Ever wonder why an entire week may go by without someone returning your call? Or wonder what the hell they could possibly be doing every single minute that would make them so busy that they don't even have a half-second to answer the phone? If that person was me, I may have found your answer.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Day 1
A couple Fridays back Frankie and I took the boat on her inaugural voyage to Angel Island. Got there in time to secure a mooring for the night and lounge about in the sun.
Poured ourselves some champagne in celebration.
So nice, it was even warm enough for a swim.
Rowed the Tub to shore for a pre-dinner hike. I like to think its an optical illusion, but our boat looks disconcertingly like a bath toy dropped in the middle of somebody's model boat race.
The view from Mt. Livermore evens things out a bit.
So much fire damage still on the island, but deer all over the place.
Watched the fog roll in over the Golden Gate Bridge and start smothering the city.
Reminds me of that Doobie Brothers album cover.
Back down to Ayala Cove for dinner's bbq. I'd like to be plaqued as an invenor, optimist and practical dreamer.
Full and sleepy and rocked to sleep.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Day 2
Woke early with the swaying tide and rowed to shore for coffee.
The bathroom showed telltale signs of late night action. Apparently somebody else likes to stand on the seat when he pees.
Loud-ass geese.
Headed for home once again, hoping to miss the mid-day wind. Got a bit of it but at least the fog had burned off and there weren't any white caps this time.
Back into the Treasure isle. Cleaned up the lady, packed up the leftover food and lit out for adventure number two.
First stop, the Bayview Boat Club's annual Plastic Classic.
Good food, cheap drinks and the best deck on the bay. Unfortunately (or maybe not with regards to our livers) we had to break away early enough to shower, pack our bags and head up to Napa for the night.
Abe always throws a fantastic party. This time I came prepared to play records as promised and didn't fail to throw out some interpretive dances as well. Rhiannon really does ring like a bell through the night.
Abe still can't believe Jeff Goldblum wrangled that whole "Fly" thing away from him.
A little Brokeback Mountain goodnight.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Day 3
Nothing like rolling out of a sleeping bag straight onto a dock. Some parts of my childhood have resurfaced in ways I'd never have imagined.
Wine tutorials and naps in the sun.
Unholy diver, backflipping.
Handsome Mike made an appearance from Chicago.
As did Mischa "The Dog" Barton.
Drove home in the amazing evening light, admiring squash blossoms, road signs and men conversing with the same gentle pleasantness, forgetting all about dinner plans and Monday's early morning.
Sometimes the back seat's not a bad place to end a Sunday.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sun is shining in the sky, there ain't a cloud in sight? Mr. Blue Sky's bringing the summer along, one day at a time: Angel Island's amazing and warm and only a 30 minute boat ride away, whether you overnight or go for the afternoon; the Napa River may be better with some friendly hospitality (Grayson, you're consistently the best), but you can always go dip on your own; as for good-time dance parties full of food and wine? If you actually look at this thing, we must be on speaking terms so just invite yourself along, damnit. Best summer ever leaves no one behind.