Sailing Lessons of A Very Special Kind

They began to gather at the coffee shop.  I couldn’t help myself as I sat there trying to write something.  Some days are harder than others when you actually want to put the words on the page.  It’s easy to get distracted, and the distraction is often more attractive than writing is.  In this case, a group was assembling, some were being introduced to the others, and some were exchanging hugs as old friends might. 

One person was clearly in charge.  Not simply because she was older than the rest, but she knew everyone’s name in the group.  She did the introducing, she told the rest when they would leave and what they would be doing.  The one in charge was called “Sharon.”  I never heard a last name; this was not a group that observed formalities.

I could swear I heard them using the term “sailing,” and they seemed to be excited about what they could learn.   The group was mostly female, although there were a few couples among them.  If they were on their way to learn to sail, they were hardly dressed for it.  In fact, none of them were dressed for sailing.  They were dressed for walking, for the gym, for tennis or golf, and for who knows what--but not sailing. 

Things quieted down and each person received a list.  In turn, they were urged not to just accept what they saw written down on every “junk” they saw.  I could not see how that was something a sailor would take her word for, but you know what P.T. Barnum used to say. In fact, now that I think of it, I thought I heard “Sharon” talking about suckerfish, and how frequently they were born.  I had wondered why sailors needed to know that.  Instead, she too had been quoting P.T. Barnum, making sure they weren't "suckers."

There was some discussion about entering what was on the list in their “GPS,” and I was back in their wake.  They had to be sailing!  Soon they headed for their cars.  Me?  “In for a dime, in for a dollar” was my thought.  I grabbed my cup of coffee and my iPad, and was soon in hot pursuit.  But they turned away from every harbor I knew about, and headed toward the mainland.  Huh?  Very shortly, they turned off the parkway and entered a subdivision.   When I saw the sign in the yard, I knew I’d been had.  They were learning “garage sailing” from an area expert, “Sharon.” 

P.S.  Sharon H., please forgive me for the use of a character resembling you and borrowing your identity for my story.