The art of the table setter
Those (of us) who have retired find that we are great volunteers for the cause. Here I am, on a Friday morning, setting up a community hall for a banquet. One hundred and fifty places. The tables, the chairs, the linen covers, the flatware; all done in a couple of hours. When someone asked if I was a caterer in a former life, I took it as a compliment.
But why, you wonder? Well, the regional fishery involves tuna, and there’s a tournament underway right now. I haven’t been down to see what comes in (setting tables, etc), but it’s an annual event. Perhaps next time around. Oh, and the meal will be lobster; all tuna caught go to the other side of the planet.
The dog came along for the ride, and seemed to accept his long leash keeping the car close. I couldn’t leave him at home, but a parking lot was fair game. When I came back at the end of my time as a table setter, he was ready to get back in the car and return home (where his new box of dog biscuits has taken on great importance).
As the storms (yes, plural) head towards Miami, the all news channels are at a fever pitch. Biggest storm ever, etc. I checked out a simulation of the storm surge effect; those with boats are the new royalty. As for the rest of the population, some slogging is in store. Gators, too. And in a moment of eating crow, the “big voice” from talk radio has evacuated, finally accepting that there was something more than fake news on the way.
