The Extended Weekend

A true and fact based detailed account from the author who finally decided to tell his story as he personally experienced every moment of it.

I remember my mid weekday started out as any other: “Hell” I thought to myself, “I even work weekends when the phones are quiet just to stay on top of my desk work and if the truth be known, most of the time I'm not even sure what day of the week it actually is.” You see; I’m that guy who loves what he does for a living and I wake each and every morning looking forward to whatever challenges are in store for me at the office each and every day, in fact I thrive on them.

As if scripted my assistant walked in and handed me the pile of mail from the day before, containing the usual monthly bills, permit approval confirmations, an Engineering Weekly junk mail magazine with my morning newspaper, just like she has done over the past two decades, every work day morning since I hired her.

Not even bothering to look up: “Do you think I’m in a rut?” I unconsciously mumbled out loud in reaction to her looming presence.

Knowing my question was totally rhetorical, she didn’t hesitate to go into her normal detailed explanation of each and every item in the neatly stacked pile she always insists on collating and then for some odd reason she stopped mid sentence and commented on the large disk shaped art work that has been hanging over the credenza on the wall behind me for almost as many years as we’ve been together: "Mr. Swiftt, I think that's beautiful, and I've been wanting to ask you for some time now; where did you get it?"

"Cheryl" I responded a bit abrupt due to my surprise from her question, and while looking up at her inquisitive face (and I’ll admit a little amused over the fact that for as long as I’ve known her she’s never been one to make small talk) I added: "That's been hanging on that wall for almost as many years that you’ve been with me ... if not longer! What on earth would possess you to ask me about it now?"

Noticing a hint of confusion come over her face and knowing there was no way for her to know what it represented, I grinned to lighten the mood (hoping she wouldn’t think that I was ridiculing her) and then I offered no further explanation.

Looking a little perturbed she took pause, smiled and while semi mocking me, she attempted to justify her reason for inquiry: " Mr. Swiftt you've been threatening to retire at the end of each year for at least seven years now … and lately I've heard you mention to a few of our clients that you might even sell off some of the lavish furnishings that you’ve adorned these offices with over the years … and well … that last time you actually sounded convincing. So I was considering, if you plan on selling that I would like to call dibs on it … and I was just wondering about its origin … that's all."

Realizing that I have truly 'threatened' to retire at year’s end for at least the past five years (and still not wanting to go into any detail over that particular art effect) I responded back: "Well if I decide to part with it I'll just give it to you, but we've been having a really great year!"

She thought a moment, knowingly smiled, nodded and looking a little disappointed; she turned and went back to her desk in the front office.

"Damn it Swiftt you should have told her!" My inner voice immediately scolded as the memory started to torment me: "You have just come off as rude to a woman who truly respects you and you should have just come out and told her the truth about the thing … after all, you need to finally tell someone," but by then my focus was depleted … but I had started that day off in a very good mood and I didn’t want to expound on anything that might put a damper on that: “and besides” I thought: “she looked semi content with my standard non answer,” so I did what I always do with my inner voice … I blew it off and tried to go back to work.

Unable to concentrate on the instant projects at hand my mind started wandering back to that time. You know I still remembered those days, including their exact calendar dates, complete with the actual times and even though it has been many years past, for me it still seems like it all happened yesterday.

I’ve always thought it a little funny how people tend to forget important life events. Even those that occur on or around certain special events tend to fade over time and for most to naturally preserve such memories short term, the event must take place in association with certain important calendar holidays or other special memorable occasions.

Well be that as it may; for me this particular few day 'tract in time,' is not only locked very vividly in my mind, it will remain the special memory of a very important time in my life until the day that I die.

It all started around 2:00 pm on a Wednesday many years ago. I remember it was October thirtieth, an uncommonly warm and blustery day for that time of year, in fact it was the day before the only extended weekend that I had ever considered taking in lieu of my work during my entire career. It was the day that I finally decided to do something totally non-work related for myself. It was a day of planning … and the only day that I can remember actually looking forward to time away from the office since I started my business several decades prior to that event.

As I sat there re-living it in my mind, I remembered it was two days before Halloween, the exact afternoon (that on a whim) I instructed Cheryl to rearrange my schedule to afford me time off in addition to that up and coming weekend. It was a request that I had never made of her during our entire work history together and a request that not only surprised her, but one my associates (that truly know me) would have actually bet against.

To be fair, I must mention that that particular up and coming Friday wasn't just the little known 'All Saints Day' Catholic calendar holiday that occurs the first day of November every year, it was also my sixtieth birthday. So … like every other mature fortunate career minded gentleman would do, I decided to celebrate such a monumental occasion by spending a few days alone with the most favorite lady in my entire world ... my boat ... The Heart of Joy … and hell, I also knew that doing so would eliminate the possibility of my embarrassment over receiving any intended “You Are Officially Old Now” gag gifts from clients, friends and staff.

But that’s enough about me.

The Heart of Joy, built in 1932 was originally launched under her nautical name 'The Answer.' She is a seventy two foot custom Sailing Yacht that I discovered by chance when I first saw her from the air some thirty five years prior to my up and coming memorious event. I was flying over Nova Scotia on a business trip at the time and before we were even directly overhead I could tell from my limited view of all the rusty looking tubs around her that she was truly something special … and suddenly (for some reason) I realized that I wasn’t just looking at some old junk in a salvage yard, but directly down on something entirely unique and extremely beautiful.

The very sight of her lying there looking all listed and broken through the tiny twelve inch oval airplane window, seemed to haunt me for some reason and shortly after landing I picked up a Canadian paper at the first terminal shop and while making the long walk to baggage claim, l quickly thumbed through each page looking for some sort of a business section.

While I waited on the slowest luggage carousel in the history of airports, I actually found and noted a few prospective scrap companies near the area that I thought I had seen from the air ... and then I stated dialing.

Well, as you can imagine, three calls, a disconnected number, and three quarters of my cell battery and after listening to ten minutes of the worst junkyard hold music imaginable; the shuttle dropped me off at my hotel.

Just as I tipped the driver I heard a loud 'click' and then the raspy voice of what sounded to be a salty old man hollered: "SALVAGE" in my ear.

As I stated my case, I could tell from my imminent rush of pride that he knew exactly the boat that I was talking about. But then with obvious reservation in the sound of his voice, he informed me that due to many years of neglect she was pretty far gone and after sensing my disappointment, he explained that she was scheduled to be stripped, parted out and then scrapped over the next few days for what little scrap value he thought she might bring.

