He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses. Psalm 135:7
If sailboats are built to heel, then my wife is bound to squeal. During our last passage to the Outer Banks I went below to fix lunch, leaving my bride in the cockpit of our thirty-foot sailboat with a cold dishrag draped across her forehead. The wind was brisk—seventeen knots—and almost, but not quite “on the nose.” (Sailing terminology for, “Yeehaw! This is fun!”) Every few minutes I’d look out to make sure the autopilot was automatically taking us a few degrees off course, and to see if my wife had fallen over or jumped in.
During one of these inspections, I passed her lunch on a plastic plate and casually asked, “Do you want to eat this sandwich yourself, or should I just throw it over the side and save you the trouble?” She glared at me the way wives, moms and Hillary Clinton will sometimes. I decided right then to keep my mouth shut for the duration of the passage. I felt fortunate one of us could.
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