joyfinderhero | Entries tagged with orion

Here at a balance point.

The first-quarter moon rises tonight or tomorrow night; Capricorn ends in seven or eight days. It's "winter", but in the Florida keys that word hasn't much meaning.

Work at the Grove has begun. A first exercise about past and future has excited some stuff inside my head. Like:

    * the past may be mutable after all. How would it be if I could look back at some past action or event and see what I learned from it that I still value? How can I look at the event from a different viewpoint? What would be different for me if I saw that event or action as "for my highest good" ?
    * the future may not be predictable or more than a bit controllable, but what if I can "know" and "intend" my way toward the future I choose?
    * Time may be linear or it may be cyclic or even circular ... how would it change my experience if I experienced time differently?

I am reminded of a book I read a couple of years ago called The Judgment, by D.W. Buffa. It's a legal thriller generally in the tradition of Grisham or Turow, but it turns on a specific episode of changing the past, by changing the world's perception of it. Made me wonder, at the time, how our perception of ourselves in our families would change if we suddenly learned something startling about the family that we had never known or guessed at ... say, "Dad had a whole other family before we were born" or "Mom wrote the decade's big best-seller under a pseudonym while we were in school", to give two examples.

What do I think I "know" about myself now that might be improved by changing my understanding of the past? Hmm.

Second Summit is making genuine progress. The 5-page list of critical-path items has nearly half of them checked off, and several others are in the final stages of completion. A first clean-up of the saloon has reduced its clutter by about half, and removed all the "parts" and "tools". Dear Husband and I still have a lot of personal gear to stow, moved here out of Orion, but a lot of the "dirty" mess is gone. Some of the bigger unknowns have been handled -- we have a functioning electronic system (now we get to practice until we know how to use it), a functioning battery-charging system, a non-leaking pressure-water system, an operational forward head. We know what kind of satellite phone we want to rent and are now doing price-comparison for where to rent it from. We've collected info on life rafts and know where to buy jacklines of the right length.

Still to come: a finished installation of the fuel system (gutted for leaks and cumbersome layout, redesigned by three separate people two of whom no longer work here). It's coming along, but slowly, hampered by inexperience and close quarters without much room to work. A functioning weather system. Final installation of the davits to hold the dinghy, and some dinghy repairs that seem crucial before departure.

Can we leave in another week? Not sure yet; but at least we're clear on a target date.

Orion has been sold and that transaction is complete. Her new owner is just the right sort of person for her, and seems to love most everything about her, especially her beautiful hull shape. She seems pleased to have him more than sorry to lose us.

Yoga practice has been wonderfully rewarding. I'm teaching a class at the marina -- or a nearby park in good weather -- and enjoying it immensely. A side benefit has been that my personal yoga practice is more nearly on track. It's lovely to get back in practice at teaching after a few weeks hiatus ... which was enough to see that 'getting rusty' serves no one.

Family life has been rich and good here, three weeks living on the boat with DH and Beloved Younger Son has turned out to be just fine. It's amazing how wonderful the children are when I can relate to them as the adults they are. Beloved Elder Son is getting married in a couple of weeks, and it's lovely to get to watch bits and pieces of the logistical preparation for that from this long-distance perspective.

It's been a little odd elsewhere, though; turbulence and drama in another part of the family over finances and old commitments, and just lately it appears some unauthorized creditcard use. Hard to know what to do about that, but my job is mainly just to watch and listen and offer support. There isn't much about this situation that I can fix or interfere with.

So ...

A moment of balance.

So ... it's been an interesting two weeks.

The Race -- indeed we got out there, arriving at the start line in plenty of time. Dear Husband and our friend C and me aboard Orion, our 33-foot Hunter sloop. C has recently moved aboard her first-ever sailboat and has very little sailing experience and no training; DH has been sailing for years and always falls right into the groove; me, I haven't been at the helm atall since last February and was never "in practice" except at straight-and-narrow motoring in the Intercoastal Waterway (that is, a series of canals connecting rivers for a mostly north-south passage).

Picture a dozen sailboats milling about, each one trying to stay fairly near the starting line while also trying to raise sail. Enough seas so most of us were heeling and bouncing even before getting sails up. Lots of jockeying to avoid hampering anyone else's passage, follow the rules about who has the right of way, and still head into the wind to raise sails, then sail back to the line.

I'm at the helm while DH and C raise the main. As has become customary on Orion, something jams -- usually, as this time, one of the little cars sewn to the front edge of the sail won't go up the track on the aft side of the mast. If you pull hard enough on the halyard (that is, try to raise the sail anyway) you can jam it pretty solid. Bill goes up to clear it, even though I'm generally better at that task, because he expects to very shortly be manning the winch -- a task he's much better at. C does everything she's told, and fairly well ... and, as with most beginners, she's not able to anticipate. Every instruction we fail to give turns out to have consequences.

