I often get asked: “what does “Fleetwood” mean”? And now, I finally have the answer. It came in this picture that my nephew, Dirk Jan, sent me from his vacation in England.

Until this revelation I had always explained that it had to do with being in the wood business and that Irene Prager gave me a ride in her dad’s brand new 1956 Pontiac Fleetwood convertible when she got her drivers license. But now I come to realize that the name is linked to an obsession, breasts, boobies, a venial sin that I have been battling with since early childhood. I wonder if other twins are afflicted likewise. The restricted access.

A Red Footed Boobie at home on “Fleetwood” in the Indian Ocean.

 Fleetwood and I, we are Boobie freaks.

The last sentence on my previous blog promised you pictures of the Blessing of the Fleet. A broken promise. And the Archbishop better have a good excuse otherwise I will switch my allegiance to the Lutherans. Just like last year I was in the about twelve boat raft, ready for the blessing. For some unexplained reason the raft had formed further away from the fishing boats than last year. Kelly Busey, our sailing police chief, in the raft-up, got a hold of Frau Buergermeister to be sure to include us. It was a glorious hot summer day with a nice cool breeze and as you can see from the photographs, still a good time. And still feel very blessed to be in one of the most beautiful places I have ever lived.

Saturday was the annual parade of the Maritime Gig Festival. An incredible display of talent, civic activity, etc. I marched with the “For Life” group of my St. Nicholas church. Next time it will be with the Lutherans, unless I hear a whole bunch of mea culpas, from my archbishop, priest, supreme Knight of Columbus.