It’s Preakness day.

I am having breakfast.

This day’s breakfast is unique.

I am having breakfast with my grandmother Sophie.

My dad’s mother.

That may not sound unusual except my grandmother Sophie died in 1980 at the age of 82.

This morning however I was honored to be included in my dad’s world as he had coffee with his “Momma” (that’s what they called her) and talked with her as if they were catching up after not seeing each other for a long time.

When my mother placed her waffle on the table my Dad instructed her to cut it up in small pieces for Momma.

As crazy as all that may sound, I felt lucky to be a part of it.

My dad has had a hard week.

But that was yesterday and today he is doing much better.

It’s been a beautiful week on the water.  The breezes that had their bite felt from the north and east each day, subsided around sunset leaving the water with an eerie calm. Today the wind switched to the south warming up the air, the sun is shining.

Last night after everyone got settled I went out on the dock, put a hunk of peeler crab on my hook, and threw out my line straight off the dock in search of that legal rockfish.  The light from the waxing crescent moon was minimal and my vision was limited only to the area around me illuminated by the dock light. I stared intently out to where I thought my line was as in a trance.

All of a sudden out of the darkness a shadowy image appeared coming towards me from out over the water. It quickly got closer as it was headed straight at me.  In the shadows, I pictured a pterodactyl or a dragon maybe as the thing flapped its great wings spanning what seemed to be at least five feet.  Acting as if it was as surprised to see me as I was surprised to see it, the creature stalled in mid-air literally feet in front of me and dipped awkwardly to my right, its long neck and big beak leading the way.

Holy Maleficent! I thought as I said out loud “What the heck was that?”

With that I picked up my stuff and went back inside the house, it was a long day.

A day that started with having breakfast with my grandmother and ended with nearly being attacked by a dragon, now required a glass of wine.

Though I still don’t know what it was, an albatross, a great heron, or a brown pelican maybe, it doesn’t matter.

Makes for a good dragon story though.

And dragon stories are better than fish stories.

Now it’s Sunday afternoon, with that wind out of the south I am sitting with my dad on the deck.  I told him my dragon story and he laughed more than I had seen him laugh in a long time.

That was worth it.

God is good.