Syncing Ship

cropped-cropped-dsc0466611.jpgThursday, January 1st was supposed to be the day we sailed away. That was the plan. Rock solid and pretty, the plan was to glide out of work by New Year’s Eve, wake up early Thursday and toss our gear into a freshly washed and waxed car, then drive south across the border, scooting into San Carlos by happy hour. The formal itinerary called for Seamore Pacific’s mainsail to be unfurling just as Captain Chameleon and I raise a cerveza and sing, “Its 5 O’clock Somewhere.” Bon Voyage couldn’t have been any more perfect than if Jimmy Buffet and Martha Steward had planned and packaged it. Reality check- the ability to execute travel plans is lost on the two of us. Captain Chameleon’s motto is, “I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t know when I’ll get there.”

Captain Chameleon knows where he is going. He just isn’t into planning out every infinite detail. A guy of chameleon complexity, he also isn’t one for taking chances and he is far from being reckless. Tell him to be somewhere at 5 and he will make sure to be there at 4:45. The Captain’s reply to my question of, “what day are we heading to the boat?” turned out to be a valuable exercise in determining the value of time. The wise Captain knew that I needed to settle into non-occupation mode and he needed to get used to having Martha Steward organize his day. And so, the syncing of Seamore Pacific began…

The first sign that Seamore Pacific was syncing was when I awoke on January 2nd without an alarm clock. I love mornings when they start off with my own internal clock saying it’s time to wake up. Yesterday my internal alarm went off at 3:45 a.m. and so I made a pot of coffee and welcomed the day (SOS….sign of syncing). I couldn’t help but smile at a flashback from nursing school when I would stand in the shower at 4 am and cry because I hated mornings. And then there was the other flashback, when Captain Chameleon would either start his day at 3:45 am or end it at 3:45 am.

What was innate for Captain Chameleon on January 1st and later became obvious to me, is the need to be in-sync with boat living. In other words, we needn’t get crazy and knock each other down following a specific plan for re-entry into live aboard cruising. Besides syncing mobile devices, setting up an inReach handheld satellite device, stowing new batteries, ordering auto-pilot spare parts and grease for the propeller shaft, there is the ambient features to incorporate.  Sailing is very physical. But living aboard a sailboat, in another country deduces to physical locomotion.   In our experience, when we are not sailing we are walking; to the Mercado for groceries, the hardware store for gadgets, and every street taco vendor within a 50 mile radius. We love walking.

So, on January 5th we downsized from 2 cars to 1 (SOS…a sign of syncing). Why keep a “his” and “her” car to drive a mile to the market when we can peddle our bikes? In Phoenix, we have become accustomed to the easiness of hopping in the car to drive a half-mile. Part of our love for Seamore Pacific is the walking that we do, so why not do more walking and bike riding when we aren’t on the boat? Now a one car…2 bike…4 Saucony…and 8 flip-flop family…we hoofed it the other night to a local pizzeria ­­­­to celebrate. Syncing or not, I really do like this, Don’t-Know-Where-I’m-Going sailing fellow.bikes in garage

With nine days of syncing we are in good shape and on our way to the boat. We left Phoenix one afternoon and crossed over into Mexico at dusk.   Professional and helpful, the Mexican officials inspected our car, gave Francis the A-O-K, and handed us our travel visas. We are good for 6 months.   What about Ruby? Well, part of what came out of syncing was a last-minute request by Grandma to keep Ruby. Everyone loves Ruby and her adorable face. The question took me by surprise. What would we do without Ruby on board? But, the Captain was selfless and correct to identify that sailing was never Ruby’s gig….it is ours and not hers. When we took Ruby over to Grandma’s house, I swear Ruby was humming to the tune of, “its 5 o’clock somewhere.”

Taking into account our GPS location and relaxed state of mind, we believe it will be 4, 5, 6 or 8 more days before we actually arrive in San Carlos and climb aboard Seamore Pacific. Like the Captain says, “If we knew where we were going, then we would know what time we’ll get there.”

SOS, GPS, and LOL.

 

Seamore Pacific is Syncing….

