Out of pickles, out of chips and dock etiquette

On Friday afternoon we decided to throw a few things in our bags and go to the cottage for the weekend. Last minute nellies, we got ourselves stuck in early rush hour-slash-cottage traffic and it took us twice as long to get there than it usually does. We took what we could from our larder, deciding to try to make it through the next few days without a stop at the grocery store. Much to my dismay, at lunch yesterday, I discovered that we were out of pickles and out of potato chips. A hot sunny day, sandwiches on the dock and nothing salty or sour. Naturally that made me head into the vodka earlier than usual, of which there was plenty I'm happy to say. But shouldn't there be a rulebook about dock etiquette? iMan and Riley went off in the peddle boat, I settled myself into a chair with my book, intending to take turns napping and reading. The men had barely gotten out of ear shot when my neighbor from directly across the lake decided to fish just five feet from my dock. Now, the lake is not owned by anyone except perhaps the federal government and he has every right to fish where he wants and he obviously lacks any sense of personal space when it comes to other individuals. He kept casting closer and closer to me, using a big collection of noisy spinners that made an enormous splash each time it hit and he hung around for almost an hour. Now if he had brought some pickles and chips, I might have shared the vodka.

And I think I'm allergic to this:


I used to think it was ragweed but I think it is goldenrod. It's name doesn't make me any less allergic and it is in full, swaying bloom right now.