The voyage from land to sea: Trimaran Dream

Independence

2010-07-03T22:28:00.002-04:00

Today, it's Saturday July 3, but we celebrated the fourth on the third in Thomaston. No one wants to miss any church. I guess you can't have church on Monday.

The parade was rife with the vibe of the Tea Party. A big cube van with a picture of Nancy Pelosi on the back, with the national debt above her head. Evidently she is responsible for the lack of regulation that caused credit default swaps to be possible? Not sure that there is an intelligent analysis on that one, just the gut, visceral image. Target- woman in power. Vibe- not so sure these are the people that should be holding the flaming pitchforks. Hard to fend off the religious literature, the fervor of righteousness.

So, we went for a sail. We found Rory some acceptable foul weather gear at Hamilton's. Thank you Hamilton's. Our new boat is very wet. Very. And it was extremely windy. Extremely. We took the dog, so there we were, a very wet family with dog, pounding to windward at 12 knots, getting soaked, watching each puff to see if we should dump the main, but, all well. A few hairy moments. It's part of the excitement I guess. Some couples take their twelve year old son and their little dog out for a picnic. We go out and fly into the wind.

Four hours later, I browse around town looking for a pair of flip flops under 23 dollars (not sure what that is about) then give up and go over to the cell phone store, and then groceries. Back to the pedestrian life that is to be found on land.

We saw Windmaiden sailing, the sloop Guy single-handed to get over here to me from England. (Eventually.) She's beautiful under sail, though desperately in need of a decent paint job. We wave at her new owner, Charles. Guy is wistful, thinking of younger days perhaps.

We saw Bruce out on Quickstep, a Farrier, and he and his friends are sailing in T-Shirts, perfectly dry, while we are completely suited up and soaking. The only justice is that we go faster. Good to know.

And Dale, on his green Friendship sloop type boat, not anywhere near as elegant as his new Haj. Truly, if you want to be hip, you need to be seen sailing that baby blue Haj.

There are two mega motor sailboats in at the new Trident Marina, which is the old MBNA boathouse. There is a restaurant there, too, and it's all quite grand. Hard to believe we're seeing it in Rockland, but the day has come.

Dinner, boys eat steak and I eat tofu.

Guy still hassles me about sailing alone. I told Rory to cut the engine too soon coming up to the mooring tonight, and Guy didn't have the dinghy in hand. I thought he did. He's funny, if he doesn't really have it, he won't reach. I would have had it. But, whatever. I shouldn't have said to cut the engine. It's a new engine to me, so I told Guy to start it fast, in case there was an idiosyncratic engine moment. This was further evidence of incompetence. I don't think so. If he hadn't been there, I wouldn't have cut the engine, and I would have had the dinghy. But, it is what it is. What would I have done if the engine wouldn't start and we started drifting into the boat next to us, etc.

Raft up against it until I got the engine going.

Independence. That's it, isn't it. You raft as long as you need to until you get your engine going. Or your sails hoisted. We went back to Thomaston after dinner for the fireworks, a splendid showing. Town full of the kids of today, not a huge advertisement for manners and great behavior. These are the kids I work with: they are loud, and crass, sometimes, and they swear a lot, and they are rough. They are the future of this new world of extremist polemic, and I think about my days I spend with them, patiently trying to show them a world where love, and many ideas, are possible.

I try to be the boat for them to raft onto for a while.

It's scary, sometimes, sailing that boat. When the screacher is out, and we are wound up, there are times when the sea is surging over the bow and spraying us, times I wonder why I didn't just go to the beach and hang out with a book.

There are times I wonder why I am so tired, and why this need to go back out into that sea.

Guy doesn't think I can do it, but he now just tries to give me as many instructions as possible as he thinks of them, rather than to tell me not to go. He used to tell me not to go. Now, there are sails and there is wind, and I have to hope that I have zipped up my foulies tight and I can feather up as well as he can in the gusts. I have to trust that the wind will catch my sails and lift me, not dump me.

Bob. Bob Jenkins.