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getting to stay home

Francis is packed

Syncing the In Reach

Syncing the Delorme

Waiting for Health Certificate

Waiting for Health Certificate

 

 

~ Afternoon walk ~

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Life Preserver

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I can’t see it, but I know the finish line is just up ahead.  By all accounts, the last marker that I passed said I had one more to go.  Even though the finish line is still out of my view, I know it’s coming up very soon and no matter what happens now…I’m there!  I’m almost “home”.  All I need to do if I doubt how close I am, is to listen for the excitement.   The finish line party.

Putting one foot in front of the other, one day after another, my mind goes into automatic.

“Ok, don’t get to excited.  Focus.  9 down.  1 to go.  9 down. 1 to go.  9 down.  I sure hope Captain Chameleon gets the water heater ordered.  And the new faucet-shower combo.  I really, really want to have a great shower this time.  Oops…mind wandering.  Focus…Wonder what other boaters are there?  OMG…less than 1 to go.”  And so goes my countdown to Seamore Pacific and cruising the Sea of Cortez.

Much like my marathon finishes, I am so ready for this finish.  So ready, that once I imagine how good it will be to step over the line, an autonomic nervous system response takes over, causing my chest to tighten, a lump to form in my throat,  and my eyes to fill with tears.  It’s not that I get soft and sentimental about the finish line, but rather I get excited to experience what is past the finish line.  What new things will I discover about cruising, the Sea, and myself?

These last couple of months have been a strange blur.  That’s the best description I can give it. I knew if I let myself image January 1st, that it would all be over.  My ability to stay focused on work would be in constant discord with wanting to be on the boat.  Plus, if I didn’t give my all at work, then when boat time came around, I’d be suffering with regret for not working harder.  So, to make life simple I have conducted my business as though I plan to work for another 50 years and haven’t the foggiest clue about any Freedom 36″ Cat-Ketch sitting at Marina Seca in San Carlos, Mexico.  The Sea of Cortez is where?  Salt water is for cooking pasta, right?  A life preserver is another name for a mint flavored life-saver, correct?

Tonight, the mental blur lifted like fog.  Anticipation, clarity of mind, and humble thanksgiving has set in and will take me to the finish.

She waits for us.

She waits for us.

Migration Pattern

Migration Pattern

Memories of B-dock

Memories of B-dock

Today’s Finish-Line Countdown:

1)  Order 13 inch by 13 inch water heater to replace the one that rusted out. The satisfaction that this small water heater  brings to us is a comical when we compare it to the size of the hot water heater in our Phoenix house.

2)  Order water conserving shower & faucet combo for the head (bathroom), to ensure I don’t rip through a tank of water taking a luxurious shower when we are somewhere south of somewhere.

3) Get Francis acquainted with his new life-preserver. 

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4) Pack Ruby’s life-preserver in the “boat bin.”

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5) Figure out the best place to secure our stand up paddle board (SUP).  Captain Chameleon is leery it will fit on deck but I say, “Oh Ye of little faith.  We can make it fit.  This is small potatoes compared to what we have navigated through to get this far.”  Last cruising season we were fighting weather the whole time.  This time I’m hoping for gentle winds and calm seas.

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6)  Wait for our new Offshore inflatable life-preserver/ harnesses to arrive in the mail.  These are going to be way better than the ones we sailed with last year.  Safety plus comfort.  Thank you Black Friday and Mom and Dad.

7)  Finish my job feeling strong, competent, proud, and grateful.  I work for a loyal company that stays true to it’s mission.

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8) Enjoy each day as though there is no Seamore Pacific.  Even without the boat, life is pretty darn good.

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His and Her beach cruisers…. a must for desert dwellers.

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Cloudy days still have beautiful sunsets.

9) Stock up with Trader Joe’s Two Buck Chuck.  Mexico actually has some delectable wines but the ports we will call on, mostly carry boxed wine…not bad.  But, our favorite cruising wine is Charles Shaw (aka Two Buck Chuck).  Ok, so my standards in wine are not as high as some of my other standards. 

Go easy on the Tequila

Go easy on the Tequila

10)  Wave good-bye to the dense fog that encased any glimmer of anticipation for leaving work to go sailing.  It was nice while it lasted.  I’m glad I experienced it.  But I’m ready to get back to the boat.  Memories from last year are starting to come alive and stir excitement for some of the simple things I’m looking forward to…swing at anchor in the middle of breath taking beauty; go topside after a hot shower to pick out rising constellations; and have my sleep interrupted by a clanging halyard.

