When The Boat Keeps Rocking
An Anthology Of Funeral Meditations
On a fourth of July weekend when I was a fairly young man, a friend of my father's invited a friend of mine and me to go on a boat ride with him on Conesus Lake, one of the so--called Finger Lakes in central New York state. Even as a young man I recognized this person to be one who trafficked with what is dicey, but for some reason we capitulated to pressure and got into the boat. To make short a long story, it was a frightening experience. The man drove at excessive speeds and the boat never did stop rocking. And because it never did, neither did I until I was once more on terra firma.