One morning on Narragansett Bay in Cranston, R.I., I took a solo sail in my former 26-foot Thunderbird sloop (then owned by my son Curt) and by the time to come in, a seabreeze had come up. I made three or four attempts to sail to the buoy, but each time I was blown away. By the time I clambered out of the cockpit, scrambled to the fore deck, and flopped on my belly I was 12 to 16 inches from the float. I finally radioed the launch guy at the Edgewater Yacht Club to come out, tie to the mooring, and catch Dragon Fire when I made my approach. This worked well and the launch came back when I had gotten the boat ship-shape and installed an array of plastic grocery bags to discourage the gulls from roosting on the sail cover.
When we set up our flat screen TV, we arranged it to play through our Bose system, as the musical presentation sounds much better and the convenience of instant volume control and muting is very useful. We had two Bose remotes, so we were all set for his and hers controls. Then, some months ago, one of the remotes disappeared and, after much searching, Mr. Lemon was determined to be the culprit and accused of eating it or taking it outside and burying it like a bone.