A few islands short of Heaven (Logan's weekend)

Friday.  I am reasonably flush when, after a week's administrative delay, the IRS has given me my annual refund.  At work, as Super Bowl weekend approached, we have had a "tailgate" potluck, each cubicle serving snack food, crock pot BBQ meatballs, homemade chili, and so on.  The sports-minded are wearing jerseys; I declare my Hawaiian shirt as "the official jersey of the competitive cocktail drinker."  When I get off, I drive north to pay rent and come home along the shore of Lake Washington.  There has been no wind all day, but now there are little whitecaps yet no boats taking advantage.  The seed of an urge begins to sprout.

The Dog & Pony:  land of wonder

I'm fidgety, in no mood to give in to the television.  So I head to our local, the Dog and Pony.  Alone and intending to stay that way, I take over one of the big, comfy black leather chairs in the corner.  I have the last pint of my precious Old Rasputin before the keg's out and move on to Silver City Scotch Ale.  The noise of conversation mingles with music streaming from Pandora, every fifth song seeming to be Led Zeppelin (no complaints).  I tune it all out and head to the waters off Cartagena, Spain, where the crew of the Carpanta in Pérez-Reverte's The Nautical Chart is finally on the water searching for the lost wreck of a Jesuit ship.  My barmaid, Erin, notices my contented grin when she brings my nachos (hold the jalapeños).  I tell her that this is almost Heaven--oversized chair, beer, nautical fiction, and no worries.  If only the ocean was just out of the window.  Once the third pint is drained I head home, pour the Sailor Jerry, and watch a movie that is less a musical than a philosophical treatise:  Paint Your Wagon.  To pick one random quote from the epitome of rugged nonconformity, Ben Rumson, "God made the mountains/God made the sky/God made the people/God knows why..."