I often come down to the jetty, like I have now, when I have important things to think about, as I do now. I'm sitting on the lake side of the jetty; my legs hanging over the side of the jetty; my forearms on the bottom railing of the railing running around all of the jetties; one palm on that railing, the other palm on the back of that hand and my chin on my hands.

I like the atmosphere here on the jetty; the smell of the lake water; the sounds of water lapping against the rip-rap laid on the lake side of all the jetties; the wind singing through the nearby trees and the sights out on the lake.

And speaking of the lake, it's only five miles wide and ten miles long. There are eight coves, each taken care of by eight small towns. At each cove there is a marina, each run by a different family. There's also a bait and tackle/general store run by those families. Each cove is rated by the water depth in that cove. Ours, the one where I am, is rated for boats no longer than thirty feet, since the water depth here is only fifteen feet.

The jetties came about because the insurance companies that insure the boats at this lake, got fed up with paying out big bucks after big storms came through this area and sank or severely damaged many of the boats. Several years ago, during one big storm, a flat bottom skiff was torn from its moorings and with the help of strong winds, ended up on the roof of one house that had been built a few hundred feet from the lake shore.

Guess I should explain more about this area and the lake. The eight towns around this lake have permanent populations of around three hundred people. But surrounding these towns are maybe another two hundred, scattered here and there. Like that one house I mentioned, several bought property near the lake shore and built homes a little over a hundred feet away from the shore.

There are also cabins for rent, camping areas for trailers and RVs, complete with all the necessary hookups. And during the summer those small towns suddenly become big towns with the influx of vacationers. The cabins soon fill up, as do the camping areas. The biggest change is all the water craft that appear once summer arrives.

The jetties, as I said, came about because insurance companies got tired of paying out big bucks. Reps from each company went to each town council and almost demanded that something be done to try and mitigate the damages done in the coves. Once the misunderstanding was clarified, it was decided to call a meeting at the high school gym for everyone. (Forgot to say there's a high school with an attached middle and elementary school for the entire area.)

That meeting turned out to be a three ring circus, with a whole bunch of clowns in attendance. When this type meeting is scheduled, all eight town councils attend, with one person from any of the councils chosen as moderator. Once the meeting was called to order, and the insurance reps stated their positions, which was between higher rates or cancelations, if something wasn't done to the coves, the clowns crawled out of the woodwork.

There was shouting, threats of lawsuits, threats of violence, and words I won't repeat. Old man Charlie caught my attention as he stood. I had a feeling what he was about to do so I put my fingers in my ears. As I watched, old man Charlie put his thumbs in his ears, his little fingers in his mouth, and cut loose with the most shrill and loud whistle you've ever heard. Those within ten feet of him instantly covered their ears, others shied away from the sound. While those further away turned towards the sound. But, the gym became silent.

"What is the hell are you morons getting all excited for?" Old man Charlie asked. "Them people never said it was going to happen but might if somethin' wasn't done at the coves. Now it seems to me, mind you, that the next thing to figure out it what to do." Then he sat down, and the clowns again crawled out of the woodwork.

It became a three ring circus, with people shouting out suggestions on top of each other. Old man Charlie stood up again, I already knew what he was about to do, so again stuck my fingers in my ears. You would think people would learn the first time to quiet down when old man Charlie stood, put his thumbs in his ears and little fingers in his mouth. But the don't. At least everyone stopped talking and yelling.

Old man Charlie stood there for a moment, with all eyes on him. Then after looking around at everybody, he said, "There ya'll go again. Shouting out crap when none of you know your butts from a hole in the ground what needs done at the coves. Maybe someone should look into contacting a marine engineering firm. Find out what they'd charge to come out and look over the situation; all eight towns and insurance companies could go in together to cover the cost. When a firm is found, ask them for three possible solutions that would last." And old man Charlie sat back down.

Oh and it got even worse when the firm they used came to the next meeting. They spent several days looking over the lake, the coves, the weather patterns, and what the insurance companies had paid out and why. That firm even tested their ideas in their lab. When they presented models of their three ideas, they explained the pros and cons of each one. Two would initially cost less to build, but there'd be constant maintenance. The third one, the one I'm sitting on, would initially be expensive to build, but would be basically maintenance free; upkeep of the railing around the edge of the jetties was considered peanuts.

Someone just had to ask how much the third one would cost to build. But when old man Charlie stood up, all the shouting and yelling suddenly stopped. They're learning. "How many of you moor a boat in the coves or put a boat in the water at the marinas?" Almost every hand went up after old man Charlie asked his question. "And figure the number doing the same during the summer," he said. "Charge everyone who moors a boat or puts a boat into the water twenty-five dollars a month. Charge those who come every so often fifteen dollars. If a boat goes to a cove other than their own, charge them ten dollars. Then when the jetties are paid off the fees end. And the towns and insurance companies help pay." Old man Charlie said his piece and sat down. Funny, but a pin could have been heard hitting the floor.

The moderator looked at all the town council members, the insurance reps, saw them all nod their heads, then asked, "All in favor or old man Charlie's idea say yea." The number of people saying yea almost sounded like a huge choir. "All opposed say nay." When the few said nay, everyone looked at them. One guy, a Mr. Walter's, was so tight you couldn't pull a thin piece of wire through his butt crack. "Motion carries," the moderator said, then went on with, “Those of you who voted against will have to pay or you won't be allowed to use your boats in this lake. Everyone understands, these fees last only until the jetties are paid off. Are there any questions?"

