I wore my white shorts with black piping that January Monday after New Year's when John and I joined my sister, Karen, and her husband, Tommy, on their 29' Sea Ray for an afternoon of power cruising in the Gulf off Sarasota. I was determined to get a start on my tan and reconnect with my Scorpio. I raised my arms to the sky absorbing the salt air and sun.
The sun's rays sparkled on the water against the robin's egg blue sky as we motored out of the Venice waterway to the Gulf past "take your breath away" homes, docked yachts, and lawns planted with exotic rich green plants. We went north to Sarasota city harbor for lunch at Captain Jack's and then a pleasant motor south down the inner coastal waterway back to Venice.
The wind was less than 10 knots, but the boat flew over the silky Gulf's surface creating a sensuous breeze that tingled our skin. As guests, we sat in the aft seats, put our heads back and let the wind blow through our hair while the sun slightly singed our thighs.
Lunch was tasty. We sat surrounded by tourist family and local elderly retired guys who sat under on the patio under sun shade umbrella sipping martinis while they harrumphed at each other and discussing tee off times-- oh, to be retired, tanned and wrinkling in place!
We stetched one last time on the dock after lunch then w cast off and headed out to join the inter coastal as the afternoon sun began to edge its way across the afternnon sky. Half-way home after passing an old basscule bridge, we passed a coast guard team inspecting a boat they had pulled over. We chuckled and speculated about how it must have been caused by a druge tip-off.
No sooner had we passed the two boats when we found ourselves being followed with the same coast guard boat flashing lights and making short bursting siren whistles. They pulled us aside and commanded our captain, that's Tommy, to idle while they pulled their boat to our beam and threw us lines. It was time for a full safety and documents inspection (and training exercise for the new crew members. It went very well (Tommy keeps the place very ship-shape), except for one detail. We couldn't find the above-board fire extinguisher. It took all of us rummaging through every hold to find it. We were getting nervous and the coast guard guys were sharpening their pencils to write up a violation when we miraculously found it behind the fishing poles in a small storage space on the port side. We were saved. We succeeded. We were left at peace. A meandering, lazy day on the water had become an adventure as well.
As the sun softened in the western horizon late in the afternoon, we pulled into the harbor, our trip complete. We swabbed the deck and wiped it dry. As I leaned over doing my drying chore, Tommy whispered in my ear, "You know, at our age, you probably shouldn't wear those shorts anymore."
I stood up in shock, twisted my head around to inspect my 62 year old thighs. "What do you mean?" I asked. What's wrong with my thighs? They aren't that fat. I'm still a size 8 and my cellulite is not really evident."
Tommy stood up, twisted his chamois in his hands to squeeze out the water he'd just soaked up. The sun reflected back at me from his sun glasses as he faced the sun. He smiled, chuckled gently and winked. "It's not that they're bad, but who's going to look at them anymore?" It was then that I realized life was never going to be like it used to be.
