Sandpoint can do that to you.
(Page 2 of 3)
“I don’t, I am afraid,” I said. “How do I know you?”
“You know my sister, Dalayna.”
Yes, yes, yes. The sister, also a beauty, used to be cashier at a gas station in Priest River where I often stopped to buy popcorn and gasoline. She introduced me to this young woman as the woman was heading off to college to study math. Now, I have not seen Dalayna in forever and here is her sister, the staggeringly beautiful Kellie, helping me pay my immense but well worthwhile Verizon bill. She has her degree in math.
This woman, this Kellie, is a stone knockout. She worked hard to get my bill paid and I told her, truthfully, I hope, that she is more beautiful than any movie star now working. Frankly, I know a lot of women more beautiful than any movie star now working, but Kellie is at the top of the hill.
I took some photos of her with my great Verizon phone, and then off to City Beach where the refreshment stand sells fine popcorn. Several teenagers wanted to know what kind of engine was in my Caddy and we talked about that for a while. There was not a cloud in the sky. The beach had no litter and no one scary. People look normal here, as opposed to the exotic species we have in Beverly Hills and Malibu.
Then back to our condo where my wifey was, as per usual, reading her mystery du jour.
Out to the Marina dock to meet our first mate, Tim, and zoom over on my mighty Cobalt 263 to Bottle Bay for dinner. It was mobbed but we got our usual fine table overlooking the boats.
Wooden ships on the water,
Easy the way it’s supposed to be.
Jefferson Airplane? Or Crosby, Stills and Nash? I am not sure.
Bottle Bay has zero crazy-looking people. Almost everyone knows everyone. They all greet me by name. Great boats come in and out. The food is superb. Spare ribs. Salad. French fries. Brownie. Ice cream. Fudge sauce.
Overhead, an osprey flew patrol looking for fish, gliding lazily while its super-human vision looked for dinner. It found something, then came back for more. Smoke from forest fires in Canada created a fine mist on the Seven Sisters mountains fifty miles away.
Tell the people on the shoreline
We must be
Very free and easy.
We paid the bill and got back on the Cobalt and headed onto the lake. The sun was setting over the Selkirks. Alex was sitting next to me. As we neared the Marina, three magnificent Canadian honkers glided by high above us.
I actually parked the boat without crashing it, always a thrill. On the dock, two young girls were doing cartwheels flawlessly, flawlessly as their parents watched.
A man of faith in a godless age is hitting Americans where it hurts.
Mr. and Mrs. American Spectator Reader, let P.J. O’Rourke talk sense to your kids.
In Britain, defending your property can get you life.
The debacle of this president’s administration is both a cause and a symptom of the decline of American values. Unless Congress impeaches him, that decline will go on unchecked. An eminent jurist surveys the damage and assesses the chances for the recovery of our culture.
It won’t take long for conservatives to scratch this presidential wannabe off their 2008 scorecard.
The American Christmas, like the songs that celebrate it, makes room for everybody under the rainbow. Is that why so many people seem to be hostile to it?
Was the President done in by the economy, or by the politics of the economy?