As the mainsail finally rises up the mast, I shout to Bill that I have too many sailing boats around me to be able to sort out a good course, and ask him for instructions. By the time he hears me and replies, we are heeling sharply, but I can't reach the mainsheet to let it out and am not quite sure that would make things better anyway (though of course it would have).

Just as they turn their attention to unfurling the jib, the mainsheet parts with an audible snap. The boom jumps toward the side of the boat about a foot, and then halts. When we look, it turns out that the mainsheet, a 40-foot piece of double-braided 1/2" line, has lost its outer braid, but the inner braid (about 1/4" in diameter) is holding. The outer braid is shredded for more than an inch each side of the break, and has retracted several inches. We could probably sail home with just the inner braid, if we were careful to be on low-tension points of sail ... but racing? Nope.

We head back into the wind again, furl the jib, lower the main. Never even turned the engine off. We're back in harbor in just over an hour after we left, the first ones out of the race.

Planning for the Gulf of Mexico -- couple days later we had dinner with W & G and their respective ladies to discuss what they've learned in the process of planning their trip across to Rio Dulce, Guatemala. It's just a couple of days to their departure, whereas we have more than a couple of weeks of work to do yet ... so we're picking their brains. Besides, they're friends, so it's a great evening of looking at charts over beer and good food, talking about the best places to rent satellite phone and weather, whether to buy or rent a liferaft, and so on.

They left Dec 20 and arrived Dec 26 in a beautiful Cheoy Lee 40-something with a somewhat underpowered rig (it originally was a ketch but suffered a major dismasting and a previous owner only replaced the mainmast, or something like that. So it looks like a sloop, except that the mast is a little too short and a little too far forward). They made 4-6 knots for most of the passage and spend about 12 hours motoring right into a South wind in the Yucatan Straits. In our 56-foot ketch with a well-powered rig, we're hoping for 7-9 knots, depending of course on weather.

Going sailing -- in the past week I've been out sailing three times! Twice in the harbor sailing association's 13-foot sailing dinghy, and today in their 27-foot racing sloop with 3 other women. It's been a delight, and a great education. My first time in anything smaller than the 27-foot weekender we had in the 1980s. Even in very light air I could get a sense of the effects of what I did -- pulling in the mainsheet and staying on my course, changing course (and which way), all the things that speed up or slow down.

And then today I was with someone very skilled who could explain what we were doing and why, and I learned a little bit about sail shape and how to adjust it. We were out in 2 to 4-foot seas in 10-15 knots of wind and having a marvelous time!

Oh, yeah! THIS is why I live in a dark cramped apartment where the shower is a 20-minute boat-ride away.

Medical -- The Eye. After the second bleed (Dec 9) I phoned my eye doctor in Philadelphia, who had done the previous repair. We discussed my symptoms and my impression that this began in exactly the same location as the October episode. He said I ought to be seen by Bascom Palmer Eye Institute in Miami within a week or 10 days, unless there was any distortion of vision or any blind area ... in which case get in to see them within 48 hours. Since the downside of doing nothing is 'retinal detachment', I took his advice.

So I went in and was seen Dec 21.

What I learned:

1. My immediate impression was accurate. As near as I can tell by comparing the two doctors' descriptions, what must have happened is that the triangular tear of the original injury left a flap attached at one corner ... and now it has torn off except for a single long thread. According to the new doctor, there's NO bleed site outside the circle of deliberately induced scar tissue from the laser "spot-weld". Just as I thought.

2. I found the second eyeball exam much more uncomfortable than the first, possibly because Basic Self now knew that the orbit would be mildly sore for a couple of days even though numbed and "nearly painless" at the time.

3. I went in to answer the question "Was this a new site in the same region? or a second bleed at the same site?" My new doctor wanted to answer the question "Has there been a new bleed anywhere in the eye?" But ... I was awake when the bleed occurred, and saw exactly where it started.

He said "I know it's uncomfortable, but I have to be sure there isn't anything else." What I learned is: No, he doesn't have to be sure. _I_ have to be sure. From now on I need to remember to be explicit with medical personnel: I am the owner of this body and I am the decision maker; you are the consultant. When I come to you to find out something, I don't need to submit to more discomfort than is warranted just so you can feel comfortable.

Yoga -- I did nothing about teaching yoga when I first got here. Then the other day I went into the marina to do laundry (one of the most BORING things about boating is the long dull drag of doing laundry at the coin-op) and took my yoga mat along. Sun salutation, tree pose, backward bending ... "excuse me, is that your wash that just finished?" oh, yeah, move everything to the dryers. Forward bending, shoulder stand, fish pose, spinal twist ... time to fold it all up.

