If you are familiar with the song "Up Up and Away" as sung by the Fifth Dimension in 1967, you can sing the above non-poem. "Up, Up and Away" was one of the few Beatles/Stones generation songs that my parents admitted they enjoyed. I suspect they enjoyed more pop music than they let on, but they had an image to maintain. They worked hard to establish that image, so I suppose they were entitled to grouse about the radio stations my friends and I listened to. If it had been up to my dad, which it wasn't, we'd have listened to talk radio. Someone had to broaden his horizons. But I digress as usual. Something my folks always enjoyed was spending time on the shores of Clear Lake, near Chaffey's Locks, Ontario. Friends of theirs owned a primitive lakeshore cabin and almost every year invited us to join them for a long weekend. At the time, you could only get to the cabin by putt-putting across the lake in a boat. My folks' friends had a nice ski boat, with plenty of horsepower, but during one summer, we were there on our own. We had the use of a small aluminum boat with a ten horsepower, pull-start engine, which served the purpose of getting us and our supplies to the cabin, and for trips to Chaffey's Locks to watch the boats float up and down between lakes and get ice cream cones. I know what you're wondering. What does all this have to do with water-skiing? One doesn't listen to radios while water-skiing (although I admit, the radio discourse really was a digression. One of my personal strengths is the ability to do "flow of consciousness", which is just a PC term for "talking in convoluted circles"). One cannot water-ski behind a ten-horse power engine. Can one? Have patience and humor me, please, while I digress a little more, this time on topic but back in the USA. The summer after fifth grade, I went water-skiing with a girlfriend, not one of the friends of Joe Namath Marathon Day or wigless canal hockey. She would have been, had she not moved out of the area -- well, maybe she wouldn't have, as her family came from the south and they all said things like "fince" and "far". In fact, it was her fault I spelled "fence" wrong on a third grade spelling test on the day she was my partner giving me the words. Hey, I spell 'em like I hear 'em, and this is Pennsylvania, not Texas, where at age eight one isn't expected to understand that a bar is a bear-- anyway… where was I… Ah yes, the first attempt. This friend's parents had a big powerboat. It seemed big at the time. Especially when I fell (which was immediately). Face down. Hanging onto the towrope. In the middle of a vast quarry lake. I swore I'd never water-ski again. So now your burning question shall be answered: Yes, you can so water-ski behind ten horsepower. One makes the best of one's situation; lemonade out of lemons. Have boat, will ski. (Have words, will cliché.) Let me elucidate. Don't expect to use your numb, claw-like fingers for several hours afterward. The summer equivalent of frostbite is your reward for gripping the tow bar so tightly, you can barely pry your fingers from it to fall into the water when you're ready (which, as an aside, is sort of moot, since you don't ever really get all the way out of the water to begin with). I learned the hard way you have to let go… doesn't it figure, the next time up I can't let go? The crazy thing is, you don't notice this happening until you decide to let go. Once your fingers begin to thaw out, so to speak, you'll notice your arms won't lift up. By gum, you realize, you had to practically pull yourself along that water because the skis were never quite on top of the water. No wonder your hands are hanging by your ankles. Come to think of it, no wonder your ankles are sore, too. I swore I'd never water-ski again. The next summer, when my parents' friends were in residence with their nice little ski boat, one of my legendary friends came along. We spent a good deal of our time mooning over the local Canadian Boy that year, sailing around the lake, overturning the sailboat on purpose, anything to attract his attention. Almost anything. My parents were with us, after all. "Why don't you invite him to water-ski?" a parent asked. (Were we that obvious?) The local Canadian Boy accepted our invitation. It was freezing that day. He showed up in sandals and shorts, while we were bundled in sweatpants. I assume, although my memory fails me, that we changed into swimsuits. My friend says we froze our butts off. I don't remember that, either… guess the Canadian Boy distracted me. At any rate, he water-skied well, and my friend, a natural athlete, made a darn good showing. Rruh rroh. Sink or swim or lose-the-guy time. Of course, neither of us Got The Guy, but daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn! The water-skiing was so fine! Oh, the thrill of jumping the wake, of whipping across the lake behind forty horsepower---and on top of the water, no less! I swore I'd water-ski every chance I got! Doesn't it figure I'm still waiting for the next chance. Oh well. There are always the bathtub toys.

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