While hearing his words that proud rush faded, my heart sank and I actually felt a little sick, but I also knew in that very moment that it was up to me to save her from that fate … and before I knew I was even doing it, I started to grovel with the old boy over price as a strange realization came over me … for you, see up until that exact moment (even though I spend half of every year on the gulf coast of Florida) I never had any interest in owning a boat or boating to any extent for that matter. But there was just something inexplicable about that first glimpse of her from the air that captivated my thoughts, so much so that I just couldn't let her go that way, and then suddenly … I wanted’ … no, I literally needed to save and keep her for my very own.

"Hell Swiftt any other man in his right mind would forget the whole thing and just walk away." I attempted to reason that foolish stubbornness out my own mind, all at the same time hearing myself tell the old Guy to consider a fair price of what he thought she might bring in scrap value and I agreeing to pay that without further negotiation … and then I persuaded him to hold her twenty four hours so I could make financial arrangements.

Just prior to ending that call I took down some simple directions, his business address and then I immediately made a few more phone calls to start a wire transfer of funds for the purpose of a cash purchase, basically as-is and sight unseen.

So I guess as it turned out … I'm not just any other man.

After dinner that night I went directly to a hotel provided ‘antique looking’ computer and started a web search for anything that I could find under her given name "The Answer." At that time the internet hadn't been around long enough to offer me much search assistance and losing what little confidence I had in my own limited computer skills, I forced myself to stop after eventually finding that most of her early data was recorded on hand written forms and other such documents.

What little I did manage to take away indicated that she was designed and built by the owner of a prestigious ship yard somewhere near Nova Scotia, one that specialized in luxury yachts for the rich and famous back in the day and apparently he had fabricated her for himself. That limited inquiry also provided me with the two intriguing facts that the company had long since been out of business and that owner had been deceased for decades.

Other than a few poor screen images of her progressive build-out hand drawn on what looked to be news print, that was about as far as any search I was capable of would allow.

But still there was just something in that limited information that left me captivated in the want for more as it added additional fuel to my already insatiable desire to acquire and restore her.

Since my memory of the first sight of her couldn't help but consider her to be both an original work of art and truly a thing of beauty, I actually started wondering if my desire and imagination weren’t filling in any blanks that the query failed to provide … and then I started fighting off a mild case of buyer’s remorse. Anyway, being as excited as a child awaiting Santa, I remember not being able to sleep much that night.

Bright and early the following morning it hit me that my next major obstacle was to find riggers that were willing to transport a ship in her frail condition and having absolutely no knowledge of how to move a boat that size the entire length of the eastern seaboard around to a gulf port near my winter home in Florida, really concerned me. However I was pleasantly surprised that though pricey, such things were done quite often and within two weeks she was well on her way to the gulf coast of southern Florida, Sarasota Bay, where together we would start her slow methodical (and many, many year) restoration together.

My late loving wife Joyce often expressed mild opposition over my efforts to revitalize what she considered (and even nicknamed) "Your lost cause basket case." For you see Joyce (who I loved unconditionally) considered those efforts a futile boyish pipedream and being an outspoken Lady, she didn't mind telling me that she felt the investment of my every free moment with that old boat was time wasted that I could have been spending with her.

But working on the “old girl” kept me sane when I tragically lost Joyce to cancer and then sadly enough … my second loving wife Jan some eight years later.

Somehow, through everything related with those tragic and horrific times of unfair loss, inexplicable pain and gut retching heart break, that old boat was not only my inspiration, she literally kept me both sane and alive. Through our now forty some plus year relationship of hard painstaking work and dedicated attention to restoring her every detail, she has given me back as much compassionate love and healing as I gave her … and somewhere through it all, she actually become a very big part of me.

Chapter Two
When the elevator stopped on the ground floor at the end of that workday, I walked through the lobby quickly phoning Marina Jack to schedule their tender to run me out to where I keep her moored in Sarasota Bay. You see from intentionally giving myself such short notice, I knew I wouldn't have much time for a change of heart and work through my birthday holiday like I had every year past.

"Besides" I attempted to convince myself while fighting back impending guilt: "Not only do I need this time away from the norm for my own sanity, I haven't taken her out in open water for a very long time,” and I owe this to her as well … and in the back of my mind I supported my reasoning with; “at our age there may not be many more times for the two you to actually be out alone together" and suddenly I was out of the air conditioning in the blustering heat of the Florida sun.

On an old man's twelve hour heavy office worn legs, I carefully slow walked the short distance to my Escalade and as a sudden weakness from the feeling of hunger washed over me, I realize that I had worked through my lunch hour again. So I considered stopping at 'The Columbian' for an early dinner knowing that if I went directly to Publix to purchase the trip’s supplies hungry, I would over buy like last time.

"Any way there's time," I thought to myself knowing that always I keep my liquor, canned and dry goods stowed onboard: "Besides." I considered: "I only need a pound of bacon, a dozen or so eggs, two or three steaks and maybe some cheese, fresh fruit and fresh vegetables in butter to pump up the old cholesterol level this trip."

When I finally arrived home late that evening with a content full belly, three bags of far too many groceries and the anxious thoughts of the wind and the sea, a childlike anticipation of excitement started welling up in my chest and I hurried to put the perishables away while staging everything so they would be easy to grab first thing in the morning for the most efficient getaway.

As my favorite easy chair comforted me, I sipped a Booker's nightcap and reviewed in my mind every planned detail of that next day’s voyage. You see, I knew from experience that if I didn't sit to relax for a moment to unwind before turning in, I wouldn't have slept at all that night.

I woke before four a.m. (as I always do) but from a troubled sleep that time, mainly due to my over anxiousness and while fighting back the urge to blow off my morning workout; I begrudgingly started that habitual daily regiment while grumbling under my breath of how it was much easier and way more enjoyable when I was a younger man: "Oh well," I reasoned to myself for what seemed to be the millionth consecutive morning: "This must have its health benefits, just stay the course old man; you've already exceeded the life span of both grandfathers and managed to avoid the massive heart attack and eventual related death that your father suffered at a much younger age than you."

While toweling off the post workout sweat I fumbled in the dark to make the morning espresso that I normally sit to savor poolside to watch the dawn during my cool down, always reminiscing of how my Mother often said that I was on the wrong side of the state to actually enjoy a proper ‘sun rise.’ She always added how at best, all I could do (according to her) was: “sit and watch it turn light.” Hell, to this day I can still hear her voice.