A few days later I ran into the same woman who'd asked if I would move out of the washer ... and she said "aren't you the woman who was doing yoga? ... y'know, I've got the book and the video aboard my boat, but somehow it's just not working for me."

I found myself offering to teach a class, and the next thing I knew I had 5 students and enthusiasm for meeting three days a week! So ... a free Yoga class meets at the city marina after cruiser net Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday until we leave. And ... my body is LOVING the support for my own yoga practice!

Second Summit -- we finally got the forward cabin empty (a week ago), cleaned and the ceiling painted white (so we can see better with the reflected light) (5 days ago), new anchor rode installed (it attaches under the bed) (yesterday), and stowed (the locker under the bed is the biggest compartment in the boat) (today). New mattress is in place. Tomorrow we move aboard. Hurray!

It's still a bit of a construction zone, and there's plenty of work left to do. But the cleanup has begun, and now that the forward locker is full there's a lot less "stuff" laying about. So it's starting to look manageable. Whew.

Orion -- we may possibly have a buyer for her. He'll be looking at it Monday, though we may still be storing some things aboard for another few days. I'd love for him to take her -- it would save us the trip and expense of finding her a place to be stored for this winter and the 2008 hurricane season; it would save her being laid up for a year on the chance that we would actually sail her again ... and I'll miss her, too.

Interior process -- there seems to be less fear and more full participation in the adventure. Also there seems to be some resignation ... but not too much. We've started making contingency plans for an intermediate destination if we really miss our departure date and don't make the highest tide at our destination ... we've started looking at alternate airports from which to get to my son's wedding in Oaxaca in February ... we're starting to talk about easing some of the pressure and frantic last-minute-ness of the process. Life is good.

:)

Current Mood: satisfied
Current Location: Orion's cabin on our last night here
Current Music: dinghy bumping against our hull, slap of little waves

It's late; I'm tired. We arrived in Marathon Thursday night, out to the boats Friday morning, a day of unloading (from the car to the dinghy, from the dinghy to Orion... then from the car to the dinghy, from the dinghy to Second Summit... then from the grocery store to the car, from the car to the dinghy, from the dinghy to Orion... ). Lunch at one Favorite Restaurant, dinner next day at another.

Orion is nearly fit for human habitation ... having been wiped with a mild bleach solution to kill the mildew that was a black-speckled nuisance on every smooth surface and some of the pillows. Laundry is tomorrow.

Second Summit has been making good progress while we were away, tomorrow (or maybe Tuesday) we'll start making the final punch-list of 'gotta get it done before departure' chores.

There's lots more detail than this, of course, but I'm surprised at how tired I am just now.

On the plus side: I've just registered for next year's Mystery School at the Grove; enjoyed a day of blissful freedom from advertising; eaten all and only that which serves this body well. Time for sleeping.

Current Location: salon aboard Orion, Florida keys
Current Music: Sinatra night

So, long hiatus from writing. Lots going on.

Today I'm writing from Marathon, half-past the Florida keys, where Dear Husband and I are sharing 33-foot Orion with grandson, age 14. It's a small boat for two people, but the three of us are doing okay at getting along. Not spending much time aboard except to sleep, or gather laundry. One can move about the cabin if the other two are sitting or lying down. It's good that the computer has such a long battery life, so I dinna need to be tethered to the one table next to grandkid's bed.

Been here a week. Grandkid gets another week, I'll stay on a week after he leaves. It's good to see DH and weird to find that we've been apart actually months this time. Privacy will be good, too.

This morning the menfolk are out in the harbor working on Second Summit, the 56-foot ketch DH is rebuilding. This week is paint and paint and repaint ... cabin walls inside and out, foredeck smooth and non-skid. What color do you suppose "Platinum" should look like? Will it contrast well enough with "Silver White" ?

Me I'm on Orion, waiting for on-deck stuff to dry out after this morning's thunderstorm, and catching up on e-mail and stuff.

Tonight another wonderful restaurant meal, another good local band, another opportunity to sample the beers of the Bahamas (not generally available up north, but a staple of the Keys).

Peaceful, serene. Yoga on the dock yesterday makes me feel good.

Lately I've been reading some of the Good Old Stuff -- Edith Wharton's Age of Innocence, and now Wuthering Heights in progress. And also some delightful Good New Stuff -- Sarah Dunant's The Birth of Venus, Florence in the time of Lorenzo Di Medici, from the viewpoint of a young lady who marries oddly and ends up in a convent later. Sara Gruen's Water for Elephants is simply delightful, a romp through the old-time circus with several twists.