Shrimper going out for the night

Shrimper going out for the night

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Good night and sweet dreams.

Seamore Nautical Spirits

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Remembering Columbus Day.

DSC02713Twelve years ago, on this very weekend, I nonchalantly extended a, “How do you do,” to the Sea of Cortez. It was Columbus Day weekend 2002. I was happy to meet her, because she had something I wanted. Salt, waves, sand. Five months of ocean-free living was turning out to be harder than I expected, after Captain Chameleon and I switched lanes and moved from a little island in the Florida Keys to the big, dry, metropolis of Phoenix, Arizona. No regrets for moving away from paradise, where every day my view was of not just one, but two bodies of water (the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico), and yet I was literally feeling like a suffocating fish; on her last impatient breath to have someone drop her back into the ocean- in time for a Columbus Day Regatta.

My new co-workers, full of good intention tried to mend my homesick heart by suggesting I rent a houseboat on Lake Pleasant over Columbus Day weekend. It was the last straw. Go to a lake to celebrate Columbus Day? For pity-sakes, have they no respect for Chris? Or empathy for an ocean junky-island dweller-Frangy-Pangy-Key Lime snob? When an invite came to join Captain Chameleon’s sister and her family at a beach, one hour south of the border in Mexico, I was in!

“Are you sure that if we leave our house at 7:30 a.m. and drive south, south west, that by noon we’ll be sitting on a beach in Mexico?”

“Yep, I’m sure of it. We’ll be sitting on the beach, drinking Dos XX with lime, and sucking salt air in through our nostrils,” replied Capt. Chameleon.

“Yippy. In that case, I’ll take my Dos XX with Key limes!”

Our VW Bug was packed to the gills with every beach item that we owned, plus a Key Lime Cake, when we headed to sea. Our only regret was that it was just for one night. With only six weeks into new jobs, neither one of us were comfortable asking our bosses for time off to go hang at the ocean. It would be 11 years before we worked up that kind of courage.

I adore the Sea of Cortez but admittedly, my feelings for her were pretty nimble at first. That’s often how it goes for me though, guilty of judging a book by its cover. I’m wiser now, from years of being delighted by books with ugly covers. Now, when the urge to judge a book; Captain Chameleon’s travel plans; or a bargain hair salon send my snobbish chin to the skies, I’m usually able to find the where- with-all to pause, get my nose out of the air, and turn to the first page.

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“What do you think about pulling a camper down there and making it our second home?” Captain Chameleon was smitten with Puerto Penasco (aka Rocky Point) on the mainland side of the Sea of Cortez.

“No thank you.”

I didn’t say it, but I found the town ugly and dusty. Except for the beautiful beaches, it had nothing in common with the picture I was carrying around in my head. My “second home” picture was of Coastal Living homes, Martha Stewart gardens, and Bon Appetite cuisine.

But then something magical happened (or maturity, practicality, and down to earth thinking) and magazine living gave way to figuring things out as they came and on a boat budget. Saving, so that one day we would have options; options to buy another boat, go cruising, or just sit by the ocean and dream of more Columbus Day’s to come.

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What I saw when I looked up from mopping the floors. Beautiful.

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Favorite times celebrating Columbus Day with Capt. Chameleon:

  • The Annapolis Boat Show!   It was my first boat show and first time in Chesapeake Bay. It was spectacular. We drove from Florida to Maryland with a cooler of fresh stone crab claws. Arriving first in Bethesda to visit family, we cracked the claws and opened a bottle of regional Chardonnay. The wine was to die for. Lucky us, after the boat show we returned to family and spent a weekend wine-tasting our way through Maryland and Virginia.
  • Columbus Day Regatta off Eliot Key, (Key Biscayne) Florida. My first time to sail longer than a sunset cruise, we headed up the coast from Marathon to Elliot Key. What an experience. I was not prepared for the bodacious crowd but it was fun! To this day, when I serve up Red Beans & Rice and cheese bread it takes me back to that weekend.
  • Weekends at Corona Del Mar, our little oasis by the sea. It’s what kept us optimistic and committed to working hard, saving, and planning for our next boat adventure. It’s also the place we’ve forged incredible friendships with other adventure seeking people.
  • Twelve years ago on our trip to the Sea of Cortez where Capt. Chameleon looked over longingly to a man windsurfing. Without saying anything, Capt. Chameleon reached into the cooler, pulled out 2 beers, and walked down the beach to where the man sat resting. In several minutes the man lay stretched out in the sand, drinking a beer, while Capt. Chameleon took the guy’s windsurfer for a ride. Excited, I watched him slice through the waves, the colorful sail the brightest thing for miles around. Then, the sail went down and Capt. Chameleon sat on the board. Far off shore, I was worried he was injured. Silly me. He was sitting there enjoying a beer and his spectacular luck of windsurfing on Columbus Day. The board that hangs in our guest room reminds me of that day.
  • Shelter Island Boatyard in San Diego. Wow, has it been a year? This time last year, we cruised in from Catalina Island and hauled Seamore Pacific out for a bottom job, thru-hull, and electrical work in prep for the Baja Ha Ha XX.