But that particular morning there was no time for such pleasantries, so after limiting myself to one, I threw it back like I was taking a shot of liquor and hurried off to shower for I wanted to get an early jump on the winter fisherman who inevitably start gathering early to sit in their cars and talk over travel mugs of coffee while comparing bates and telling lies, prior to stowing their day's selected gear onboard whatever they would be piling in that would to take them out at first light.

Surprisingly I was still under the cloak of darkness when I actually parked on the Marina Jack lot and I can still remember that feel of cool, crisp clean morning air and the intoxicating ocean scent from the Bay as I exited my vehicle.

After raising the rear hatch, I grabbed my duffel bag and on the agile legs of a much younger man, I swiftly started my walk toward the main building's side entrance while noticing through the dim light how the dockside parking was already full of fisherman: “Damn Swiftt you were right!” I thought, for there they were, all of them, sipping convenient mart drinks and bullshitting while awaiting their slower buddies to finally show up before they could get underway.

Then suddenly (to my surprise) I noticed that I had actually quickened my pace to a slow jog: "Damn it Swiftt, grow up old man, you've got four whole days!" I can remember chastising myself: "Save your energy for your girl Old Man, for in a day you'll be sixty, not twenty-one … so try to act like it."

"Being a regular customer and friend of the owner certainly has its privileges," I thought to myself as I followed the Sue Chef and a waiting fish monger in through the service entrance many hours before their actual opening time. Yes I was over anxious and hoping that their skiff pilot Troy was already there because I wanted to set sail before that parking lot fishing boat crowd was able to congest things and prevent any chance of my earliest departure.

After seeing me first: "Hey Peter, time for a coffee" he questioned holding up his thermos as I walked through the kitchen into their main bar and dining area.

I didn't have to stop to think: "No, if it's all the same to you Troy I'd just a soon get underway, but thank you anyway... perhaps a rain check?"

It was obvious he caught my drift from the serious look on my face when he smiled and stood before taking the duffle from under my arm. As he lead me through the empty "Blue Oyster Grill” and out through the sliding glass doors past their dockside café, once more came that crisp chill of predawn air with its aroma of the cove that actually made me even more energized as it dissipated all thoughts and concerns of any new problems that would inevitably be developing back at the office due to my absence that day.

Within seconds we were traversing a few choppy waves through a constant light salt spray as we sped out into the darkness and within minutes she showed herself up ahead as a large dark shadowy presence just standing all eloquent, proud, long and tall, with a defined presence of power as she quietly awaited me.

Even in the dim glow of that predawn, I could tell she anxiously wanted to put out to sea and as I pressed the key fob and watched through the final seconds of darkness, she lowered her rear swimmer’s deck and boarding ladder, literally beckoning me to come aboard.

After Troy skillfully slowed us to a coast, with the agility of a twenty year old man I leapt onto her platform and that now surprised pilot handed an old man his bag and without bothering to tie off, he enquired: "When should we expect you back Mr. Swiftt?"

"I plan to be back here Sunday evening by four and have dinner on my boat." I advised: "But if I’m weary from this trip I may decide to dine at The Blue Oyster" and then I added: "Why not plan on picking me up here sometime after five that evening. If things change and I decide to extend this trip, I’ll call ahead" and he knowingly nodded before motoring off into the misty darkness.

Shouldering the duffle and still on the strong legs of that much younger man I climbed the ladder using every other step some ten feet to her deck and I hit the switch and listened for the platform and ladder to raise and latch behind me.

Heart of Joy is truly magical; she never fails to make me feel totally invulnerable to time somehow, kind of a bullet proof feeling, all young and gnarly, pumped full of testosterone and I feel much, much more alive each and every time that we are together.

After a quick visual inspection of the upper deck, I unlocked her hatch and went below and stowed my perishables in the galley fridge. I started her ice and water makers and I opened the ceiling hatch vents to rid the salon, master suite and the other three cabins of any stale air. Then after grabbing a cigar from my bar top humidor I quickly gave the galley and salon a visual and then once again, using every other step, I was back on deck toggling switches and checking all systems.

Well within thirty minutes of boarding I had removed all of her sail covers, raised her fore and aft anchors and started her engines for our slow wake free departure from the other tired and sleepy looking motor yachts that their owners keep moored around her.

As my finger test cycled the cable switches that raise her mighty sheets of canvas, the sounds from her electric wenches begged me to add sail: "Not just yet pretty lady" I mumbled as that oh too familiar power rush of pure pride purged through the very core of my body only to manifest in the center my chest: "Wait Captain!" I cautioned myself: "Wait Old Man! … Wait!" … and together we were finally underway.

With just the low guttural rumble of her mighty twin Caterpillar diesels at idle, together we smoothly glided from her home mooring spot like a single drop of rain on a clean plate glass window.

As our slowest of departures headed us toward more open water, I stood at the wheel all upright and tiptoed, stretching my neck to take note of any small craft that might be lurking just outside of our electronic line of sight: "Those are the tricky ones, the ones that we need to avoid old girl." I was mumbling before I noticed the few overnight fishermen tied off far up ahead.

Yep, there they were, apparently working some submerged structure (as I've heard fisherman often do) all hoping for the biggest single fish of the day, before having to sneak back to their office late on that mid week workday: "But not me, no office for me today Pretty Lady" I told her out loud as I adjusted our path a bit more port side to afford them the courtesy of a wider more wake free berth … and in sensing our approach, they all instinctively stood in the final minutes of moonlight, just to take note of our passing.

I always find it amusing when the operators of other boats first notice the presence of mine. I mean it’s so very gratifying how they always seem to stand at attention just to watch and admire us as we sail by. Even in that soft pending dawn glow, the sight of her high gloss dark blue/black hull, topped with the eighteen inch bright red stripe, crowned in her glowing white gunwales makes her truly a sight to behold and her sleek, military, almost predatory lines seems to always make it impossible for them to look away.

Now on our approach to where the bay becomes the gulf, I shut her engines down, fully raised her secondary sails and instantly the northwest winds filled them to capacity and somewhere just beyond. Oh she knew what to do, her mind was still crisp for an old Lady of her age and she kicked up her heels in a sprint that was intended to impress only me … and the two of us became one, all over again.

The second her stern cleared the bay she wanted to prove to me what she was still truly capable of, and as I turned her wheel hard a port while adding every square inch of her remaining sail, she listed hard starboard and accelerated us to a speed that literally took my breath away!