And a totally amazing book I need to pass along to the Magicians among us: Mitchell Chefitz' The Seventh Telling. It's a lean, spare novel with about as little 'setting description' as The Celestine Prophecy ... and at least a couple of fairly gripping personal-life stories ... AND the clearest introduction to trancework I've ever seen in a book. He's not 'telling you how to do it' or 'talking about it', his characters are 'doing it' ... and I've learned much more about Kabbalah from reading this piece of fiction than I would ever have expected. More useful, in a different way, than Starhawk's Walking to Mercury or Dion Fortune's The Sea Priestess.

So. Florida sunshine, gorgeous weather except for the daily thunderstorm, kayaking ... Life is Good.

Current Location: Orion at Dockside
Current Music: breeze and tide

So. Suddenly we're deep into March. I've been away from this blog awhile, which is weird.

We left on the next leg of the journey -- Northward across Florida Bay and into the Everglades. Flamingo is a truly lovely spot, an outpost of refrigeration and ranger station near the Southernmost point of the Everglades National Park (at least, the land part). Before the hurricanes of 2005 it had a lodge and restaurants, but now just a convenience store. Docks were damaged, but are still useable in spots -- so the three boats that traveled there together took the three best spots and stayed more than a week. Met a couple of new friends as other boats came in.

Discovered that it's still possible to be 'out of reach' of both internet and cellphone -- which I hadn't even imagined. That is, I knew it could be problematic, but I didn't expect 'No' for an answer. After much asking around, it turned out the nearest wi-fi was a Hostel 45 miles / 60 minutes away by car. Having arrived by boat, though, we didn't have a car -- two dinghies and a kayak, but ...

The nice ranger offered to drop me off at the Hostel on her way home from work. So that's what I did for my on-line-live seminary class -- got dropped off at the hostel, got on the internet from 9-10 for class, stayed on the internet catching up on e-mail until midnight, went to bed in my dorm room. Got up the next morning and took the bus down the keys to pick up the car we'd left at our starting point.

This simplified things a bit the following week, since now I could leave after supper, sit with my computer in the hostel's garden, and drive back, arriving at the dock after midnight.

Friday we left for the next leg -- which was supposed to be continuing North up the coast, eventually to Sanibel Island. But then I picked up a crab pot and wrapped the line around the prop, stopping the engine dead. By the time we'd got that cleared and were free to move, it was the next morning, and we were 18 hours and 15 miles behind schedule. This would have been no problem, except that 'weather' was developing. Ended up that we headed South again, back to the keys, arriving in time to watch the Full Moon rise during the full Lunar Eclipse. Wow.

We got to Sanibel, though; we just took the car instead. Also, we visited Everglades City, a charming tiny town of 'old' Florida, complete with high-toned old hotel built for the rich vacationers in the 1920s, and a museum in what used to be the town laundry. Also several amazing artists in residence, lots of alligators nearly tame enough to talk to, airboats, and fishermen. And marvelous seafood.

Drove back to the boat today -- feels like we've been gone more than a couple days, and good to be back. Last night's hotel room felt weird -- the bed didn't rock the way it should -- so tonight should be much easier now that I'm back aboard, swinging on a mooring. Good to be back in internet contact as well.

Love and light and lots of laughter to all

Current Mood: calm
Current Location: Orion, moored in Boot Key
Current Music: gentle breeze and small waves

That inner voice that says 'eek, eek, nobody will listen, there's no point in asking, what's the use anyway' -- Where does it come from?

And in writing that question, in the space of a few heartbeats at most, I have my answer. In me, it comes from a set of childhood experiences of wanting my Dad to be a different way than he was, and finding that many of my requests for change were ignored.

Of course, in 'real life' I bet he didn't "ignore" them.

When I asked, at 10, for him to 'not have a drink' before we sat down to talk about some problem I had, I bet he felt stung, and pushed the thought away, and poured himself a double instead. (I'm guessing about his inner experience; the double, I saw.) When I asked, at 16, if I'd done something so awful (what? what?!?) that he couldn't love me any more, I bet he felt struck dumb, with no way to say what was true, no idea how to reassure me. What he said, of course, was that "of course" he hadn't stopped loving me, certainly not! ...and what was the matter with me (he really asked that) for thinking so? What I'm guessing, based on much later conversations with my Mom, and even later than that my own experience of parenting teenagers, is that he was finding my nubile body much more sexually attractive than was comfortable for him to acknowledge even to himself, and all he could do was suddenly keep me at arms' length. It only bothered me because of the abrupt contrast in a family that was routinely huggy and kissyface with one another.

So nowadays, with a mate who has many of my Dad's best qualities and some of the problematic ones, when there is something to negotiate of course I assume (silly me) that it will be impossible.

