brass monkeys

Back in the hot summer days, Rob and two friends began a Sunday morning ritual.  They leave their beds after sunrise and meet on Leightons Beach for an early morning dip in the waves.  I am sure there is a bit of "solving the problems of the world" (or their lives) as they stare out to sea, but mostly it's the invigorating exercise and taste of salt and surf that makes them go back for more.  The three guys compare notes later at morning church and marvel at how great their day started.  They try to solicit new members with little success but mostly they pat each other on the back.

I honestly thought that this was a passing phase that would be cut short by the late sun rises and cold dark mornings.  But no.  Winter has set in and still they head out.  Rob is out from under the cozy down feathers when the alarm sounds like a fireman on call.  He slips into his baggies and is out the door before I can murmur goodbye.  These three grown men have taken male bonding to new heights.

Today he returned blue and cold but grinning.  The wind was biting and the waves angry, but still they dove in.  My father always used the expression "cold as a brass monkey's ....".  Looking at Rob, I now know what he meant.