Hart of Joy is a big heavy old school boat with seventy two feet of true hull length built on a super wide beam. Typically a yacht of her size requires a crew of at least three (five if it were up to the Harbor Master) but her and I had been together many years prior to all of those codes, rules and regulation nonsense and together we have always operated as one. Besides, the very thought of anyone else (other than an occasional lady guest) invading our private time together was preposterous to me. So I continue making large annual contributions to the local Port Authority and sizable donations to the Coast Guard Association and my generosity tends to make them look the other way when it comes to me.

With a three quarter turn of the wheel, the wind was fully at our back and within a second she righted herself, got up on her toes and at what then seemed to be in a warp speed, we began our voyage due south.

As a much needed stress relieving adrenaline rush consumed me, I reached in the small bar cabinet to the right of the pilots chair, pulled out a crystal rocks glass with my trusty bottle of Bookers and after pulling the cork with my teeth (old pirate style) I poured myself two fingers strait up: "Hell, I know it's far too early." I remember explaining to her: "But just this one before breakfast is what the doctor ordered … you don’t mine, do you" and I took a sip, snipped the end from my fine Cuban, bent down behind the console and while shielding it from the wind, I toasted the business end and lit my cigar.

"Due south please pretty lady!" I remember ordering her aloud: "Due south!" And all troubles, responsibilities and concerns of business life were left far behind as we traveled along together, well beyond the speed of the wind like a couple of mythical gods.

Experiences on the ocean will very as much as the weather differs, but that day was picturesque. Aqua marine blue sky and water with the temperature warming to perfection as the sun burned off the remaining haze and painted God's blue sky with only the few high puffy looking pure white clouds too sparse to leave their shadows on the water.

The sight of it all, that breathtaking beauty caused me to remember only part of a poem I was forced to learn early on in grade school: "I want to go back to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky" thinking; "How in Hell could anyone consider all of this Majesty lonely?"

But then again I realized it was all about the weather, that beautiful weather and I thanked God that it wasn't a rainy ominous grey.

We sailed along happily together for what seemed only minutes, but those minutes soon turned into hours as the onset of reality morphed me back into real time. A time I wasn’t ready to return to … and though the setting of the sun, the stiff ache between my shoulders and the pain in my lower back supported my sudden mortal weakness of hunger, came the disappointment of reality.

Oh in that instant I knew we were well past the few checkpoints that I had so meticulously charted for us sometime months earlier when with childish hope I knew someday we would actually make that voyage … and disappointment angered me.

When I saw us blow past Marco Island I realized I had missed my intended target of Big Cypress National Preserve … big time: "Hell! ... I was daydreaming ... Damn it Swiftt!" I cursed myself, remembering that I had really wanted to lay in there for our first night together that run, if nothing else, for the bragging rights of showing off my boat, as the instant thought of: “Now What?” entered the mix.

"But then again, we have no time table" I reasoned with her in an attempt to cover my embarrassment. So together (like a couple of old irresponsible pirates) we started looking for new unchartered shorelines that would accommodate both of us … at least for that one night.

"We must be somewhere just south of Everglades National Park my Lady," I shared with her; before noticing what appeared to be a moderately sized deep water cove far up ahead, starboard sore side.

“Sorry to let you down My Lady." I apologized aloud: "But our old friend Prudence has just informed me that this has been way more than enough fun for the two of us in one day," and though I knew in my heart that she wanted to continue on, giving in to only my command, she lowered her sails, slowed her gait and together we looked for the best path to those calmer waters where we would anchor and spend our first night in many months together: "I know Old Girl," as I continued to console and pamper her in my mind: "It has been far too long … but look on the bright side, we are together now," and I swear to you as I write this, I actually heard her emit an understanding purr of contentment, compassion and delight.

Chapter Three
Over the years I have learned to love the seclusion of the water's edge surrounding South Florida. Those at the extreme southern tip on our Gulf near, around and past the Keys are truly remarkable. The unspoiled shoreline always looks as if both God and time had forgotten it in some way: "Maybe to attend to the issues more worthy of His immediate attention," I thought … and though I was relatively sure that I had never noticed that particular cove before, its primeval beauty was of no exception.

With little concern for my aging body and rusty docking skills in concert with age induced arthritic pain in the back of my neck, both of my wrists and thumbs, with a hand on the joystick and a close anxious eye on her depth gages we snuggled on into that little cove and came to rest about fifteen feet shy of a beautiful tropical backdrop: "Swiftt, you've still got it!" I boasted to my boat as I realized we were literally taking up all but a few square yards of the total width and length of that beautiful deep, natural saltwater pool.

In less than an hour we were anchored and tied off both fore and aft, her canvas was down and covered and there was nothing more for us to do but to fire up the on deck grill for a self cleaning burn off while I went below to prep our feast.

However, Just prior to opening the hatch to go below I took a moment to reflect on not only how far we had come that day, but where we actually were … and it was beautiful.

To this day I still remember saying aloud: "Well God my compliments, though not originally planned Lord, this 'IS' truly remarkable and my lady and I want to thank you for all of it" and as I watched the last red glow of the sunset start to illuminate the water causing its yellow and orange reflection to dance and shimmer over the tangled overgrown Kudzu covered Palmetto and Cabbage palms, I couldn't help but think how it made them appear as if they were all ablaze.

Considering that a little soft music was in order to compliment my cooking prowess, I selected and slipped in my old CD stand by (The Rat Pack) wire brushed the grill surface, reduced the heat from 'Cleaning' to a 'Medium/High' and after slathered everything in olive oil I loaded the top rack and closed the lid.

Seconds after swallowing the last bite of one the best steak dinners I could ever remember eating, my trusty open bottle of Booker's found my right hand, then three fingers in a short glass over two rocks magically appeared in my left. I lit another cigar, lowered the music to a pleasant relaxing volume, turned off the deck lighting and kicked back in my deck lounger to enjoy them both with my boat, the pleasant motion of the tide and the unspoiled brightness of God’s heavenly stars.

Chapter Four
I woke in my stateroom from what seemed to be a pleasant sound of a woman's voice humming something. When I couldn’t remember coming below I looked over at the clock: "Hmm three forty five" I noted: "Just about two hours before first light" I thought, and as those angelic musical sounds started to fade away with the tell tale cobwebs the bourbon had left my head, I considered that they were part of whatever pleasurable dream I must have been having … and I dismissed them.

The soft slow motion of the sea when you're moored on a fine craft like The Heart of Joy makes for the most peaceful and restful sleep imaginable and it’s always accompanied with the most pleasurable dreams that to my regret, I have never been able to remember once I awaken. However, since that was my Birthday-four-day intended for only me and my boat, I decided to lay awake for a while to revel in her loving cradling care and just relax and enjoy listening to the peaceful purring sounds of her creeks and groans, before partaking in my morning ritual of pounding too many espressos.