But here's what happened. First I said that I needed to negotiate for change on a topic I anticipated tey might find difficult. I acknowledged that I felt fearful about the conversation, uncertain how or whether I could express well what I wanted to convey. I asked when would be a good time for us to try, and agreed to the time my mate suggested.

Then I used I-referenced language as much as possible. I acknowledged that some of what I saw as "your behavior" might just be "how a result of your behavior has been affecting me" and requested assistance with sorting that out. I expressed my wish for change in terms solely of results, not those aspects of ter behavior that are none of my business. I acknowledged that, while I might have a preference of how tey treat temself, in fact this is none of my business, and made clear that what I was requesting was a reduced impact on me -- NOT making a decision or demand on what tey did.

An important result of that approach seems to be that we talked well and clearly about several issues between us that had been difficult to discuss in the past. When the conversation ended, we had each agreed to be more conscious and intentional about outcomes. We had NOT agreed on any 'specific, measurable' changes in actions -- and we HAD agreed on 'specific, measurable' changes in results.

It's been more than a week since that conversation and we have been more comfortable together than before it. Results have been much more acceptable on both sides. Each of us has taken responsibility for making our own course-corrections in our own actions, but without much feedback of the 'is this good enough for you?' variety (which I'm pleased with).

A bonus is that our sailing-related choices have been gentler, speedier, and less angstful. Yay!

It's been a busy week, too -- Sunday we finished the little dinghy (which I bought for a few dollars with two holes in the bottom, and which we patched together in about three days of work) and put it in the water. I rowed it out to the sailboat, but since thereafter it rained for two days, I haven't yet mated it to its ancient Seagull engine and found out if the Seagull would start.

Monday we picked up the big dinghy from the shop that's been working on its Yamaha outboard, and this morning we got that into the water. We motored it around to the dinghy dock and parked it, then my mate drove the trailer back to storage.

Thursday, we think, we'll be heading off to the next leg of cruising, as the weather will finally have cleared Wednesday night (according to current forecast) ... but as of right now we aren't sure if we'll be going West or East, up the West coast of Florida to Sanibel Island? or up the Northern half of the keys and over to the Bahamas.

Stay tuned.

Current Mood: relaxed
Current Location: 33-foot sloop Orion, Bootkey Harbor, Marathon, FL
Current Music: generator, topping up our batteries

January 3, in my personal calendar, was the Full Moon of Possibility. A few days late, I stood on the beach near midnight and found two 'stones' -- one, heavy and gray, is clearly geologic (not that this means 'inanimate'). The other, white and very light, is clearly a house made by Coral. Does this count as a 'stone'? I don't know -- but it looks so like a Full Moon I brought it home.

January 19 was (darkly) the New Moon of Eagerness ... and then on the 20th I saw it, the fingernail moon boat lifting above the still-lit Western sky. Eagerness indeed!

"What does my future self, the self who will be with me at the end of next year, want me to know or consider at this moment? Draw a card." So I drew The Last Judgment ... which is also my Life Card (along with the Emperor). Now, what does that mean?

Tuesday we leave to cruise Biscayne Bay, and then south to Marathon in the Florida keys. Weather reports tell me home is having snow flurries, but here ... well, I put on long trousers last night for the first time in a couple of weeks, but only because we were going on a motor-launch ride at 10 pm. Today is about 85 and sunny, with just enough clouds to cut the glare.

I'm eager to be sailing ... and learning again the pleasures of togetherness while living in such a small space. And I'm thinking I'd love to be at the Grove this month or next. Maybe some year we'll invent or discover Bi-Location. (And then, as a redbearded friend of mine says, we'll all want to be in three places at once).

Current Mood: productive
Current Location: Orion's salon
Current Music: DH installing spare battery

---
Maybe I mentioned that, after the Great Mouse Invasion, we had cleaned about 3/4 of Orion's space -- including all the 'human-habitable' space -- but had left for later some lockers and storage compartments.

Once we moved aboard, we got quickly involved in projects on Second Summit, and neglected to finish the post-mouse cleanup.

Thursday morning about 9 am it suddenly became a higher priority again.

I got up early and went off to yoga class. When Dear Husband got up, the first thing he noticed was a wet cabin floor underfoot. Quick examination disclosed a completely full bilge. Hmm. Come to think of it, we hadn't happen to notice any bilge-pump output (which sounds like the boat is pissing over the side, if you want the truth). Neither of us had thought much about it, since it's been so hot this week that we've had air-conditioning running most of the time and wouldn't have heard it anyway. But now it quickly became obvious that the bilge pump wasn't doing its job.

He ran an electrical jumper and was able to make the pump run ... and some water would leave the bilge area. But as soon as the pump shut off, the water came trickling back. How odd.

