Bindu and I went to a museum opening this week for a show of American painters at LACMA and I was surprised to see the first painting in pride of placement was Winslow Homer's
Gulf Stream, on loan from the Met. The original looks fantastic (this image is too green). It reminded me again how much I miss the great Donaldo and that I had another story to tell about those Seeth boys.
This photo brings back memories of those sailfish races at the MYC - every Tues, Thurs and Sunday.
The four of us were always paired off: me and Paul vs. Randy and Don. Paul and Randy would skipper for the juniors and Dootze and I skippered the midgets.
Anybody who knows sailfish racing knows the crew is the brains of the operation. (This is why Harringtons always crewed for Seeths - ask Doug.) So when I crewed for Paul and Randy crewed for Don, we'd always win. Then, when we switched for the midgets, Paul and I would always come in second. Odd.
Now it occurs to me that I was the victim of some secret fraternal pact where Paul was throwing the races for his little brother. At least that makes sense to me.
Bindu and I went to a museum opening this week for a show of American painters at LACMA and I was surprised to see the first painting in pride of placement was Winslow Homer's Gulf Stream, on loan from the Met. The original looks fantastic (this image is too green). It reminded me again how much I miss the great Donaldo and that I had another story to tell about those Seeth boys.
This photo brings back memories of those sailfish races at the MYC - every Tues, Thurs and Sunday.
The four of us were always paired off: me and Paul vs. Randy and Don. Paul and Randy would skipper for the juniors and Dootze and I skippered the midgets.
Anybody who knows sailfish racing knows the crew is the brains of the operation. (This is why Harringtons always crewed for Seeths - ask Doug.) So when I crewed for Paul and Randy crewed for Don, we'd always win. Then, when we switched for the midgets, Paul and I would always come in second. Odd.
Now it occurs to me that I was the victim of some secret fraternal pact where Paul was throwing the races for his little brother. At least that makes sense to me.
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