Of course that question had to be asked, and it was Mr. Walter who asked, "And who's going to stop us from putting out boats into the water?" Mr. Walter never thought past dollars and cents, so when the eight families who owned the marianas stood, he sort of turned a lovely shade of green. You see, the coves were the only places to put boats into the lake, since most of the land at the water’s edge was privately owned. Or rose too high above the lake.

There's a year left to pay off the bill for the jetties.

I'm looking out over the lake and spot one of the hydrofoil water ferries that get people across the lake quicker than driving around the lake. I watch as a sailboat glides silently by a few hundred feet out. I cringe as a water skier hits the water hard after being thrown off balance while trying to cross the tow boat wake as the boat turns to its right. She comes up, waves her hand to let those in the boat know she's okay. Hitting the water that hard is going to sting for some time. I should know, I have the t-shirt to prove it.

A horn blows off to my right, grabbing my attention and causing me to sit up and look to my right. It's a sailboat under power leaving the cove. Those on the boat wave and I wave back;I've seen them around but don't know their names. I watch the sailboat motor away from shore before the engine shuts off and the sails go up.

Cheerful yelling gets my attention off to my left. I'd put my chin back on my hands so just rotate my head until I can see where the yelling is coming from. The cheerful yelling is coming from three guys in a bass boat.

One man is waving a camera around. One man is holding a dip net. And one man is pulling up hard on a fishing pole; that pole is bent so far towards the water it seems it'd snap at any moment. As I watch he dips the rod down as he furiously cranks the reel, before pulling up again. He does this dance five more time before the man with the dip net sticks it in the water and when he lifts it up it's really wriggling. He then carefully reaches into the net and pulls out what looks like a nice size bass; they're too far away to tell if it's a large or small mouth bass. The fisherman and the dip net man both hold the fish and the guy with the camera takes their picture. Then the guy with the dip net takes the hook out of the fishe’s mouth before leaning over the side of the boat and releasing the fish. Then as I watch, the fisherman becomes the cameraman, cameraman becomes dip net man, and dip net guy becomes the fisherman.

I look back out over the lake and let my mind start wondering. The decision I have to make will make the path I'm on more complete, make me more whole, as I'm told. And yet as I'm also told, it doesn't have to be done. As I'm looking out over the lake, watching boats of several variety, I smell the fragrance of flowers which don't grow in this area. It's my mother, I know without having to look.

She sits down beside my, exactly how I'm sitting, then asks, "A penny for your thoughts." I don't answer right away, and she knows I wouldn't. We both look out over the lake, both cringing as a water skier bites the dust. After about fifteen minutes I say, "I'm trying to decide if the operation is right for me. Once it's done, there's no going back. As you know, they've said it isn't required, but might cause social issues I'd have to deal with."

"True," mom says, before we're quiet again. The guys in the bass boat get excited again and we watch as the new fisherman pulls another good size fish into the boat. I can tell mom's about to say something, cause she's starting to fidget. "And what will you tell Geoff? Is he willing to have a wife who has the same type of plumbing? What brought all this on? Has someone said something to you? Has that old crow been at it again, as if she has anything to talk about. Her son caught her in bed with that young kid, twice. And her husband stayed with her. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

I'm quiet after mom asked her questions. Finally I say, "No, she hasn't said anything since her husband read her the riot act. Including about keeping her legs together unless it was him. And no, no one else has said anything. And I haven't spoken to Geoff about this, so I don't know how he'd feel--though based on how he's acted I think I know how he'd feel.

"No, mom, it hit me like a ton of bricks, that once it's done, it is forever. I've been this way for twenty-one years. I had it for that same period of time, and have been seen that way. If I finally have the operation how will I be seen? Will it be different than now? Sure, I know how I'm seen now, what some think when they see me undressed in locker rooms. What will they think when they see me after the operation? Will I be able to tolerate the stupid ones enough to keep from slapping some sense into them?"

I stopped speaking and continued watching the action on the lake. Mom reached over and pulled me to her, causing me to rest me head on her shoulder. After several minutes I heard her say, "Sweetheart, Geoff spoke with me. He wants you with or without the surgery. He wants YOU, all of you. He said the decision is up to you, and he won't try to talk you into having it. He said he'll take time off to go with you and be there to help with your recuperation. He's very much in love with you, snookums. And whether or not you have the surgery, he won't go anywhere."

She was quiet again and just held me. I felt tears slide down my face, I also felt safe in my mom's arms. I'd been scared Geoff would run off if I didn't have the surgery, if I wasn't able to please him as a natural woman could. But hearing what mom just said eased those fears. A bit choked up, I asked mom, "Are we still scheduled to fly out on Friday?" I could feel mom nod her head and say, "Yes, at ten in the morning. We'll arrive there Sunday and they'll operate on Tuesday. Monday they'll do all the necessary work before the surgery."

We were quiet again. Two sailboats passed in front of us going in opposite directions. Another hydroferry zipped by heading to the left end of the lake. I hugged mom tighter then said, "Good, I can't wait until it's done."