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Spiek-Out
A Spieker Family Newsletter
10/07/01
Page 6

his; Home Sweet Boat.

"So, you live here." I say foolishly, as much statement as question.

The remains of another fish splash to its unceremonious burial as he responds, "Yeah, I live here." Thump, thump, as he fastens the tail to the wooden frame supporting his artificial blue-tarp sky above the aft deck. Southeast's usual gray drizzle prevails where I stand. Our own apartment is seeming excessive, maybe even grand about now.

"Funny." Both Stan's motion and soliloquy pause as he savors another memory like a tiny morsel of fine French cuisine washed down with just a sip of wine. A memory only he could see, until he spoke.

"I was in the bar th'other night. Well-dressed lady hears my friends and me talk about the best way to fix
dog. We're going on as if nobody's business, swapping recipes, talking to ourselves when all of a sudden this lady gets all hoity-toity, storms over to where we're sitting and begins preaching"

In his best hoity-toity, lady's voice, Stan continues, "Animals have rights too! How can you talk about cooking dogs! Disgusting!"

Returning to his own voice he finishes. "Then she turns, thinking she'd read us the rule book. I tell her, 'They're fish, lady. Dog salmon. Look it up-chum." Laughter begins somewhere deep in his ample belly ripples through a blood and slime splattered T-shirt and resonates from his chest before trickling from his nose and lips.

With a moment to survey his handy-work, pausing too to relive the memory once more, he bends, washing the next fish in a bucket of liquid, sloshing some of the slurry on deck, shoes and legs of his tattered overalls, unzipped below his waist.

"Well, thanks for sharing," I say as I spit out the hook. "I'll see you," though I'd never seen him before.

As I step around plywood enclosing two sides of his home-on-the-water I hear a responsive grunt, "Yeah huh," along with a clatter and splash from where he stands next to his dinner. If all food-from ocean waters to table-were so visible to all as Stan's couldn't the tastes of the epicure and the glutton be seen as the same?

Spieker Grandchildren News Update

Observed by Sally Spieker summer 2001

Jessie is pretty in pink, laughs, has quite a grip and can stand up with some help.

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Spiek-Out A Spieker Family Newsletter 10/07/01 Page 6
his; Home Sweet Boat. "So, you live here." I say foolishly, as much statement as question. The remains of another fish splash to its unceremonious burial as he responds, "Yeah, I live here." Thump, thump, as he fastens the tail to the wooden frame supporting his artificial blue-tarp sky above the aft deck. Southeast's usual gray drizzle prevails where I stand. Our own apartment is seeming excessive, maybe even grand about now. "Funny." Both Stan's motion and soliloquy pause as he savors another memory like a tiny morsel of fine French cuisine washed down with just a sip of wine. A memory only he could see, until he spoke. "I was in the bar th'other night. Well-dressed lady hears my friends and me talk about the best way to fix	dog. We're going on as if nobody's business, swapping recipes, talking to ourselves when all of a sudden this lady gets all hoity-toity, storms over to where we're sitting and begins preaching" In his best hoity-toity, lady's voice, Stan continues, "Animals have rights too! How can you talk about cooking dogs! Disgusting!" Returning to his own voice he finishes. "Then she turns, thinking she'd read us the rule book. I tell her, 'They're fish, lady. Dog salmon. Look it up-chum." Laughter begins somewhere deep in his ample belly ripples through a blood and slime splattered T-shirt and resonates from his chest before trickling from his nose and lips. With a moment to survey his handy-work, pausing too to relive the memory once more, he bends, washing the next fish in a bucket of	liquid, sloshing some of the slurry on deck, shoes and legs of his tattered overalls, unzipped below his waist. "Well, thanks for sharing," I say as I spit out the hook. "I'll see you," though I'd never seen him before. As I step around plywood enclosing two sides of his home-on-the-water I hear a responsive grunt, "Yeah huh," along with a clatter and splash from where he stands next to his dinner. If all food-from ocean waters to table-were so visible to all as Stan's couldn't the tastes of the epicure and the glutton be seen as the same? Spieker Grandchildren News Update Observed by Sally Spieker summer 2001 Jessie is pretty in pink, laughs, has quite a grip and can stand up with some help.
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