Another moment in time. July 1992. We're sitting at the end of a dock on the western shore of Lake Tahoe. Night is falling—and a few drops of rain as well. There are about fifty ski boats and a scattering of sailboats anchored here, all pointing straight across the lake, bows to the tide.
Tugging on the lake is a full moon, though we can't see it.
Behind us the sky is blue and purple, but to the north it's black with clouds. Sheets of lightning flash every few minutes, but there's no thunder, not like this afternoon.
We like it here. The beach is private, but we have a key to the gate because we're staying at the Cottage Inn. A circle of six cottages in a pine grove, the inn is run as a bed and breakfast. In the main building, where breakfast is served, there's also a living room with a fireplace, a stereo, and a small TV. Earlier, the All-Star Game (AL 13, NL 6) was interrupted twice by the Emergency Broadcast System issuing flash-flood warnings around the area.
Despite the weather, we have asked to stay an extra day.