If you’ve seen my Facebook post (or that of one of my sisters) you will have seen our epic send up of Reno 911 at the Nottely Fourth of July Boat Parade, securing us a coveted Propeller Trophy for Second Place (first place was won by the Willy Wonka boat–I don’t want to talk about it.)

So I am devoting this epistle to that effort which began the afternoon of last year’s parade while the crew was enjoying a well-deserved float. Floating is the hours-long pastime of doing just that in the lake, by the boathouse, with a lukewarm beverage and a saddle-shaped floatation device.

Anyway, that’s where the ideas for next year’s race are spawned. Clearly there was some alcohol present last year because it turned out no one, not even the participants, had ever watched the show Reno 911. No matter, the die was cast and preparations began.

My sisters Leigh Ann and Carol are the brain, brawn, and backing for this escapade. Carol, a graphic artist in another life, designs the boats, Leigh Ann is the producer, making it happen and providing the crew. Carol’s husband, Robert, is on hand for helpful advice and driving Leigh’s boat the day of.

This was the fifth year of the Vernon-Ferris entry, my third year to participate (I was absent two years and they didn’t fare as well, just sayin’.) When I arrived, the heavy-lifting had been done. The graphics for the boat were already printed, the communications array for the top already built (an ingenious collection of trash can lid, empty boxes, and dryer lint filter), and the blow-up dummy already dressed and official-looking.

We had been instructed ahead of time about our uniforms which were to resemble that of Lt. Jim Dangle from Reno 911. (No, I can’t show you a picture. He is inappropriate.) My shirt and shorts were pressed, accessories ordered and received. And apparently, everyone else had theirs, too. Leigh Ann had ordered hats and mustaches for the crew. Plus the biggest, deadliest water guns ever, battery-powered with big water reservoirs. We were ready.

We prepped the boat the night before, attaching everything we could that would withstand the 30-minute ride across the lake to the marina where the parade would be held. This job was made easier by the presence of Leigh Ann’s sons Beau and Dillon, who are quite tall and really good sports. We packed water, beverages, sandwiches, and snacks, powered up the water guns, filled the reservoirs, and then donned our uniforms, hats and mustaches.

Let me digress here just a moment to say that mustache was disgusting. It kept getting in my mouth. Two of my husbands had mustaches. They didn’t bother me. I do not understand it.

Then we got on the boat and headed out. We pulled into a cove near the marina and attached the array to the bimini (the cover on the top of the boat which is a tritoon) and the airhead officer to the back. We got into position. Our key performer Dale grabbed his megaphone and began his duties with a loud siren as we joined the parade of contestants circling the area around the marina.

As we circled, Dale engaged the crowd in party patrol banter while the rest of us aimed the water guns at bystanders in boats, on the docks or the grassy knoll over there. The kids loved it, along with the grownups who were happy to get a cool spray (when we could hit them–the range was often too short.) Beau’s wife Sierra, who is a lot pregnant, was in charge of water pistol refills from the gallon jugs onboard. We were a well-rehearsed machine. (Not really, but it was a pretty easy gig.)

It was clear we were a crowd favorite. But alas, the Willy Wonka boat featured an array of Oompa Loompas who performed a cute dance. They got first place although we were told it was close. Who can resist an Oompa Loompa?

We sailed home content in our creativity, execution, and performance. And then we floated.

You won’t believe the ideas for next year.