I guess I must have lay looking up in the darkness for only a few seconds when I thought that I started to hear it again, a soft feminine voice, humming a tune totally unfamiliar to me: "Was I hearing it, or was it in my head?" I asked myself and while considering it could still be the effects of last night's Booker's ringing in my ears, unlike before, this time it persisted. But when I slowly sat up in order to listen a little more closely, I started to question my own sanity: "am I hearing this ... or am I feeling it?" Then to my amazement, it actually seemed to be a little of both. Very faint, soft and almost annoying (if it hadn't been so damn intoxicating) and as it softly vibrated in an attempt to actually avoid my ears, I started questioning myself again … and then it was gone.

"This can't be!" I said under my breath: "It's still dark and far too secluded here. Hell we're anchored off a forbidding swamp portion of the extreme lower Everglades." I reasoned: “No mammal of any kind s could even survive in there, let alone anything human.

But by then I was fully awake: “Hell!” I thought, “I need to get up anyway, I don’t want to spend all of my time off in bed.” So on early morning stiff legs of an old man my actual age; I waddled and stumbled through the salon to the galley to start grinding dark roast beans into the fine black powder from which I make my espresso.

Moments later I was on deck wearing only my silk boxers, embracing the morning chill and clutching a stainless mug (that started to burn my hand) while reaching for a deck chair with the other … and after fumbling it into place just to sit and enjoy the eminent dawn with my coffee, my boat and my fondness for the scent and feel of the sea, I finally sat down. I remember throwing a dew moist beach blanket over my cold legs and torso before laying my head back to relax and enjoy the coming of first light just like I have done when I’m in Florida every day since I can remember.

Then suddenly ... I heard it again! However this time those magical musical notes seemed to echo as they filled cove.

Other than the sound of a gentle tide lapping the port side hull, it was unmistakable that time and I quietly sat frozen for a moment, trying to pin point what direction it was coming from: "Could it actually be human or something I was completely imagining?" I considered, and then: "Starboard, yeah, starboard and a bit aft!" I determined.

Carefully removing the blanket and making every effort in my human realm to exit that chair making as little sound as possible, I did my very best to home in on the directional location of that sound … and finally I was able to slowly and silently make my way aft.

Right as I reached the starboard corner of the deck and peered over the gunwale, the first light of day had started to lift the blanket of foggy mist from the water's surface unveiling three feet of beach that it had previously hidden from my view. Oh I should have noticed it to some extent last evening, but I was too impressed with the primeval beauty of that thick tropical forest and I guessed I had just imagined that the foliage grew out over the water’s edge.

While I stood straining my eyes in quiet search of the feminine source of that heavenly sound, I noticed some leafy vegetation slightly move and then just the bust of a fawn appeared out of the bush … and boldly stood with its front hooves deep in the soft sand as it gazed like a Sentinel out over the salt water.

And still, that magical humming continued. In fact it seemed to grow stronger and I remember becoming curiously overanxious when I realized by the increasing volume that the source of those sounds were not only coming extremely close, if I was lucky I might just get a glimpse of what was making them ... and oh at that moment in time, I so needed that.

I remember emitting a low uncontrolled but slightly audible gasp when I noticed the shadowed silhouette of what looked to be a young woman stop and stand just inside the same dense wall of Kudzu that had moments earlier produced the fawn. I also remember questioning my own sanity: "Have I lost my mind? "Could it be possible that I'm actually imagining all of this?" But the sounds that I was hearing in my ears and experiencing in my brain were now far too real for me to accept any of that.

The exact moment that small slender shape fully appeared in that soft low morning light, I could tell that she was somehow totally oblivious to us taking up all but a few square feet of what was now, quite obviously, her cove … and I remember being fearful that when she finally did, she would vanish back into the wood.

I didn’t want to chance that, I didn't want to startle her, though I was definitely compelled to somehow calmly convey our presence and knowing that if I didn’t she would become frightened and bolt; somehow I still managed to remain still as I watched her step out onto the strip of sand that separated the tropics from that tiny gulf pool.

I was mesmerized; I'll admit it, for there she stood, backlit in a glow from the soft pre-dawn light, an indescribable radiant beauty and I could see the pale pink blush on an unspoiled natural complexion of her angelic face in vast contrast to the deep auburn red of her hair that she had pulled back tight in a long flowing ponytail at the base of her lovely neck. She was perfection, clad a pail tan or off white close fitting sleeveless dress like looking thing that went down and stopped just above the tops of her knees. It seemed fitted, enhancing her lovely shape as if it was custom tailored to form specifically to her petite frame.

As that whole experience played out before my eyes, it was if I was watching a live play from an upper balcony; for her motion was defined and fluid, (almost choreographed) as she started to untie and disrobe as if I wasn't even there.

I stood frozen in disbelief while continuing to admire her timeless beauty while she confidently lifted that one piece garment up over her head … and in an instant it was off and I watched as she carefully laid it behind her across some brush. Now wearing only some form of a thin looking lower undergarment, she waded topless out a few steps into the calmest deep portion of the cove where she started paddling around it the frigid ice cold November salt water.

As I raised my hand in a gesture to prompt myself to finally speak, that fawn flinched and instantly disappeared into that dense thicket and when she instinctively turned to look directly at the stern of my boat, I froze like a statue.

With only the slightest reaction of obvious resolve, she slowly raised her head to face me and her half smile on a surprised expression proved that she hadn't known until that exact moment that her private bathing was accompanied by an old would be captain and his seventy-two feet of antique yacht.

Surprisingly she seemed only mildly inquisitive, and from all my experience in business dealings, with all my history of public speaking engagements in concert with my endless vast array of my God given talent for emitting totally convincing influential pure unadulterated bullshit … to my disappointment, all I was able to muster was a novice, non-creative and overly self embarrassing explanation of: "Well, good morning!" … And to my amazement her head cocked to one side like an inquisitive puppy … and as her whole face began to smile at me, my heart melted.

"I hope we didn't startle you." I expressed: "I missed our markers several miles north of here (I began fumbling for words) and it was getting late … so … I, well I guess I decided to put in here for the night." But I knew as I spoke she didn't understand a single word that I was saying.

