Okay, that’s more like it.

In addition to losing a place to live. When my hotel closed, I lost access to my box of stuff. Most importantly, my wetsuit and fins. I can get along without my wetsuit. My five pounds of Covid blubber will have to provide warmth and buoyancy.  I never left my expensive mask and pipe at the hotel.  So, all I needed was fins. Well, fortunately, I like  (and use) cheap-ass fins that you can buy at any store selling cheap “tourist grade” snorkel gear.  So, this morning I went to the grocery store and bought a pair of $20 fins. Not suitable for diving. But just what I wanted. 

Now, time to get the water for the first time in almost 2 years. I am apprehensive.  I am older.  I stash my bag in the racks. I toddle down the stairs. I put the mask on. And take a selfy with the GoPro. Maybe they will put that picture on The Table of The Dead back at The Asylum if I drown. Ok, off into the water. Put on the new fins. And…

and… it was great. I could still swim. The snorkel didn’t need an overhaul. The mask didn’t leak. The fins worked fine and didn’t blister my feet. Didn’t see anything special. Not a problem. After a half-hour, I knew it was time to get out.  So, I showered off and went to sit on the end of the pier.

This is 2 minutes of absolutely nothing. 

Just off the end of the pier is Paul Allen’s house. He wasn’t lucky enough to get old. 3 pro sports teams, 2 of the best yachts on the planet, and 1 Boeing 747 and he didn’t get the chance to be old. 

Would I have been willing to die at age 65 in exchange for 3 pro sports teams, 2 of the best yachts on the planet, and 1 Boeing 747, and that great house? Nope, Not even close.