2010-06-20T22:08:00.000-04:00

1pm, Saturday June 19. Blowing like stink, we leave Rockland Harbor for the Fox Island Thorofare. We almost turned back because there's no daggerboard trunk, so Guy made this tube thing, but it's not tall enough and water pours in. You have to sort of fall off to drain it out or tack. It's like a big water balloon.

Plus we were taking all sorts of spray in the face. But how can you turn back? We quickly suited up and went ahead, still thinking we were turning back. 12 knots upwind, spray pouring at you. Swells. Big tide fighting the wind. We don't talk, we just hang on. We don't know what the boat will do. 9 knots, then a gust and you are roaring off again.

Cleo likes sailing. She's got a little doggy life jacket. She's half dachsund and half pomeranian. When she gets a chance, she jumps out on the tramps and dances all around. When it's hairy she stays in the cockpit.

Fox Island Thorofare, uneventful sail in. Some gusts. It's 2.30 pm. We sail around some and then tack back out. It's going to be a real sail home. The wind has picked up. No idea how hard it's blowing. We still don't know if we will flip this boat, Guy almost did the other day. We reef down, which is a lot easier to do on Bob then Circus. I throw myself on the tramp during a gust, hoping that if we are going over, a little weight will help. We don't go. One of the big ass racing lobster boats goes by, full of guys. Probably headed over to Rockland for the races tomorrow. They are watching us, screaming along taking in spray. A beer bottle salute.

Guy steers most of the way home. I am in the grove and loving it until I get cold and somehow I lose my focus. He feathers up into the really big gusts and we don't talk for a couple hours, just focusing on the PB Buoy. There's a big J boat ahead, and we are going to roll it. We can see the lighthouse and we roll over the J Boat and get into the harbor miles ahead of anything else out there.

There's a big oil driller in for repairs called the Stena Forth, which is weird to see just off the breakwater, all lit up at night.

Sometimes I just pray to make the Breakwater. Give us a lift and get us through without a tack.

As scary as it is, all I can think about it the wind, and being completely focused on the moon, and the wind on the water, and the puffs ahead. Sometimes life feels like a beat to windward, hanging my butt off the side as far as I can get and ready to dump the main.

But at those times it feels so real, so elemental, and so completely removed from the inane nonsense that is the human trip.

Such as, Guy bursting in and wondering what we are going to do about the unmade bed...
Which I made a half hour ago.
Tomorrow, vacuum cleaner bags. I promise. I will vacuum.

Absolute Defeat.

2010-01-23T20:43:00.000-05:00

Looks like Circus is sold. I don't even care anymore. I guess I just am going to move on.
Everything feels like defeat. I didn't get the long-term substitute science teaching job, and I seem relegated to being an Ed Tech in the trenches, with my 29 hour a week paycheck and no benefits.
Unless I can somehow break out of this stupidity and spread my creative wings.
Why am I so stuck? Look at everything I can get done.
The work ethic of ten people, also cooking dinner, and magically making it happen. But is that really much more different than most women? Don't we all have to be about 20 times better than anyone to really jam?
I don't feel 20 times better. I can't even get this stupid graph to work. And I have to take one more English class to finally get my Bachelor's, and it turns out I am supposed to say meaningful things in an online post a lot of times. I can barely manage to update my own blog, let alone have anything important to say about someone else's observation about a poem.
But-
Right now, the main issue in my obsessive compulsive life is attempting to build AJAX graphs. Do you draw the graph first, and then javascript mysteriously changes the lines inside it, or does the javascript merely draw a whole new graph? No, you idiot. What happens is that the GRAPH is updated automatically in the database, and then redisplayed in graph format.
So the point is to have some data in a database that displays as a graph.
I have such a thing. The data feeds into a mySQL database, and, via php, displays on a web page in a boring table format.
Yes, you can import a link to the GOOGLE CHARTS API, and do it that way.
But I want to build the script myself.
I also want to do it with xml/xslt. (Do it with xml, baby.)
So that is the current obsession.
In fact, this blog is an AJAX blog. It just updates automatically, without me refreshing my post.
I just had an idea.
I think I know where I am going wrong now. It's going to be a very long night.

Can I survive with just a laser, and only a laser?

