November’s eighth, twenty seventeen
Yesterday we were up early. We were still battling the time travel thrust upon us by the daylight savings witches. Even this morning I am up with the crows at 05:30. I don’t usually have oatmeal, but I am changing things. Every other morning stone cut oatmeal. It was good, but a real pain in the ass, like making that rice that requires a half an hour in the pot. The hard part, rescuing the food just before it forms a pancake on the bottom of the pot.
Our condo is quite fine, other than the laminated notes attached to everything. Some of the instructions are appropriate and welcomed, others … overkill. I guess they would be needed if they rent out the unit to folks from other planets. As I was reading the note about the disposal that scene from Fargo was dancing through my brain. I’m afraid to go near the sink now.
We are in a large condo complex, with a nine-hole golf course embedded. Outside our unit is the T for the 8th hole. ML has to walk behind the 8th green to get to the ocean to do laundry.
We stopped by the ‘Family Feud’ marina to check on Fracas. She is in pretty good shape. Everything we left on her, including the ladder, are still there. The only evidence of the Hurricanes, our wind instrument (new last season) has been blown apart. It looks to me like something struck the thing and broke stuff off. It still spins but flops around like a wounded seal. Also missing; the key to the padlock holding our ladder in place. I had to cut the lock, a lock that has been with us since November 2014, Mobile Alabama.
Today, we have to open up the boat and get stuff stored below to where it belongs and make room for the projects to begin. more later