Cottage Days

I am so proud to step aside and introduce a guest author today. What follows was written by one of my grandchildren, Matt Giacona, who occasionally, according to his parents, also likes to get 'the last word.'


It was a cool, crisp summer day in Williamsburg, Michigan. I stepped out onto the weathered oak deck that dominated the front of my grandparents’ cottage, strapping down my grey and blue life jacket, and trotted down the stepping stone path that led to the beach. At the end of the path, I looked down over the beach. The morning sky was overcast, but there was no humidity. I walked down to the beach and waded out into the calm, glassy water. The red and white Yamaha S2000 wave runner bobbed lazily up and down. As I mounted it, a chill ran down my spine. It was not one of those creepy forms of chills that you get when you walk into a dark room but the kind of chill that happens when you get a real good grade on a test. I jammed the key into its groove, twisting it as I went. Once the engine was running, I popped the choke into place and revved the engine. To the east, the sun was poking up from the tops of the low clouds signaling it was getting close to noon. Wanting to be back and dried off before lunch, I gave the throttle a gentle squeeze, propelling me towards the deep blue. Once I was out far enough, I scanned the water. It was calm with rolling waves and a nice breeze. I had three quarters of a tank left of gas: more than enough for barely an hour’s ride. I floored it, heading directly at a wave. Crash, thunk, thunk! I hit the wave at 45 mph, creating an explosion of water. The thunks were caused by the wave runner skimming the surface a few times before coming to a halt. I started up again, this time heading in the opposite direction so I could jump the waves instead of destroying them. I was approaching a wave fast with my head down and eyes up. Just as I hit the wave, I flicked the nose controls up. I soared over the water, pulling at least 2 G’s. The flight could have been compared to a swan. However, the landing was more along the lines of a crow. Shredding the placid water, the wave runner floated to a halt. Suddenly, the tranquil moment was gone as my cell phone’s ring tone interrupted the silence, “Soulja boy up in it, ohh! Watch me crank it, watch me roll!” The ringing came from inside the airtight compartment where I had stored my cell phone. I flipped the phone open, “Hello?” It was my dad. “Matt, it’s Dad”, he announced. “Come on in now - its eleven o’clock”, he said in a stern voice.
I looked at my gas gauge, which was almost on E. Zooming in toward the shore, I moored the wave runner, leaving my cell phone in the compartment. As I slowly waded back in, I turned around. Looking at the wave runner, I said, “Same time tomorrow, right?” The wave runner bobbed up and down as if agreeing.