging to the project you were working on. IIRC, this coincided with the move to a large, open-plan warehouse space from the smaller rooms that each department had formerly inhabited. Sure, it looked nice, but it was the end of the departmental communities with their own music preferences and character (nice thing was, when you hated your co-workers, you could always find a reason to go work in another room).

    This was the result of a discussion carried out by people who had offices with doors. People on the floor were not consulted.

    The newly dispossessed coped in various ways, propping family pictures in the lids of their tackle boxes, keeping a small personal and non-utilitarian item in the box to be placed beside the box first thing in the morning to humanize their immediate area.

    I remember taking the black metal Ralph Cramden lunchbox with the thermos in the lid Grandpa took on the tractor in with me and eating outside (in the car when the weather was nasty), escewing the lunchroom, microwave, and all those other people.

    I now mostly work in the studio with the door firmly shut against marauding kitties, but weekends find me at a desk that belongs to no one (although one gal has a nameplate from a previous job she puts up whenever she is on duty- we laugh at her).

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Our township board had name plates made a few years ago. We used them a few times. But on the rare occasion we have guests at the meeting it’s a neighbor and we all know each other anyway.
      Haven’t gotten the name plates out in a few years… they’re in a drawer somewhere in the townhall.
      We will have a new supervisor come March. Two people have filed for election so we might have to put them out just for the new guy for a meeting or two.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Good morning. Some young girls from another neighborhood invaded the tree house I put up for my daughter in our back yard. By the time I noticed that they were using it they had started decorating it by painting parts of it. They apparently thought that it was available for their use because my daughter was not using it. I found them in the tree house and told them to stop using it. They didn’t come back. If they had been kids I knew or if they had asked if they could use it, I might have let them. Also, I was not happy about their efforts to decorate the tree house althought I did admire their bold effort at finding new place to play


  5. The only time I had turf to lose or protect was when I was a magazine editor. I don’t know that there is a way to describe what happened without getting into sordid details.

    Because of unprofessional business practices, my job was difficult. My publisher kept pressuring me to get tough with the contributors (writers and photographers) so we could get their work earlier. The contributors balked at tough deadlines for new work when we paid little and usually didn’t pay until the work had been published anywhere from seven to ten months ago. I didn’t see a way to get tough on guys who supplied me with badly needed material when we had not paid them for almost a year.

    In other words, I was stuck trying to mediate between my publisher (who was arrogant, secretive and deceitful) and my contributors (good guys, if not terribly talented). When I didn’t toe the party line from my publisher I was marked as a troublesome artistic type who was disloyal to his own employer. I never, in six years of trying, found a way to resolve that conflict.

    A pair of writers met secretly with the publisher and confirmed his belief that I was more trouble than I was worth. Editorial control was suddenly shifted to them. I could not respect myself and stay on serving them, so I left. I often look back on this. I don’t think there was ever a way I could have resolved this conflict. I sure tried.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. My turf, meaning the area around me at home where I eat, sleep, bathe, sit in the living room, and cook, is always invaded by my dog and the cats. I am never alone, and often I can’t move because their bodies are glued to mine. This is especially true of the dog, who snuggles up to me whenever I lie down or sit. Our bed gets pretty crowded when the dog and the two cats decide they need to sleep with us. The dog and our orange cat also don’t believe I need privacy in the bathroom and burst in on me on a regular basis.


    1. Consider yourself lucky if they don’t consider every time you sit down to be an indication that a lap has been prepared for their convenience, and I do mean every single time, no matter where you may be sitting.


    2. My cats have what l think is kind of an odd compulsion: every single time l sit on the toilet, they’re immediately running in and circling my legs. I don’t know why they do this, but they can hear a tinkle from the furthest room in the house.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Before we put up a privacy fence around our back yard, neighborhood kids would routinely cut through our yard from the alley behind our house to the street in front of it. Merely cutting through wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t littered and walked through flower beds as well.

    At first I asked them politely to stay out of my yard, but quickly learned that these kids had no respect for anything or anyone. The fence took care of the problem for us, but now the kids cut through our neighbors’ yard. The concept of private property is apparently completely foreign to these kids.


    1. We had the same problem when we had our house. Ours was about in the middle of a VERY long block on the way to the Big Lake high school — and we had a completely fenced in yard! They never asked, they littered like crazy and wore a path in the grass. Jim wanted to set up a sprinker that would turn on by proximity or some other mischief, but it just wasn’t worth it.


    2. I’ve had kids come into my back yard to pick raspberries. I understand why it’s a temptation, but don’t feel very kindly toward them. Picking someone else’s produce is something you just do not do.


  8. Until recently, folk dancing on Friday nights has been my “turf”, since we’ve been in Mpls. at any rate (in Winona we both used to go). Recently Husband started coming with me, and I wondered if it would be tricky – me worrying about whether he’s having a good time or not. Turns out it’s fine. He certainly doesn’t know as many of the dances during request time, but we go for the teaching session and he’s re-learning it all.

    Huh – I guess that doesn’t really answer the question, does it?


  9. I thought you meant ‘Husband’ is your turf and all other dancers better keep hands off.

    My lovely wife and I tried dancing lessons. It didn’t work out because of my knee and other issues but the biggest issue was I don’t WANT to dance with other women; I want to dance with MY WIFE.
    And besides, I kept looking at my feet and with another woman it felt like I was looking down her dress… I don’t know how she felt about it but it made me uncomfortable.

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Just after we married, we took ballroom dance lessons. It was quite fun, but I just *CANNOT* dance with my husband — even after the lessons. He doesn’t know how to lead, no rhythm and he’s always bouncing at the knee, so there’s no smooth, graceful dance going on there. I had trained as a dancer in college, and as much as I love my husband and wish I could dance with him — I just can’t!


      1. These and more are exactly the reasons l dance by myself. Just once, l found a man who could dance with me like a glove but my enthusiasm scared him off. l go alone, come home alone, and in between dance with everyone on the dance floor. Couples, old men, stud muffins, women. It’s like being a spark plug to the venue and l’ll admit that this activity fills my gas tank. As each week slowly builds up to Saturday night, my tank hovers near empty.

        Liked by 1 person

  10. Son was 9 when his sister was born, and I think he still feels that his turf was invaded. Neither was very good at sharing me. If I sat down on the sofa with one of them, I invariably had the other sitting right next to me on the other side.


    1. My grandson turned five last week. He is actively campaigning for a sibling. My daughter has tried to explain that a little brother or sister will be drooling on and borrowing his toys. He listens politely and then repeats his desire to have another little person in the house. We’ll see how this works out.

      Liked by 4 people

  11. My middle child became my roommate just before Christmas. She takes off every other Thursday to attend weekend classes at St. Kate’s in pursuit of an OT degree. While away she stays with her older sister and brother in law who live in St. Paul. This arrangement enables her to save money and distances her from a man none of us like. It’s really pretty nice having her around. But there are times…

    Liked by 6 people

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