2010-01-21T17:31:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is irritating.
Not only do I never remember to update my blog, I also don't post to my Twitter account, I rarely check my Facebook, and now The Universe is asking me to live without Circus.
Okay.
We have to face some facts.
Some of you were out there rooting me on when my launch attempt failed, or rather, when I decided that it would be the better part of domestic valor to cease and desist.
We know that I have jacked up a house without really telling "him" that I was going to do it.
We know I am a spitfire.
But, I have to choose my battles.
Right now, the battle is remunerative. A Job. I sat down and calculated how much money I spend on groceries for a family of three this morning. It was actually pretty good, in that I feed us on the cheap, but it was still staggering. I came up with a "maximum grocery budget per day." Incidentally, I also have to spend some time graphing and learning to build dynamic graphs for websites. So, we can graph groceries.
Okay, so if this supposed Universe is finally going to take the Big Orange Whale away, what about a laser. It's all I can afford. It's tiny. I can put it on my roof. No more illicit solo sails on Circus, admittedly, but, there is a certain elegance in boldly stepping out in - a laser. Guy has informed me that I would learn how to sail. Evidently I don't know how. Maybe I don't.
Okay, anyone out there into lasers? It just seems so Ford Fiesta. So wet. So wetsuit compatible. But, it would be mine, and no one could tell me I couldn't sail it, or when, or how. There is some appeal to that.

2010-01-17T21:39:00.000-05:00

Okay, you are looking at the problem. Ever play with Photoshop slices? Export them as XHTML and CSS into your friendly neighborhood website? Well, above is my beautiful and simple stretchy template wrapper that I use for every website, regardless, because it's like the little black dress: it's all about what you wear or don't wear under and over it. It's totally fluid, I size the fonts in ems so they are totally fluid, the whole thing is completely freaking movable, fluid, cross-platform compatible, and basically is really cool.

But I am tired of either doing JPEGs for all the fonts I want to have "be neat", or SIFR text replacement, which is a total pain. I'm tired of not having blocky backgrounds. Yes. I could spend hours making a seamless gradient that looked like the stars, but I would always be able to see the seams. That way, I could have a tiny little scrap of graphic that repeated, but you would never get a huge swath of gradient, it would always be a tiny one.

What if we could replace image backgrounds with XML? But the problem is that it would still be an image, it would still be data after being called. There has got to be a way to make an image stretchy and scalable once displayed in an XHTML page. There has to be. I am really tired of all this.

Who is going to invent this?

Savings Plan

2010-01-16T15:32:00.000-05:00

If I lived everyday as if it were my last one on earth, I would spend each day in a completely authentic way. I wouldn't get totally bogged down in worrying about whether someone else had an agenda, or whether people weren't listening, or whether I was listening. And, I would be completely honestly HERE, whether in a good bad or indifferent mood.
Losing a couple friends this winter has taught me that I could go at any time, and that it doesn't have to be a bad thing. I don't want to go, obviously, but I want to live each day like it's BOTH the first and last. So: both spiritually, and physically: since we are material people!
I plan to get completely out of every kind of debt there ever was, and live as simply as possible with the people I want to be with and for the people I love.
Even if I put one dollar a day in a special savings account, I could either save for something or pay something off. So that's what I am doing. My goal is five dollars a day, and then at the end of the month send it to something that either needs to be paid or something that needs to be budgeted for. That may sound like a miniscule amount of money in some ways, but 5 times 30 is 150. Woops I thought it was going to be 200. Dang. That would be 6.666 something dollars. okay, so that is huge. Just one more dollar a day puts us to 180.
But we have to start SOMEWHERE.
Chose a goal.
Maybe it's that you have credit card debt, or a house mortgage.
Maybe you want to save for a boat, or your kid needs something.
It seems like a huge mountain to climb, but that's just because we have lost our sense of frugality and waiting for really good things. We're a nation of MacDonald's eating instant gratification junkies. We need to change. I need to change. Here goes. Wish me luck. Maybe I can find an app or make one so we can log it using something cute.

2010-01-15T21:58:00.000-05:00

I wonder where you are. I think I feel you around us sometimes. I wish I had listened, but I don't think you would have.

ENFP

2009-12-25T18:18:00.000-05:00

I'm writing it down so I remember it. It means okay, I can't remember what it means.

Extraverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving
(Extraverted Intuition with Introverted Feeling

there, that's what it means.

Basically, it means that I have a lot of intuition which sometimes I try to talk myself out of. And a bunch of other gobbledy gook I won't bore you with, if anyone ever reads this blog.

Did anyone out there have painful physical symptoms they didn't understand the weekend of December 19 and 20, and maybe on into the 21 and 22?

Here we are. Guy Steering.

2009-09-27T15:55:00.000-04:00

Well, I finally won a race. Sort of bittersweet.

2009-09-13T19:41:00.001-04:00

Obstacles of another nature: We finally made it across the finish line before Wings at the Around Islesboro Race on Saturday. Wings is a Newick tri, really cool, and if her owner had a taller mast and better sails, we would always be toast.

It was a really weird day, sailing wise. We didn't even go around the island. Not enough wind. So, they redirected us around Hewes Ledge. A bunch of guys from the Maritime Academy showed up in Aftermath, of all things, the San Juan 28 I crewed on very slightly a couple years ago, and they did this really bizarre thing: sailed clear across a flooding tide to the Cape Rosier shore, HUGE angles, - probably only one tack! - and won their class. It was kind of a "screw this" gesture. It made absolutely no sense. The only reason it worked is that they probably knew exactly where Hewes Ledge was. Lots of buts to that argument, but... They spent the party afterward with their ringleader plotting to get them all out to some river to pan for gold.

Wings did somewhat the same thing, only closer in, and got us at the mark. So then I took the chance on the way back, and left them 30 minutes behind. We had an exhilarating dash across from Turtle Head or Point or whatever it is to the finish line. We rolled a couple mono-slugs, which is always fun.

I don't know why I am doing what I am doing today. For some reason, I am trying to finish my college degree as some sort of useful contributor to the need at hand on this planet. I got my Computer Science Associate's last spring. So now I am trying to finish in Public Administration. Since i am a city councilor, I figured I might as well learn some of this stuff that the pro staff does.

But, I want to find a ride in the next Transpac. I went to Hawaii this past August, and spent some time tracking down Hokule'a, the Polynesian Voyaging Canoe that has been part of the effort to reinvigorate indigenous multihull sailing culture in the Polynesian Triangle. Check them out:
pvs.kcc.hawaii.edu
Here, I will include a picture of me with Hokule'a:

Spring Approaches. The waters beckon.

2009-03-17T22:06:00.000-04:00

well, that sounds fairly innocuous.

It's so strange going back and reading my sailing blog from last summer. So easy to see that my goals and dreams often seem to be subject to forces beyond my immediate control, or at the mercy of someone else's ideas of what should happen. Is that life? Am I realizing that the last half of my life is going to be a quiet acceptance of all the things I wanted to do, not exactly getting done?

Hmm. Well, I am a city councilor now. I got myself elected, finally. I was in THE election. I walked around to every door, and now I am deep in budgets, land use, green energy... the whole thing. I love it, but I stop my car at the top of the hill when the sun is rising over the bay sometimes, and I just want to be out there. I don't know what it is. It seems so impossible. So many reasons why I can't. The money, the family, the obstacles both physical and interpersonal. The very real needs of my son.

I suppose that what we women can do who find ourselves in this position is to just keep working and hang on, and when the chance comes, take it.

Bold Navigators on the Kennebec, or Style under $1000

2008-08-02T08:00:00.000-04:00

We put our big boat up for sale this spring. Here’s why: owning such a boat was beginning to outweigh the pleasures derived from the cruising life. That’s why, according to my husband. He wanted to do other things than have a boat headache. For someone else, it would be a thrill, not a headache, but he was ready for a change. Plus, our 10-year -old son is sick of being dragged off by his boring parents to yet another island in Penobscot Bay. Can you imagine such torture?

I threw a few covert fits after the proposal to sell, since I truly didn’t want to say goodbye. Think: silent plotting and intent to launch, regardless. I couldn’t imagine life without being “out there”. I live to spend hours staring off at sky and sea meditatively, attempting to ignore the fact that the men around me are trying very hard to look and sound hungry. But, as my evil plan came to light and the “family conference” ensued, I saw that if everyone wasn’t going to be happy, I wasn’t going to feel very good about this whole mutiny I was planning. I finally had to admit that maybe it was time for new adventures. Maybe if I let go and let some of that Great Unknown in, some good stuff would come. The men of the family convinced me. We needed a smaller headache.