After taking apart the cockpit locker and tracing two white hoses which were not the bilge-pump output (one is the vent for the toilet, and the other one is still a mystery), we took apart the under-sink locker in the lavatory. Surprise, two more white hoses. So, okay, he starts the pump while I watch, one hand on each hose -- nothing. Water trickles back. No sign of water in the hoses I'm looking at. So where does the hose go when it disappears out of sight?

We take up the floor of the under-sink locker.

Oh.

Did I mention that the mice eat plastic?

There's a hole in one hose, about four inches long (in a two-inch-diameter hose, mind) below the floor. This time when we run the bilge pump we see what happens -- a fountain rises a couple of inches out of the hole and spills into the under-floor space, where it puddles behind a water-supply tube. Then it trickles slowly down the wall of the cabinet and into the bilge again. Mystery solved.

We replaced two feet of hose, making all the couplings tight, and test again. Splash! Turns out there are two pin-holes -- just the spacing of mouse teeth -- high up on the hose, in an area fairly difficult to work in, just past the junction of the new hose we've added.

Back to the store. After taking out the new hose and replacing a longer run (from below the floor all the way to the outlet on the side of the hull), we test again -- success!

Now to the question of 'why wasn't the bilge pump running continuously'? Turns out they'd chewed a couple of wires, too. We're very fortunate nothing shorted.

Tomorrow we need to test the depth-sounder, since one of the chewed wires runs to it.

In the meantime, it took the better part of two days to work out what was wrong, trace everything, fish new wire through the tiny utility chase ... This really ups the ante on mice invasion, too; everything we'd discovered before was 'annoyance' and 'mess' and 'loss.' This was 'danger' -- something I'm really not prepared to put up with. Also, since one can never get to see every inch of wire or piping on the boat, we now have to recognize that there could be hidden damage that could become a problem at any time. Not a situation to my liking, but it does bring up one of the really excellent reasons to go cruising with buddies in a neighboring boat. Which we plan to do later in the month.

I keep thinking this boat needs a cat. Then I remember that the mice were only here when we weren't, and I wouldn't ask a cat to live here by herself. (and she wouldn't do it, anyway).

I notice, by the way, that I now have a desire to learn how to create icons. If I knew how already, you'd be looking at an icon of an enraged white boat gnashing its shark-teeth over a cowering mouse, or something like that.

@#$

Current Mood: grumpy
Current Location: Orion
Current Music: summer breezes in January

My work as a study subject is going well.

-- Consciously contacting my various friends among Deity and Divinity first thing in the morning feels lovely, and it's interesting to see that different ones come forward on successive days. Guardians, Sacred Fire, God Hirself ... so far.

-- Moving first thing in the morning is educational -- did I really think I could do Sun Salutation just a few minutes out of bed? In three days I've learned that I'm better off starting with stretching. If I'm going to do warrior poses I need to be moving for longer than three minutes first.

-- Free-writing first thing in the morning feels marvelous, and may stick as a long-term practice (or if it doesn't, I'd like at least to remember that I'm loving it and can do it any morning I choose). Our instructions are to write a bit what's present now, allow an inquiry to come forward, sit silent and listening for a reply. Some of the replies I have heard have been stunning in their simplicity, the sort of thing that's "obvious" now that the most creative thinker in the room has given it voice.

Work on Second Summit is going well.

-- Good news about structure: Dear Husband got a window out of its frame yesterday and discovered that the horrible creeping rot visible on the inside of the cabin is limited to the mostly-decorative plywood interior; the thick fiberglas body of the cabintop is intact. Yay!

-- Confirmation of bad news about recent maintenance: DH found they'd used at least two different kinds of sealant on the window (probably the second in an ill-considered attempt to stop a leak by caulking the inside, thereby increasing the rot's progress by trapping water, instead of the outside to keep the water out). No idea yet what it is, but chisel and scrubbing have removed nearly all of it from the aluminum frame. Next stop: automotive glass repair shop where we hope they can install a new window in the frame, leaving us with only one joint to seal instead of two.

-- Learned some of the local tricks for no-see-ums (those biting flies about twice the size of the period at the end of this sentence. They bite hard and leave a circular red welt the size of the capital 'O' in this typeface. Within minutes the welt itches and continues itching intermittently for days). Seems a combination of light and specific-pheromone lure (away from where we're sitting, please) to attract them to a bug-zapper ... and a citronella candle to send them away from where we're sitting ... so we tried these, and they are at least some help. Maybe next week I won't be so polkadotted.

Living on Orion is settling down.

-- Everything is finally dry.

-- Most everything is finally stowed. We've already discovered we need two complete sets of kitchen utensils; it's just too confusing to take things over to Second Summit and then not remember for sure which boat has what.

-- We've got a 2007 calendar posted and marked-up; we still need a 2007 tide chart.

