Written 19 July, 2020
We left, sadly as always. Dy needed a tow of his boat to DB’s boasted, to get the motor fixed. We’d tow it, and he’d follow in his canoe. It was 15 degrees, and taking pity on Trippy, despite his warm coat, I offered to hold him in my arms in our boat. It was, as usual, an hour long trip, even longer, because of the weight of his boat. Trippy, i found, is a quiverer. To keep him from quivering, and worse, from leaping out, I sang him Christmas carols.for over an hour. I think he liked Silent Night best.
It was a very long hour and 15 minutes for us all. The always wonderful DB was at the other end, and pushed other boats away to clear our path as we nuzzled in. I threw him our rope, but my arms were aching and the rope fell short.
I have the feeling DB says that all day.
The little I know of him, he’s been through a lot – a father died early, a mother with cancer, a brother with Down’s Syndrome – but he’s learned not to be troubled by the little things. As i follow him down his jetty, him balancing our bags on his broad shoulders, his fee bare on the jetty boards, I hear in my head the lines old Marg often recites, always with a smile:
Here we sit in suffering and pain,
Over the road, they’re doing the same.
Above his boatshed, the sky says the same. No worries.