And as it happens, they make headaches in light blue, for well under a thousand dollars. You won’t find this one at the marina or your local chandlery, but maybe this is just testament to the fact that if you are willing to allow good things to come to you, they will turn up under your nose. Actually, this good thing turned up in our neighbor’s yard.

A few weeks after the decision to sell the boat, we were driving up our road and there she was, the cutest little blue wooden sailing dinghy you ever saw. Even more serendipitous, she was a British class design called a GP 14, which stands for General Purpose, 14 feet long. My husband’s English. God only knows how she ended up on this side of the pond. There was no question that we were about to buy this dinghy, and I was even more delighted when I noticed she was named Woodwind. I’m a flutist.

We had to have the pillow-talk debate, however. What about no galley? No going below to get out of the weather? We aren’t really the “amenities” type of people, but I couldn’t quite get used to this idea that we were just going to be out there in this little thing. But here is the argument that won me over: We could trailer Woodwind all sorts of places that would take days to sail to, and therefore explore many new places. We could sail in warm lakes, which meant swimming! And, once we figured out some sort of engine arrangement, we could poke up into all kinds of rivers, tidal bays, and gosh, maybe even streams.

After a few shakedown missions on the local lake, we decided the time was right for an all-out assault on the Kennebec. July 20, 2008. The day dawned fine, and we excitedly packed up all our gear in such a way as to be dinghy-compliant. I was feeling very Sacajawea-esque as we pulled away in our little 1981 diesel VW Golf named Rupert, towing Woodwind behind. I am not sure that Sacajawea and our VW Golf have much in common, but I scrutinized our Gazetteer intently, silently repeating words like “portage” and “Columbia Gorge” nonetheless.

Soon our fine skies left us, and a grey somber reality prevailed, about the time we had to stop to fill up our very non-Lewis and Clark gas tank. No one in the car wanted to admit to what was happening. I immediately administered a round of sandwiches. I reminded everyone that a little rain hadn’t stopped the aforementioned explorers, and it wouldn’t stop us. We pressed on.

We had decided to launch in Bath, follow the tide up as far as we could, and then come back when the tide turned. At the launching ramp, we had another moment of faintheartedness when the rain began to fall, and the mood certainly turned sour when we watched a poor fellow lose his outboard into the river after launching his canoe. It did not bode well, though bystanders in a skiff helped him to fish it out. But in we went, and just as we launched, a gentleman came along with a bucket to take a water sample. Delighted with our classic little dinghy, he engaged us and cheered us greatly with a little conversation. Soon he was enthusiastically bantering with Guy about classic British Seagull outboards, naval architecture, and other gear-related topics. His water sample was part of sewage monitoring work that is done by Friends of Merrymeeting Bay. You can read all about this worthy cause at this website: friendsofmerrymeetingbay.org

We couldn’t turn back, now that we had an audience, and when I looked up at the little bluff alongside the river, a woman was standing at her window waving enthusiastically. I think it had been a long time since anyone had seen a sailing dinghy on the Kennebec. We tried to give our fans a show by hoisting sail, but there just wasn’t any wind. We will refuse to turn on an engine to the point of blowing in our sails, but, there not being much room before you run into the land, we conceded, firing up the Seagull with the little string you have to pull that, if you are not careful, hits everybody in the face.

The good thing about having a classic outboard is that the noise from the bloody thing is so intense, no one can be heard whilst complaining about the rain. Guy has modified the Seagull to be less polluting than it would have been originally, but I am still lobbying for some sort of electric motor. But is the manufacture and disposal of batteries of less concern? Perhaps what I should really lobby for is a paddle. Which in fact I was soon using, because though we were determined to sail, and did cut the engine as soon as possible, the sails soon needed an assist. And you might as well keep moving in the rain to stay warm.