The End,

From Puerto Penasco, Mexico

Columbus Day 2014

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Sea of Cortez

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Windsurfers make great room accents…

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A cheap shot (cheap camera) on my beach walk. The Sea of Cortez

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My beach cruiser Lulu. I ride her around Phoenix to remind me of being at the beach.

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Treasures from the sea.

I Ain’t Raising No Street Walker.

 

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Flashbacks are a funny thing. Funny, not in “ha-ha” but funny in the purpose they serve. And funny because the dividing line between reality and flashback is like the tide; sometimes it’s apparent and other times I’m squinting my eyes wondering, “Is the tide coming in or going out?” Is this a flashback or is this reality? Throw in a bit of Deja vu and things get even stranger.

Last week, two flashbacks converged at about the same time. One flashback was my mother saying, “It is because I’m not raising street walkers.” I was about 12 and had asked my parents if we could move to town. The answer was no.  My other flashback was from when Capt. Chameleon and I sailed from San Diego to Turtle Bay, Mexico. After losing our autopilot the day before, we were taking constant turns at the wheel. Into our third night of crossing, with strong following seas and going downwind at 20 plus knots, being a novice, I was functioning outside my comfort zone (scared!) and the endless darkness was casting a scene. As Captain Chameleon was sleeping I was basically hallucinating at the helm. As though it happened yesterday, I clearly remember believing that on my port side the shore was in hollering distance, and that I was seeing marina lights and boats, and that it was imperative that I dodge crab-pots to sail Seamore Pacific through a tight channel. In reality, I was far from land and my mind was playing tricks. Maybe the delusion of being close to land is what kept me from panicking. Anyway, I’ve carried that scene with me until last week when I instantaneously realized that it wasn’t real! The shore wasn’t close, I wasn’t seeing marina lights, and there were no crab pots to dodge. It was all in my head. In truth, I was fatigued, feeling alone, and fearful of how the boat and rudder lifted out of the water with each rising wave. I was resisting any semblance of being a tiny speck on the dark ocean. Truly, besides the cockpit, the only other things visible were the stars, moon, and an endless silver froth of tumbling sea water. It was definitely a new experience for me.

The flashback of my mom saying she wasn’t raising a streetwalker? That was real. No delusion, except that growing up, I would have given…as my grandmother used to say, “My eye teeth!” to have the chance to live in town, and walk the streets of Marshfield, Missouri- looking pretty like Julie McCoy, cruise director of the Love Boat, or Ginger from Gilligan’s Island.  But instead of living in town, we lived thirteen miles outside of town. Thirteen miles is exactly 68640 feet.  I was over 32,500 steps from the town square. I might as well have been living on the planet of Pluto.

It was funny when these two flashbacks converged…get this…it was last week when I was riding around the town square, perched on a bale of hay.  Yes! Celebrating my 30 year class reunion, a dozen or so fellow classmates rode on a float in the Marshfield, 4th of July parade. We rode past crowds of town folk,  faded buildings, distant places, and hometown streets that sent my mind into motion with a flurry of memories. It only took a city block for me to recognize that I had changed from the girl that I once was.  That there were no marina lights outside Turtle Bay.  And that I’m glad my momma didn’t raise a street walker.  Sorry about that Julie and Ginger.

Flash forward….counting down to January when Captain Chameleon and I plan to return to Seamore Pacific for more Sea of Cortez adventures.  Seriously, no hallucinating this time.