-- My 'standard boat clothes' list was clearly made in different weather: I've been doing laundry more often in order to have clean tank-tops, and haven't needed any of my turtlenecks in over a week. Do I need more clothing storage? (I could do that, it'd just be cumbersome.) Do I need to re-organize? (of course, always.) Definitely I need a visit to the local thrift store and more tank-tops; laundromat twice a week is not in my preferred schedule.

-- DH has cooked every night of the year (so far) and is cooking again tonight. Since neither of us had a home-cooked meal from Dec 16 to 31, this is a nice surprise.

Surprises of tropical life.

-- Second Summit has at least one resident crab. About two-inch diameter body, with cute tiny claws that could probably make a nice hole in one of my toes if I got close enough. We've seen it twice now, once on the finger-pier next to the boat, and today it was crawling along the rub rail. When I suggested it ought to leave, it moved smartly away from where we were about to step over it to get aboard, but instead of dropping into the water or crawling onto the pier, it went under the rubrail and into a windowframe. I find myself imagining that the first time it finds an open window it will move indoors ... and then be scuttling under my feet some morning. Guess I've gotta watch my step now.

-- Everywhere has ~~roaches~~ palmetto bugs. I shared my shoreside shower with one yesterday (she stayed in her corner, I stayed in mine). Haven't seen any on Orion but watched one crawl through the seam in a bilge cover on Second Summit.

-- Even my skin is different. Moisturizers that work well up north don't seem to do much here, or else stay on the surface like grease.

I'm watching myself muttering and meandering. Do I really have nothing to say? Am I procrastinating on my things-to-do list?

Love and light and lots of laughter

:)

Current Mood: awake
Current Location: Orion at dockside
Current Music: Florida breeze

The V-berth mattress was finally dry yesterday - a real bed, at last!

Orion is pretty-well stowed now, not exactly ready for cruising but at least I know where everything is.

Dear Mate turned an ankle a couple of weeks ago, and carefully ignored the resulting swelling and discomfort. Then last night he turned it further and heard an audible 'pop'. He's confident it's not broken. I'm confident it's sprained. Will he go to ER or even phone a local doctor's office? (Does the President buy his own socks?).

He did let me wrap it in cold-wrap. This morning he did put on a drugstore brace, before I was even awake.

Now I know it's sprained. I'm proud of him though; this morning he opted for taking the car in for service and sitting in the waiting room, rather than getting right into another up-and-down-the-companionway-ladder project.

This week we've settled into the rhythm of being in port. Mornings are for doing projects -- working on Second Summit or doing laundry, routine car maintenance or working on the novel, washing dishes or finding someone to repair the canvas the mice ate. Lunch out about 1:30 or so, then whatever shopping needs doing (it's good to stay in other people's air-conditioning during the heat of the day, at least, most days). Evenings are for socializing, catching up on e-mail, watching old movies on TV.

Yesterday's big accomplishment: the refrigeration in Second Summit is now working, at least on the ship's own battery power. Still to diagnose: why was it unplugged from both 'shore' power and 'generator' power (the more efficient 110-volt system)? Maybe there's no problem, and just plugging it back in will suffice ... but maybe not.

Monday, in addition to this boating life, I start on a new project -- I'm participating in a study of spiritual practice.

For the next ten weeks I will spend 10 minutes or more each day following the study protocol excerpted below, preferably in the mornings:

"1. Pray -- get in touch with Divinity however you do that. Set your intention...

"2. Do 3 minutes of movement while focusing on your intention and maintaining your inner connection with Divinity. ..." [probably most days I will do Yoga; some days I will probably dance].

"3. Do some form of spiritual practice for 3 minutes or more ..." [probably I will sit in meditation; probably most days this will be for more than 3 minutes].

"4. Write for four minutes. Start with a few sentences about what's present with you right now ... Let an inquiry come forward ... Set your intention to connect to the highest source of wisdom within you. Go inside. Listen. When you start to sense, hear, see, or feel anything, write it down. ...

"5. Once you've completed these steps, record on your tracking sheet what you did and how you are. Please track every day. ..."

I'm excited; lately spiritual practice has been sloppy and intermittent. I'm scared; what if I drop the ball? What if being on "island time" gets in the way of even this? I'm confident; this support is just what I'm needing just now to help me get back on track.

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Location: Orion with breeze blowing through
Current Music: breeze

Tonight we finally started the 'usual' arrival-in-Florida activities -- load all the clothing and other personal gear into Orion; restock the perishables in the larder; load all the tools and parts into Second Summit. The car is nearly empty for the first time in ten days.

The only thing that's somewhat different is that, a week later, I don't necessarily remember where everything is in the packing -- so it's tougher to sort everything out. Mildly frustrating is all.

