“It’s Not the Heat, it’s the Humidity, stupid!”

Ray called Nick one early Saturday morning and asked if he wanted to go out in his boat The Mullet that morning and seldom did Nick turn down an invitation on the boat especially if Raymond Wade was the skipper. There was one caveat in that he asked if Nick, the former acolyte, if would assist him and help with a short funeral service on the boat for a family of three to be concluded with the spreading of the ashes into the Atlantic per last wishes of the deceased. Sure, after all it was the Christian thing to do, and Nick had always wondered how a maritime funeral service was consecrated. When Nick arrived at the PGA Marina, Ray was already there loading the cooler and a supply bag down into the boat. The cooler would have the Sacraments of wine and the bread for the communion service which would proceed the disposition of the ashes. Also in the cooler was a twelve pack of beer and some insulating huggies for the cans. Also in the beach bag was a couple of towels and a bag of potato chips. The clergy and the crew who were one in the same were ready. Nick was asked to pass a metal urn from the side of the dock down to Ray to be placed in the cockpit of the center console boat which apparently was the late guest of honor for his final voyage. Ray then opened the bag and pulled out a dark shirt and a white priest’s collar and placed it on. It looked strange and contrasting with combining with his bathing suit trunks that sported a design of Hawaiian hula dancers swaying in front of coconut palm trees in mostly the lightest bright blue hue in color. Flip flops completed the wardrobe except for the Maui Jim sunglasses. The Deacon was ready. The deceased was originally from Minnesota and after his wife’s death relocated to Palm Beach and was a regular at the 11:00 service which seemed to cater to more of the seasonal islanders who returned up north after Easter. Mr. Jennesen, who his official first name was Steve, but went by “Swede” and had made his money in the logging industry. Not cutting or chopping but speculating on the commodity itself. It paid well for him and his family. Mr. Jennesen would have three guests for his final sea voyage, his son Steve, Jr., he went by Steven, and his twin daughters, Lori and Lynn. “Swede” had requested the special service as he fell in total love with the South Florida waters and especially the ocean. He grew up on the lakes of Minnesota, but he much preferred the indigo water of the Gulfstream and the friendly hand waving boater community of the intercoastal waterway, especially the Sailfish Marina on Singer Island where he docked his boat the, Minni Don’t Miss. The three children arrived at the Marina about twenty minutes or so later and were at first taken back by the sight of the minister and his assistant already drinking a beer and listening to the appropriate Jimmy Buffett song, “A Pirate Looks at 40.” Steve or Steven as he liked to be addressed by looked about to be in his early forty’s blond with thinning hair. He also gave off the body language of somebody that was impatient and wanted the whole thing over as soon as possible. The twins were not a little overweight but downright big. They sported matching one piece bathing suits. Nick extended his hand to help the mourners onto the vessel. The twins immediately went into their travel bag and pulled out some sun protection that must have had a SPF of at least 100. Full body armor of aluminum would have let in more sun than the oily substance they coated themselves from head to toe with. The announced they were, “Not going to get that Florida Cancer, no sir, not them.” Steven passed on the chance of the cancer protection that his sisters demanded of each other. Soon the group was headed for Palm Beach and out the Lake Worth Inlet. As they passed the FP@L or the Florida Power and Light power station, locals nicknamed it Florida Plunder and Loot, then the Port of Palm Beach, passing by Peanut Island it was now through the inlet sailing pass the pump house and out to the Atlantic Ocean and sight of endless blue that one never gets tired of which is that first look at the open sea. The sea was a little rough in the late morning with swells that made the boat bob up and down a bit. Nick wondered if his Minnesota guests might get seasick and gave out an old trick to pick a stationary spot on the horizon, mostly back towards landfall and concentrate on that and usually that will do the trick. Steven informed the captain/deacon and the first mate/teacher that he had gone through much rougher seas on Lake Superior. Playing dumb Nick responded, “Ah, the one Gordon Lightfoot sang about.” Steven shook his head in disbelief and said, “No my friend, that was Lake Erie and the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” Nick faked a look of “oh, ok, thank you” because I am a dumb southern hick redneck who prefers banjo playing accompanied by two bandmates one playing the washboard and the other spoons than a Canadian folk singer. In reality Nick, loved the folk singer genre especially Gordon Lightfoot and Jim Croce and of course the shrimp boat rock of Jimmy Buffett. Ray grinned in approval of the verbal exchange. The twins remained in the back of the boat looking like they had swum through the Exxon Valdez Oil spill in Alaska. When the funeral party got about between 500 to 1,000 yards off the coast of singer Island Ray turned off the radio and quickly went through the Eucharist Service of the Episcopal faith for last rites and communion. In a service that takes about ten minutes or, so the Deacon was done in about two as he flew through the ritual at the speed of sound. A small bread wafer was blessed and split into five parts, one for each communicate and passed and swallowed. A red Solo Cup held the Blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and the five each took a sip the wine. Communion was now complete as the boat continued to bob up and down and at times there was water above the deck line on three sides at one time. Steven located and found a life jacket and quietly strapped it on. Ray looked at Nick and winked at the safety precaution the son had taken. When the last rites had been given Deacon Raymond Wade went to the bow or front of the boat, and opened the urn and turned it upside down to release the ashes that composed the body of “Swede” Jennesen into his beloved Ocean, but right at that point the boat unexpectedly lifted back up as a gust of wind slapped the front of the boat that now doubled as a hearse. The wind, Ray later would say the gust of wind was Biblical in nature grabbed a hold of the ashes and blew them all over the body of either Lori or Lynn. Nick really had not taken the time to distinguish between the identical twins. Either way one was covered in ashes which were stuck to her body by all the sun protection oil that protected her body of the “Florida Cancer”. (By the way, “Swede” Jennesen died of cancer if that matters.) The daughter screamed out and began to shake as if overtaken by a spirit that had inherited her body. Deacon Ray turned and quickly raced back to the stern or back of the boat but slipped on some of the oil spill that covered the back of the boat and fell. He quickly regained his feet and informed the young mourner, “Apparently your dad loved you the most! He then reassured her not to worry as that was not what it looked like and was not her father’s final ashes but just some residue that accumulates in the older urns. Almost immediately the girl regained her composure. Ray announced that they would head back to port but would do so by heading north up to the Jupiter Inlet and back down to Palm Beach Gardens and to the marina. He gave some excuse about sea conditions. Ray looked over to his friend who would not return the glance out of fear of bursting out in laughter.