Monday, July 27, 2009

April Fresh Thundering Jesus

Nothing beats the smell of fresh laundry. It sure the hell beats the smell of mildew, wet dog and soggy parmasean cheese on carpet. And it seems I'm not the only one who agrees. After days and days of pouring rain, the marina laundry room is a hub of activity. Usually by Monday morning, all the weekenders are back on land using their own washing machines at home, leaving the marina to the full timers. I loaded all the wet stinking things into the washer, including the sheet covered in dog blood from when we slept on our friend's boat over on the island. Sadie ripped out a claw attempting to ascend a ladder into our berth. I said to my friend, it wouldn't be a real visit from us if we didn't leave some blood or other bodily fluids behind, our proverbial signature in your guest book. We have a day or two to dry out before the rain comes again. And no one could be more thankful that the storms are over than Ira. He is a tiny ball of trembling wide-eyed terror while the thunder claps overhead and the boat bangs into the dock.