2021 Delivers a Slice of My Childhood ... and We Fix Up a Dinghy for the RV

The first week-plus of 2021 swept me into an archery range. I did not see this twist coming. As a teenager, I shot archery quite a bit, but it’s not something I’ve done much as an adult—sailing, ballroom dancing, writing, yoga, and the like have come and gone at their various times in my adult life and have given me some good memories. Maybe there just wasn’t “psychic space” for picking up a bow.


So I didn’t see archery coming, but the Bosun and I somehow found ourselves wandering into a local archery range ... and then running into a fellow who is friends with the man who once coached me. I also failed to foresee a FaceTime call with my old coach and an email to a fellow (a phenomenal shooter) I once shot with and who is now a coach. I need to work on my fortune telling, I guess. (I also need to work on my “past telling.” It’s terrible to be eighteen. It’s also terrible to remember being eighteen. Awkward, gawky, unpretty, unworldly eighteen. Crushes and hopes and happiness, and then getting crushed ... and all those things that come after eighteen. All those sticky memories that look nothing like anything anyone would want to remember.)

I wasn’t looking to create my own sort of—pardon the silly analogy, but it kinda works here—Cobra Kai, blast-from-the-past sports drama. And really, it’s not very dramatic at all, other than I now find myself constantly dreaming of shooting ... and found myself competing yesterday in my first Olympic-style-bow archery competition in twenty-one years. (My score wasn’t half bad either.) What drama there is revolves around the Bosun not feeling impressed by my ‘90s psych-up music.

(I’m still self-conscious about the lupus/alopecia hair-loss stuff, so the head will remain covered a while longer, though my hair has made quite the comeback and may present itself soon!)


In books, I’ve complemented this return to a youthful sport with a return to a fitting childhood read: Howard Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. There’s comfort in bygone yarns like this one, and maybe I need a little comfort right now for some reason I don’t quite know.



Where all this shooting will lead is anyone’s guess. Why this wild hair came upon me now likewise remains a mystery. But for the next little while, I’ll just keep shooting. The weather is bad anyway (sleet in Houston?!), so tossing arrows around inside sounds way better than trying to sail or anything.


On the Bosun’s part, he worked late on Saturday to install a tow system on our little Chevy Spark, so we can now tow her behind the RV as a “dinghy” to use to explore when we venture out next time to camp.



Heck, maybe the next RV adventure will involve a trip to an archery tournament. It certainly feels that way.

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