Finally after realizing that I was still wearing only my underwear, I pleaded: "If you will please wait right there," and I hand gestured my best prompt for 'Stay put' "and I'll be down in a minute." Within seconds I was below pulling on my closest pair of shorts and the first t-shirt that I could grab.

By the time I made it back on deck she was standing on that thin strip of sand with her back to me and I watched as she quickly struggled to modestly pull that dry garment back down over her smooth wet flesh to cover her breasts as it bunched over her wet lower undergarment.

Without a second thought I was riding the swimming platform down to the surface and as I eased myself into the cold winter water: "DEAR GOD!" a frozen chill of death instantly consumed my body: "How in hell can she stand this?" I thought aloud as the instant shock from the cold water started sucking the life sustaining body heat right out of me.

The next thing I remember was sitting back up on the platform shivering and hugging my knees up around my face, only able to watch as she turned back to look at me. While an obvious smile of amusement directed at me, she pulled her long deep red ponytail to the front of her face, bent forward a bit and started ringing out the excess salt water.

By then I was feverishly trying to consider how to make my way to her in only those few feet of frigid water without dying from shock induced heart failure or hypothermia before I was finally able to stand. But only in time to watch her turn and gracefully fade into the foliage: "Damn!" I actually spoke out loud: "She's gone!"

I stood there shivering just looking at the thick vegetation for quite some time before I finally realized that I had to warm my body; stiff, numb and with little feeling in my feet and legs I somehow managed the ladder climb below to the deck and then below; for what more could I do?

I instinctively I peeled off my wet cloths and literally jumped under a much needed circulation sustaining hot shower, vigorously scrubbing all over to regain some feeling in my flesh.

After quickly dressing in big boy long pants, Polo and a light jacke, I made myself another espresso and headed back up on deck to see what was what ... and no magical tune, but far worse, no Angel of the Rainforest.

"Eggs" I thought: "Bacon and eggs." I reasoned and though (under those circumstances) that may sound odd to many, I'm Italian and while growing up we were taught that food was always the magical elixir that cured ... well, everything.

After waking from a night of (let's just say) a few too many bourbons and losing sight of a most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, I needed something to both soak up last night's alcohol and to sooth and comfort my bruised emotions. So I went back below and grabbed my Grandmother's large heavy well seasoned black iron skillet (that my sisters would have killed me over had they'd known I have it) stacked it full of groceries and soon I was back on deck frying bacon.

Just as I started blotting the excessive grease from the meat, while getting ready to start my eggs, I heard the stainless steel tubing on the boarding ladder "creak" and when I looked over, there was her lovely face, and then her shoulders followed by the most captivating smile.

I'm not sure how long I actually stood in sheer amazement just admiring her, but I knew from the slightest turn of her head (perhaps for a gracious exit) it had to have been a while: "No, no please!" I remember frantically reacting: "Please … please don’t be frightened" and terrified myself that she might actually depart, I walked over, slowly extended my hand … and to my amazement she reached out and took hold of my forearm as I welcomed her aboard.

Her tiny little palm and fingers were unusually determined in their grip as she boldly placed them in mine and I was surprised that her clothes and hair were dry.

As her all natural sweet scent took charge of my senses I was absolutely captivated; all herbal and floral in a mystifying allure that made something stir deep inside me. Curious, I peeked down behind her only to notice a tied off a small, homemade looking wooden craft of sorts … and I was both pleased and confuse over her intensions.

"Please, have a seat," I offered as I gestured to the little cafe table while pulling out the chair closest to her: "How would you like your eggs?" I rhetorically asked and when she just smiled back at me with those soul stealing eyes; “So over easy it is." I answered on her behalf.

We sat and we ate and we visited without so much as a spoken word between us, but somehow the spoken word wasn't needed then, for her magical presences made me feel fortunate, specially chosen somehow … and for some unknown reason I was more than confident that she was enjoying our time together as much as me; while the question: "Where do we go from here?" decided to linger attempting to ruin my thoughts.

But she was so cute, naive and far too young in an incent sort of way to warrant any of my male thoughts of conquest. She was intriguingly simple, inquisitive and almost puerile in the way she was particularly amused by the plastic spring water bottle that I handed her and very fond of the way she could screw the cap on and off of it. Though she seemed to lavish the aroma of my espresso, she playfully grimaced at her first and only sip and I quickly put any reservations about “us” as a viable option for anything more, far out of any thoughts.

When she leaned back in the comfort of her chair and closed her eyes to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, I turned on a little soft Dean Martin and without her even reopening them, I watched her smile.

That time seemed to fly by as we spent our morning together and she actually brought back feelings in me from my high school conquests many decades prior and I wanted to soak in every minute of the innocent time we shared, while not wanting to leave one micro second of that togetherness (no matter how brief) behind.

Being cautious and not wanting to frighten, insult or promote any wrong notion or idea, I finally found enough courage to communicate that I would be proud to show her the rest of my boat (and I’m sure the growing gray ski and oncoming chill in the air indicating the eminent feel of an upcoming rain helped as much as my charm) as she took my arm and after a quick tour on deck, surprisingly she willingly followed me below.

She was just like an amused child looking on and over everything with great interest, a big smile and wide eyes as we went through the salon and on past the galley to each of the staterooms with their own dedicated heads.

When I took the time to show her beyond any self explanatory part just how toilets work, I knew she understood, but she still seemed extremely amazed over their very concept … and that amazement and curiosity shined through during her every new experience regarding me and my boat as it continually grew to where her admiration of me finally seemed to equal what I held for her.

Chapter Five
A couple bottles of wine, a bunch of grapes, a sliced apple and a nice hunk of warm honey topped Brie later; we sat listening to the sound of rain out on deck accompanied by a little soft jazz as we shared every moment of each other's company. But l will have to admit that though I both admired and was definitely grateful of her bravery to visit over breakfast that morning, I found her actual boldness to accompany me below somewhat puzzling.

When suddenly: "That will be enough of that Swift." I remember telling myself: "Don't over analyze, just give her the lead (where ever it takes you) and slow down for once in your sorted hectic life. Damn it man, just enjoy this time without any reservation."

Well the salon was warm, the sofa we shared more comforting than I remembered, the wine very pleasant and the music soft and soothing and that all cradled me in the pleasance of her presence as I decided to take my own advice. But then I must have dozed off; in fact I know I did, for I remember being startled awake from the sound of the head flushing and immediately I thought that everything had all been a dream.

As my eyes focused she appeared in a serial glow in the hallway, stood a minute and walked right over to me … and while looking directly into my eyes, she took my left wrist in her soft little hand and led me into my master suite.