Tonight we think we're finally ready to sleep aboard Orion. The V-berth mattress is still wet, but we can set up the port-side settee to be nearly as wide as a standard double. We'll see how well that works.

It's good to be in our winter home.

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Location: Florida
Current Music: Dear Mate watching Rainman

Hoping everyone has had a marvelous Solstice -- we did, very quietly. A walk on the beach (79 degrees F), wings and three-layer dip with a beautiful dark Mexican beer. Maybe tomorrow one or both of us may attend a local UU Congregation's Solstice ritual, or maybe not.

We're a little bit behind schedule with the assorted projects -- for one thing, we're not sleeping aboard Orion just yet -- but having fun. Looking forward to a quiet and satisfying holiday weekend.

Things I have learned at this season of the long dark:

* Mice like peanuts best. Followed by crackers, and luscious fragrant body lotion (they didn't leave enough plastic to assemble half the bottle).

* Paper and fabric that took many hours and dollars to assemble can be turned into confetti in less than six months by one family of mice.

* If you want your 30-year-old boat to become Really Clean all you have to do is give yourself a really good excuse -- say, the aroma of mouse piss.

* "Sealed" applies only to metal cans and to glass bottles with metal screw tops. Cardboard (no matter what coating), cellophane, plastic (no matter how thick), foil (even heat-sealed pouches) are no match for rodent teeth -- None.

* Just because I wouldn't eat it doesn't mean it's not food: Plastic flashlight bodies, battery cases, rubber insulation on wires, the wires themselves ... good grief. You'd think they didn't have anything better to do.

See, we arrived at the marina on the 20th (the trip took a little longer than predicted, due to the drag of towing a whaleboat and carrying a kayak on top). First thing we noticed was a rather "mustier-than-usual" aroma and a few loose papers on the floor. Once we got down the companionway the extent of the damage was more obvious -- including dozens of three-quarter circles of edges of crackers. Guess they like the tender centers best. Four hours that day, eight yesterday, about six today ... and we're done with about 3/4 of it. Still to do: the port aft quarterberth storage area; the lavatory floor; the cockpit lockers; the bilges. Done: V-berth, both settees, kitchen and lavatory surfaces. Main cabin floor, over and over again. We were smart enough not to leave any "open" food aboard, but apparently their definition of "open" is different than ours.

We're having fun though -- it's amazing how much easier it is for me to feel amused by this when the sun is sticking around for about 75 minutes more each day than I was experiencing last week. Driving 1300 miles South seems to make all the difference.

Love and light and lots of laughter to you and yours in this beautiful season of lights.

Current Mood: and persevering
Current Location: Sunny Southeast Florida
Current Music: Dear Hubby watching History channel

All packed. If we were younger we would leave tonight, but neither of us really feels like driving into the dark anymore ... at least, not until we're away from deer country and out on the interstate. I thought I'd be packing until late, but actually I've done everything I need to do except finish the laundry, until the Final List -- the things I won't do until we're actually ready to leave.

Like: pack up the computer (and be -- horrors! -- off-line for 12 hours); silence the phones so our housemates needn't listen to them all winter; change my outgoing message; put clean sheets on the bed in case our housemates have company; set the thermostats down in our bedroom and offices (can't do that until I'm really done -- 60 degrees is NOT my idea of working temperature).

So now I'm talking to you instead of finishing my Final Paper for the last of three seminary courses. Not waiting until the last minute, or anything ... after all, it's not due until tomorrow or maybe Tuesday. There's not all that much to do on it, either. But I notice I don't feel like doing it tonight. Tonight I feel like vegging out ... but probably I'll work on the paper for a little while, and go to bed early.

So I'll be off-line during the driving days, and probably on-line at least a little bit each evening. And then in 3-4 days we'll be 'home' at dockside in Florida, and computer use will be back to normal until we go cruising. Once we get settled I'll post pix of the 'little boat' -- the one we live on -- and the 'big boat' -- the project we're working on. And then you'll probably hear way too much about rigging repair and odd electrical malfunctions. The only thing I want to do at the moment is go sailing, but that's probably more than two weeks away.

Oooh -- I get to go sailing in a couple of weeks! Oh, yeah, that's why I just did all this work!

Those of you who know me in person, if you find yourself in Southeast Florida January - March, let me know. Love to see you in the warm country.

Current Location: last evening in my pink office
Current Music: Paul Winter Consort

Tending Joy

The Ides of January

After a 2-week silence ...

Back to the Boats

Florida Keys with Grandchild

In like a lion

Inner voices, self-saboutage, answers

Moons, and a new Year.

Mice, part 2

Life in the New Year

Life in port

Moving aboard Orion

Life -- What Happens when you have Plans

On the road again

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June 2025

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