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Dad making homemade ice cream on 4th of July

Dad making homemade ice cream on 4th of July

Summer Bee

Summer Bee

Mom's flowers

Mom’s flowers

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Arrived back in Arizona to find Monsoon had beat us.

Arrived back in Arizona to find Monsoon had beat us.

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Serendipity Dance

At Sunrise.  Coming into Sunrise Aid Station 24 hours into a 100 mile run.

If you get the choice…I hope you dance. Lyrics by Lee Ann Womack. Photograph by Seamore Nautical Spirits.

In some ways, my ITunes playlist resembles my land based closet. It contains more songs than I really need.   I go through phases where I only listen to the same songs, over and over. Then by serendipity a song I haven’t played in a very long time catches my attention and it’s like uncovering a forgotten pair of sandals or an old favorite bikini. I hit the play button and our attachment to one another is rekindled.

The song, I Hope You Dance, by Lee Ann Womack is one of those songs that had dropped off my playlist favorites. Back when I downloaded the song, the inspiring words and tempo took the edge off of an otherwise intolerably long, lonesome, and blazing hot Phoenix summer time run.   Preparing my legs and mind for a 100 mile endurance race, the simplest way to log a bunch of miles was to run close to home rather than use time driving to a premier running location up in the cool, crisp air of Flagstaff. But, it was inevitable that 6-8 hours of running in an oven would lead to fixating on quitting. A cool comfortable house with a backyard swim has a mighty pull over gritty, hot, asphalt pounding.   Resisting the voices in my head to skip the miles, go home, and chill out were overcome by the voices of Lee Ann Womack, Jimmy Buffett, Lady Gaga, Guns and Roses, and Cher. Oh, and the boys at Circle K.

A very hot afternoon of running, I stumbled into the store and was greeted by two guys who took a cross eyed look at the sweaty, scarlet faced, salty heap coming through the door. With one finger on the 9 of 911, the other suggested I cool off in the Beer Cave with a Big Gulp of Mountain Blue Blast Power Aid. Hallelujah!  Lee Ann’s words, “When you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance,” were my cue to leave the cave for another round of craziness; reluctant, but none the less willing to keep running.   I credit the Beer Cave and a host of songs for helping me keep it together that summer.

Mexico Photos by Gail 022This summer my runs are too short to warrant time in the Beer Cave; my closet is in need of major organizing; and I’m rediscovering songs on my ITunes playlist. Still replaying the events of sailing Seamore Pacific with Captain Chameleon, from San Diego to the Sea of Cortez, I listen to the words of I Hope You Dance and relate to it differently than I did as a Beer Cave tenant. “I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean” is a humble reminder that ME, MY, and I are trivial… at a comical level. There is nothing that I bring to the ocean or take from the ocean that tops another. My affinity for the ocean and a seafaring life is teensy tiny potatoes. Yet, with social networking and the attention that comes with it, I can be fooled into thinking that what I am thinking and doing is super interesting. But it took years for Captain James Cook to map the Pacific Ocean, disclose the discoveries that he made, and receive “great job!” (a.k.a Facebook Like). His life and accomplishments are truly amazing; in the super spud category.Trail

 

So why the deep thought about social networking, potatoes, and the lyrics of I Hope You Dance? Well, just after I found the song buried on my play list, Captain Chameleon and I met up with friends in California for old fashion, face time. Enough Facebook visiting, I wanted person to person visiting. The event was the San Diego 100 mile Endurance Race. A special friend was there to run her fourth 100 mile race and a friend I met through her was also going to be there. It was a choice to be with friends and enjoy life outside the status quo.  To be in Cleveland National Forest at 3 am, looking up at the stars, waiting for frayed, tired runners ascending from a canyon in search of boiled potatoes for nourishment, blister relief, and encouraging words like “great job,” was a rush. I silently thought to myself as I looked around at fellow star gazers, “We are out here dancing to one of Life’s tunes.” Instead of sitting it out, we were here in Cleveland National Forest, under the stars, feeling small beside the ocean.   I don’t own a smart phone so I couldn’t share with the world what I was doing at that very moment. So, undistracted by any gadgets, I simply sat there under the stars, listening for my friend’s voice and shuffled steps to announce her arrival from the canyon.