There was no shadow of question on my part, no reluctance, no inquisitive reaction to any degree, for in that exact moment of time; I knew I would have followed her anywhere.

When I noticed she had the back the bedspread, blanket and top sheet turned back, I didn’t know how to react … and as I just stood there in total wonder she stared deep into the center of my soul and started to slowly disrobe.

Without a another thought or consideration I quickly stripped down in kind … and within what seemed only seconds, we lay naked together with all of the bedding pulled up to our chins.
In only the dim red glow of the nightstand clock and the constant sound of hard rain on the teak deck above, I lay silent awaiting her next move … and she ever so slowly and tenderly snuggled up against me.

I remember her warmth was beyond inviting, her smooth flawless flesh hypnotic and as my mind raced for rhyme or reason as to why she had chosen me, I couldn’t believe or accept any of it was actually happening.

But as my breathing became labored, my heart literally pounded from pure adrenaline and it became all that I could do to control myself from fear that if whatever was about to happen wasn't all her, it wouldn't happen at all … and then came the inexplicable sensation of her soft smooth little palm as it started exploring what she had emotionally come that far to experience.

When in reaction I instinctively started to sit, she was on top of me reassuringly pressing my shoulders back into my pillow before slowly placing her hands on either side of my face to initiate our first long slow kiss … and her silky smooth flesh became warm and moist between us as I fell further into a seduction of total surrender I have never before known.

She licked and kissed and sucked my tongue, nuzzling in between my lips with her sweet angelic mouth; then on down past my breastbone until the tip of my throbbing manhood made contact the warmth of her folds … and without so much as a second of foreplay, she worked and she worked, using only the small of her back and firm tummy to finally sleeve her tight, warm, inner womanly flesh down over and onto me.

My hand to God! … it was as if I was at the very Gates of Heaven.
As the most glorious sensations I had ever know consumed my total being, there can be no written words to express what actually happened between us over the next two and a half to three hours … but I can honestly assure you now, that she was the one in charge of that magical moment.

To this day I remember trying from the very center of my being to hold off, to hold out, to take my time, to make it last and take full advantage of every fleeing second of what she was so willing providing. But as those tight inner walls of her creamy womanhood started to convulse around my throbbing member, she threw her head back only once, and during a long solitary breathy gasp, that familiar white flash manifested in my head, my uncontrollable self serving all male animalistic surge took flight from somewhere deep within my loins … and what was inevitably about to erupt began building in my belly.

All too suddenly and without warning or notice, my every human emotion exploded in my chest and with my heart pounding, my lungs burning, the betrayal from my loins started to uncontrollably release … and I released and released and released and her talented muscle tone started literally milking everything from within me.

During my final purge, she arched her back and I heard her sweet voice for the first time as she spoke a single profound, unintelligible whimper of a word, while my scrotum became bathed in the warmth of her less viscous silky feminine nectar.

With my mind reeling, my chest heaving and my breathing next to impossible, the loud sound of my own heart beat masked the sound of the rain by filling the silence of my cabin as I hugged our two sweat soaked bodies tightly together while literally praying that she would never leave.

Hell … I wasn't ready to let go of any part of her in the moment, in fact I didn't want so much as an inch of space between us at that time; though I was thoroughly, physically and emotionally drained and totally satisfied, like an overly confident much younger buck, I reassured myself: "Just take a few minutes to recover Swiftt, then roll over to where you are the one on top … the man in charge … and take her on the ride of her young life before your aging heart implodes."

Chapter Six
I woke the following morning at four a.m. with the sick hollow sensation of her absence leaving me with only the floral scent of her sweet natural essence lingering throughout my cabin. When I threw back the covers and bolted out of bed, I knew before my feet hit the deck that I would never see her again.

But I had to look.

Even through the cold drizzling rain in that moonless pitch black darkness, I could tell that little homemade boat was gone and all I could bring myself to do was stand there nude, shivering in that cold wet November morning, wondering if it had all been a dream, or if I had actually died on my boat and the two of us together had fittingly and poetically sailed into Heaven?

But with the tell tale presence of her pleasant aromatic nectar still coating my loins, proved otherwise.

In a combination of a strange forbidden contentment, devastating loss, the sadness in the total emptiness surrounding my confusion, I somehow found myself below sitting in the corner chair of my cabin trying to figure out if I had even been up on deck that morning … or if I had suffered some form of a mild stroke and imagined it all … or maybe a brain aneurysm I had unknowingly suffered may have caused me to hallucinated that whole experience.

But no matter what I attempted in reason … the winter’s droplets still in my hair and chilling my shoulders proved I had just returned below, and then there was the lovely organic herbal essence of her warm flesh lingering down the front of my chest with the unmistakable fragrance from our night of passion wafting through the cabin air, all still lingering over my bedding conclusively proving that everything was so much more than me just wishing it all had really happened.

After I was able to somewhat accept what I now know had truly unfolded, I dressed and ground the dark roast beans into the fine black powder from which I make my morning espresso … and I found myself back on deck perhaps to gaze off the stern and pray for her return.

As the morning light started lifting the cold bone chilling mist from our magical cove, came the low drone of what sounded to be twin outboards nearing my location.

Still quite numb from confusion and dazed in a stupor, I just stood at the gunwale watching as a long lean fast looking Shore Patrol boat pierce through the remaining haze and slowly motor alongside of us. Within seconds a young woman in uniform sporting a pen and a shiny aluminum clipboard stepped through the opening of their windshield and stood on the front deck to begin her lead-in by asking me that boiler plate string of endless questions I’d so often heard: "Hart of Joy is it? Have you been here long Sir?"

“NOT” wanting to be bothered and certainly not in the mood for any debate with a young Coastguard Patrol ‘cub’ about my boat’s operational practices, or anything else for that matter, I took my time to answer her as friendly and professionally as I could muster, given the circumstances, that is: "No Miss, only last night. We just took an extended weekend from work to take her out and blow some of the cobwebs and dust off of her sails … that’s all ... Don't you worry your pretty little head Miss; we'll be headed back north late this afternoon or early this evening and we’ll be out of your hair."

She looked a little miffed and insulted with my candor and I could tell she was searching for an equally fitting condescending response … and I didn’t care, I wasn’t in the mood to care. But before she could attempt to chastise my toxic male attitude with her intended authoritative standard line of questioning concerning crew size, boat registration, licensing and everything else she could think to throw at me; to my surprise her stern, offended professional officer like domineer seemed to deflate, and after a momentary pause she blurted it out: "Did you see her?"

