Last weekend, my wife, Roxanne, and I were aboard the Phoenix, our reconditioned 1975 40-foot houseboat Seamaster. We fixed a fine breakfast on Sunday morning. The heaters were manipulated, and we are warm and cozy, sitting at the table, looking out the window at the black lake mist, water and coastal fog. It was winter and rain and gray – a good day to be anywhere but inside out. As usual in these days of deep winter, we had the dock to ourselves.

Everywhere was the smell of our recently completed home-we were cooking eggs over-easy, sausage pan-fried and toasted waffles. I approached my seat at the table, opened the refrigerator and left with a jar of canned peaches, with the intention of spreading them over the last hot waffles with butter.

As I twisted the lid and heard the pop satisfaction of the vacuum release the pitcher, I remembered that little souvenir jar of jam Peach had come. It was Brenda and Phil had taken the boat trip in the latter group on Labor Day. Hm. Good. I opened things generously in my waffle, and as I took the first delicious bite, I smiled and said, "Thank you, Brenda. Thanks, Phil. Good of YOU."

I ate the waffle and washed down with cold milk, and as the rain fell outside, I sat in our cozy cabin and found the jar of canned peaches. I thought of what proved to be on the boat for us to spread our waffles that morning cold and rainy Sunday.

Interesting. Here we are, all for ourselves in the houseboat in a winter gray daya-one million miles of summer, no friends around – and suddenly pop Brenda and Phil and say hello. I replied aloud as I finished the last bite of waffle hot pink. "Hi guys. Thanks to gelatin. Then I got to looking around and thinking. How could I believe that they were not close friends? Just look. Look anywhere and everywhere.

Back in the wine rack is a vessel that Brenda and Phil left several months ago. Here are some coasters that said, a "Bara Ted" brought Steve's boat. From a hook in his right hangs his hat Shocker spent power failure that resembles a tennis racket and has carried more than one of my friends also curious of your seat during the test.

I sat on the table and let my mind wander around the Phoenix.

Under the floor, Jim and D'ette's inflatable bed-to-your own private yacht portable, permanently reserved for your next visit. Under the cabinet, coffee intrepid of Tommy, a soldier who has done his duty selflessly Yeoman for many wounded soldiers in the many holiday mornings.

In our bedroom, on the shelf, a hard to find books that was discovered months ago in a bookstore Used book in Branson dark, hooked up with Brian and brought aboard to live in Phoenix, to entertain or distract or amuse. On the shelf next to our bed, with gilded edges, ruby crystal glass candle Suzi and Max never fails to bring a glint of gold sparkling bedroom eyes.

On my back, at that very moment, a T-shirt Cardinals, one of my favorites-a-a shirt that mysteriously appeared on the boat, owner unknown. One that was two years before I discovered by accident that kit before that was mine. In no way would take it out again. She did not even ask.

Up on top, a fine umbrella that still contains the sweat of my son in law, Ben, who led the installation and saw her through. In the superstructure, bright red, white and blue nautical flag, flying freely in a hundred thousand winds since my brother and sister-in-law, Raymond and Marlene, took her to the Phoenix because they knew that this is where it belongs.

At the counter where he had left the previous afternoon, a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, handed to me by Gary anyone outside the party at the end of Labor Day, just because I had said that I liked them. In the drawer, a deck of cards with which I have no grace granted to several hundred dollars in quarters, ten and five cents for the best poker players.

The wine rack, a bottle of award-winning Scotty homemade wine, cork yet, waiting until the next time we make the lasagna, spaghetti or meat and mushrooms in our little kitchen. And next door, a couple of empty bottles to return there to refill the next time he comes on board.

Through the window a fool with trumpeter cane and purse and a mirror given to me as a joke at my 50th birthday of Norma and Carol from Colorado. And behind me on the wall, properly framed, one of the best photos I've seen, certainly I've had. A photo of the Phoenix itself, sitting peacefully in the calm lake water under blue autumn sky. A moment in time to fall relaxed, expertly capture your imagination rule the wide-angle camera, which now occupy a place of focus Central to our marine cabin atmosphere.

There is more, much more. I looked around and saw everything, and I had a wonderful feeling that I realized what I was wrong on that rainy winter morning. No friends around? Nonsense. This boat is full of our friends.

Of all the things I've done to try to make the Phoenix beautiful, to make this ship of ours, nothing compares to the improvements they have made. The useful elements that brought little pensive. The small entertaining memories they left behind on purpose. The laughter that will echo forever. The memories that will last forever. It is our love of the Phoenix.

Thanks for being there with us, my friends, who wintered in the morning cold. Thanks for being there, all those good times. Thanks for being there, then and now and always.

Ted and Roxanne Thompson

Ted Thompson is a freelance writer living in Harrison, Arkansas. More of his work can be seen at his website http://www.phfft.com or he can be contacted by email at invinoveritas@alltel.net

POISON “Nothin But A Good Time” 1988 CLASSIC 1980′s Rock