Several years ago I was out on Montauk with Richie Boy. The summer rental of his shack had finished the previous Sunday and his beach house was his again. We worked around his cottage in the morning and played with his twins, then hit Ditch Plains at noon. The waves were ankle-high, but the surfers in the water discussed the upcoming swell on Wednesday.
“There’s a hurricane out there.” Richie eyed the ocean.
“Potentially the biggest waves of the season.” Another surfer said sitting on his board..
“I’m taking off the week for Rosh Hashanah.”
Nobody argued with Richie’s choice. He was almost a local. We spent another hour at the break, then returned to his shack for a BBQ.
Later I caught the last train to New York and slept in my own bed.
The following morning I woke up thinking that today was the High Holy Day of Awe and said as much to my landlord.
“No, it’s next Wednesday,” AP told me.
“I blew it.”
“Better than blowing the chauffeur.”
I made a mistake, but what can you expect from a goy?
ps the ocean was flat last weekend, but lovely all the same.