Thinking of Dr. Riley today on his birthday.
I was lucky enough to spend so many childhood weekends with the Rileys at Canyon Lake where I learned the pleasures of lake swimming—of jumping in the lake first thing in the morning and last thing before bed at night, of witnessing Paddy-the-dog’s lake shampoos (and sometimes having one of my own), and learning to hop on the sailboat (never quite) with the same ease as the rest of the Riley family, and of delicious meals lovingly prepared by Mrs. Riley and grilled by Dr. Riley, that were timed on summer weekends more for maximizing hours for swimming and sailing, than for conventional mealtimes.
Karin and I swam, we read, we sketched, we lolled about, we hunted for finds at Fossil Cove, and we snacked on bountiful snacks of cold artichokes and cheese and peanuts. On Karin’s birthdays, the Rileys opened their house to a group of us and were endlessly hospitable to the noise and squeals and endless chatter of a bunch of adolescent girls.
Dr. Riley was forever a wonderfully kind and twinkly host, so happy to take on an added boat passenger (even one who had once or twice fallen off the boat and maybe needed to be scooped back up, err, in the middle of a race), always patient in showing us the ropes, expansive in sharing the pleasures of joys of life on the water, happy to sail fast and yet always very careful too, reminding us to be ready to duck our heads and switch sides when he said “Ready about” and we answered “Hard Alee!” He was memorably meticulous in his care for his boats, I imagined the same care he took as a physician in explaining an X-ray to a patient, coiling the ropes and drying the sails, and for his house (teaching a young houseguest to wring out her washcloth and not make puddles!), and in his gentle loving care of all those around him.
His quiet reverence for the beauty of nature was contagious. I think of all the Rileys and Canyon Lake whenever I have the pleasure to find myself in nature and with the coveted opportunity to go jump in a lake.