Not knowing exactly how to react to that outburst, it actually took a moment before I could answer. Though I instantly suspected that I knew somewhat of what she was asking me, I was still attempting to figure how she could know and whether or not to even answer to any of it at all.

But then with her eyes fixed on that narrow ribbon of beach, she repeated her question a bit stronger and more aggressively demanding that second time: "I JUST ASKED YOU, DID YOU SEE HER?" and as she pointed over at the sand with her pen, I had already started down the ladder.

Sculpted in that tiny beach was a circular imprint over three feet in diameter, detailed with images of the plant life and that fawn showing so picture perfect that it actually looked as if it had been stamped into the sand. There in the center was the unmistakable image of her beautiful face, underscored with some form of writing in an ancient script or symbols of sort ... and I felt the blood rush from my face.

As the young female officer started taking multiple pictures without ever looking away from her camera, she literally shouted out the obvious: "OH MY GOD MAN! YOU DID SEE HER! … Before we leave you … PLEASE … you must tell me everything about your encounter."

I wasn’t capable of any intelligible thought at the time, my only words spoken in reaction were something like: "I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT!" Then, after collecting my composure I was finally able to qualify: "Officer, this is the first time that I have ever laid eyed on that! What is it?"

She didn’t hesitate when she answered: “It's a message, it’s a communication, it's a sign and it’s the Seminole symbol of love, undying gratitude and devotion!" Her words in response came back so filled with excitement that they actually ran together like a song.

Then without trying to hide her tearful joyous enthusiasm, she added in a low and more serious tone, as if her following carefully chosen words were intended only for me: "So very sacred, so very sacred indeed!"

Though I was sure at that time I totally believed her every spoken word and there was no doubt in my mind that she truly believed everything that she was telling me, in concert with the fact that I comprehended everything that she had to say … all that I could manage to respond back in reaction was: "Are you serious?" and I decided to stop talking.

After taking what seemed to be hundreds of photos she stopped, looked over and as if asking my permission, she insured me that she would personally see to it that I was copied on every single photograph and then she stood silent for a moment as if contemplating something additional to add; before simply asking: “Permission to come aboard please?”

For the next two hours we sat and she picked my brain as I detailed my experience by telling her everything as it actually unfolded with the exception to our sexual encounter of course, but for some unknown reason I felt that she knew. But I remember at that time hoping she would be respectful and graciously leave without asking me about any of that.

Needless to say I was somewhat relieved when she finally stood to return to her patiently waiting crew and while continually attempting to reassure me of how very fortunate I was, I walked her the short distance toward the ladder. Just prior to her decent, she stopped and shared with me that she was of Seminole heritage, that she had been raised by her full blooded Seminole Grandmother and how the two of them had been following this legend since she was a very young child.

As I stood there dumfounded in her words, she finally descended the ladder, looked up at me once, and while smiling she added: "Captain, if you’re plans are to leave today like you mentioned, you might want to get under way as soon as possible to avoid the heavy rain."

“Rain, what rain? I remember questioning: “As of early this morning there ls no rain in the forecast,” and then I proudly boasted: “I’m equipped with NOAA!”

“Trust me Captain Swift” she added: “When she leaves that sign sir, there is always rain, a heavy rain … and a lot of it.” I looked on as she boarded her craft and just before her crewman fired up their engines to depart; she turned, looked me dead in my eyes and said something that actually startled me: “Oh you WILL get that rain! You can be assured on that, the Seminoles call that rain, tears of the brokenhearted Princess.”

I just stood there at the gunwale kind of frozen trying to let everything that happened sink in … and felt both a little numb in my thighs and hollow in my core as the sounds of their outboards took life, Shortly after they eased from the magic of that beautiful cove, her pilot lit it up and in an instant they were gone.

Without even realizing I was actually saying it out loud, I heard myself shout: “Make preparations for open water Old Girl” and though I really didn’t want to ever leave there, for some unknown reason I started quickly preparing for our own departure.

As the Heart of Joy’s joystick magically positioned us to slowly motor from the majestic seclusion of my tiny private paradise, I found myself aft staring at her image in that little patch of beach and as it seemed to grow smaller as we distanced ourselves from Heaven … then suddenly, from the most beautiful clear and sunny November morning sky, came the rain … a heavy rain … and a lot of it … and I stood in awe while if cleansed the sand from any proof of her existence.

To this day I don’t remember any of our twelve plus hour return where Heart of Joy’s harrowing canvas beating into a continuous headwind saw us safely home. I was truly thankful that the Old Girl was able to see us there at all. But as I dropped her mooring anchors and stowed her sails to tuck her in for the night, I do remember thanking her for our safe passage to Sarasota Bay unscathed, for under the previous circumstances there was no way I could have mastered that alone.

Chapter Six
Some eight weeks later, there in Cheryl's daily perfectly collated stack of mail I found a large padded mailing envelope from that young Coastguard lieutenant. Inside was a nice friendly hand written letter thanking me for sharing my experience with her, accompanied by a multitude of clear pictures of what she referenced as “Your personal blessing from the other side.”

I selected what I considered to be the best views and hand carried them to an associate to have two (what I thought to be close to actual size) replicas laser-jetted in sandstone, one of which still hangs in my office (that Cheryl has secretly admired over the past years) and the other graces the wall above my fireplace in my Missouri summer home.

Some weeks shortly after, I had a third representation etched in pavers and inlaid in front of my pool here in Oyster Bay, where I sit mornings to enjoy the first light of day with blessed memories of her while enjoying my pre-dawn espresso.

Though I have yet to ‘fully’ retire, I had the office art that Cheryl found so desirable professionally boxed and delivered to her door on the anniversary of her twentieth year with me. It was rare that she requested that day off and thinking it more fitting than a card or even a cake, I surprised her by having it couriered to her home.

To be honest, I still get down sometimes with feelings of sadness over the three benevolent women that I have lost during my long and fortunate life. One who honored me as my Soul Mate and loving wife for over two decades, one for the latter six years of her beautiful life … and of course the one who shared with me only one day and one night of the only extended weekend I will ever take.

But I do find strength in the way that God always seems to remind me that I have not only been blessed in knowing them, but that I should feel both thankful and honored that they shared their precious time (though short) with me at all.

You see, He continually reassures me that the sufferings of grief over the loss of loved ones are just selfish emotions deemed for the living, fore for those who have passed on before us in His grace, will be bathed in the unlimited peace and happiness that He provides them through all eternity.

The extended weekend by Peterswiftt