Until my friend crossed the finish line, I had time to marvel at others choreographing their own style of dance; volunteers, parents, spouses, and children cheering the runners onward. Some danced with experience, others not so much. I came home from our weekend in California with a renewed conviction for simple kindness, simple adventure, and simply being present.Haul it

 

Three days after meeting our friends in California, Captain Chameleon and I drove to Missouri for my cousin’s daughter’s wedding. It was great to be in the presence of family and friends. Facebook time had afforded me information about what was generally going on with each person but I had missed their voices, their expressions, their nuances. At the reception, before things started winding up on the dance floor, I had a rare chance to visit with Uncle Blondie, a quiet, hardworking man who married my Aunt Blondie. The mother of the bride and I were little girls when Uncle Blondie married our Aunt in the city park. We thought the wedding was SO romantic and that Aunt Blondie looked like a princess in her baby blue wedding dress and Chantilly lace veil. Catching up, after talking about blue wedding dresses, and before the evening’s champagne toast, he talked about a recent stressful event in his life and the ire’s of going from working for himself to working for someone else. He referenced a line from Lee Ann’s song; “Where one door closes, I hope another opens” as a belief he holds onto. There you have it…serendipity.

Blades of grass

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Others who I admire for their dancing:

  • My brother and sister-in-law for shuttling their kids to practice and private pitching lessons, and cheering them through hours, and hours, and hours of baseball and softball games. They have beautiful tan lines and great kids to show for it.

 

  • For Maw and Papa for driving 8 hours because their eight year old granddaughter really (really, really) wanted to go to the wedding. She looked beautiful dancing with her Papa. If you ask her what the best part of the evening was, she would say that besides dancing with Papa, she got to talk and dance with the bride.

 

  • Our friends Geo and Ni, they plant trees, a garden, and fruits of love with their 18 month old daughter.

 

  • Our sailing friends Happy Dance and Magic Carpet, both are scattered about the Sea of Cortez. We enjoy reading of your adventures. Unless we see you before then, make room for Seamore Pacific in 6 months.

 

  • Running buddies.  Without them…I’d have sat it out and missed the dance.

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Francis and Henri Matisse

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Nature’s dance

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Drilled Beach Glass

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Missed the Boat

 

S/V Seamore.  Boot key harbor, Florida Keys.

S/V Seamore. Boot key harbor, Florida Keys. ~1999

“I miss the smell of teak,” said Captain Chameleon.

It was 2006.  I should have known that Captain Chameleon was missing our boat from the Florida Keys when he brought home 4 teak benches, 2 teak steamer lounge chairs, 3 teak chairs, and a teak table. Our Phoenix home is just shy of 1500 Square feet.  Where were we going to fit 10 pieces of teak furniture?  Without doing the math, I knew we were headed for heeby-jeebby-vill.  Seriously, how many pieces of teak can fit into an urban desert dwelling?  Not ten.  In hindsight, Captain Chameleon was missing his boat, Seamore.

14 years earlier, I almost missed the boat, so to speak. 1992, it was a blustery February day in Missouri when I accepted a job in Homestead, Florida.  Finalizing the details went something like this…

“When can you start?

“Hmm.  Well.  When is a good time?”

“Yesterday.”

Not the answer I was counting on.  Smack dab in the middle of the semester, I had imagined the phone-hiring process for a nurse (traveler) position would take another few weeks.  Torn between a job in Florida or obtaining a degree in art/design, I opted to withdraw at mid-term and not tarry getting to Florida.  This was my chance to live by the ocean and nothing else mattered.  Certainly not a still life painting of stacked boxes placed a top a velvet cloth. The timing wasn’t great, but it was ok.  It was time to leave behind my studies of light, dark, form, function, and perspective.  Else, I’d miss the boat.

Now, the Captain and I are pretty much back into a routine of balancing work and play.  When people ask about why we took 6 months off from our jobs to go sailing, the question invariably comes up;  “Do you miss the boat?”  Certainly.

It will be several dozen weeks before we return to Seamore Pacific and sail to the eastern shore of the Baja. Until then, I don’t want to miss the boat on urban composting (new experiment), beach glass art, sewing linen halter dresses, family, friends, and work.  Regret would be to return to the boat, untie the dock lines- then realize that we had not spent our time on land wisely; instead of being mindful about the present, we were stuck thinking about the past and the future.

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Beach Glass from Sea of Cortez

 

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Pleasure Boat

 

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Work Boat

 

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Sunset/Full Moon