Ice, a putty knife, rubbing alcohol & the Heimlich

So the flight back was lame; no witty repartee, no leather seats, no hot towel, no upgrade. 

It is nice to be "home" though. Even if the place is still a bit of a mess. I spent the morning in the yard tying down burlap over the azaleas and lilacs for the winter. Then I tackled as many of the leaves as I could stomach for one day.

After I called it quits, I went in for a long hot shower. It's not that it was super cold out, only 52°, but having spent the day before lakeside enjoying a 81° breeze, Brighton felt like a freezer. There is something unsettling about such a sudden change. The damp air here had gone straight to the bone.

After I got my blood flowing again, I grabbed my fleece and wandered over to the Towpath for some corn chowder. As I walked in I spotted Logan at the bar.

"Hey there," I said reaching for his shoulder. "I'm going to grab a table, want to join me?"

"You're back. Good," was his only response as he laid cash on the bar and stood to join me.

We got a table in the corner of the library, which is still filled with books and it's original heart pine floors which shows hints of long gone dark grey paint. The tables all have reversible tops for after dinner cards or chess. Combined with the high-backed leather chairs, it feels like an 1890s gentlemen's club. Of course, excepting the books, nothing is original, but even 1960s reproductions are rapidly approaching antique status.

We settled in for chowder and stouts (a blissful combination) and caught eachother up on the past few days events. For my part, I focused on the race and hanging out at the lake, generally omitting Ben from the tale. Those details didn't seem like they would make for enjoyable dinner conversation. As exciting as my trip had been, it seems things were twice as colorful at the boathouse in my absence. 

Logan had two bus loads of 6th graders out on Friday for some canal history and a boat ride. As is true of any group of 11-12 year olds, pranks are a crucial part of any fieldtrip. They started with one of the teachers finding gum on her backside as she got off the bus. Next was rainbow spitballs. Several boys smuggled pixie sticks along and decided to use the back of two girls heads for target practice. All funny, unless you are the teacher or girls. Not funny was the boy who nearly choked on a fireball after being slapped on the back unexpectedly.

"You don't expect to need ice, a putty knife, rubbing alcohol and the Heimlich all in a span of 10 minutes," grinned Logan, "but such is the life of a boatman. We have to be even more prepared than the boy scouts."

As I finished my last spoonful of chowder Logan asked, "So...up for Killeshandra?"

"Why not. I might as well get the chastising over with," I replied. My cousins were guaranteed to let me have it for forgetting our plans as soon I walked in.