Now, you might wonder how our ten-year-old son is doing at this point, considering he was bored by the islands of Penobscot Bay, bored by his parents, and now is sitting in the rain with his stupid parents on a stupid river. Did I have to pull out a Nintendo DS? Never once, which is a good thing, since we don’t own one. Truly, I don’t think we have ever had such a fun family outing. We came around a headland into Merrymeeting Bay, and soon were startled by leaping creatures seemingly the size of dolphins. I asked Guy if he knew what kind of fish we were dealing with, but, he assured me that the only fish names he knew were the ones on ice at Hannaford’s. Later, we learned that we were watching sturgeon. Egrets and heron lifted off from the misty marshes, and we ghosted along in what seemed like a wilderness devoid of human intervention, thanks to most people staying away from river sports due to rain. A good thing, considering a sunny day might have brought out many cowboys swamping us in their wake. We should make a point of always sailing rivers in the rain!

The Kennebec isn’t as wide or as famous as the Mississippi, but there is a majesty in all such rivers: perhaps it’s the echo of bird, fish, and plant, whose survival has depended upon such waters, or the blood memory of the humans who came before me, leaving some spirit of their mortal struggle to reach up into unknown interior lands in my own adventurer’s bones. But today, sitting in our little dinghy in the rain, drifting upriver with the tide, I can feel the excitement in our family as we let the soul of Merrymeeting Bay seep into us, and we peer ahead, wondering where the river will lead us.

As it happens, we were lead to Richmond, Maine, which was as far as a family of three in an open dinghy with one raincoat between them could be reasonably expected to travel without an infusion of tea, the romance of adventure notwithstanding. Guy had photocopied a section of our Maine Gazetteer, and pseudo-laminated it with wide sticky tape, and so we were guided into a little bow in the river alongside a little Maine river town, complete with the ghost of a mill along her shores. We tied up at an excellent public facility- no “facilities” per se, but I am always very appreciative of a town that manages to have a dock that has space to tie up at, and that allows you a few hours to meander off for a good explore.

As seems to be the case, Woodwind always attracts admirers, and soon we were telling a couple passersby about our little dinghy. That’s the cool thing about being willing to travel with flair and eccentricity: your ride is always a source of interest, and you soon make new friends as a result. It’s a fair tradeoff for the lack of creature comfort that comes with the territory. We met a nice family who was traveling in style themselves: a tugboat worthy of an English children’s story.

But the call of tea was resounding on high, so we left our new acquaintance to do pursuit. Plus, we needed gas.

If I had to pick a funky on the down-lo place to up and move to, I think it would be Richmond, Maine. Living here in Rockland, on the coast of Maine, I have watched my little city change from a dry goods sort of place to a land of fantasy. To each their own, but I prefer hardware stores to art galleries. Richmond has on its Main Street an emporium humbly titled “Main Street Fuel”, but do not let the title mislead you. You will find every dry good you will ever need here. And right on Main Street! Perhaps there was a Walmart lurking five miles out of town, but for the moment I truly wanted to believe that the presence of such an establishment indicated that small town America was still alive and well.

Richmond isn’t gussified, she’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s a charming little town and the people are warm and friendly. We retired to the Trackside Café for tea, and our son tucked into a cheeseburger and fries. The menu had a good selection of salads and other items a vegetarian would find of interest, very reasonably priced, and we dried out with our hot tea and the soothing burble of local gossip.

I suddenly realized that our return journey would be made all the merrier with the addition of a couple more raincoats, so I dashed over to Main Street Fuel to see if they had any cheap plastic ponchos. The salesperson and I dug around in the department “under the moose head” for a few moments, and soon I had three ponchos for $3.16 each. The ponchos were a bold stroke. Rory was delighted, spending the rest of his time in Richmond pretending to be a ghost. (Who needs a Nintendo Wii?) We were now warm, dry, and could care less if it rained all day, strolling around town to get gas and to see the sights. I think we were the only tourists, which sure was refreshing, considering we have to fight our way down the sidewalks at home these days.

We journeyed back to Bath in the rain, still completely immersed in the natural world outside our cheap plastic unnatural rain ponchos. Rory occasionally would stand in the dinghy to sing, and the engine quit a couple times, but for the most part we were silenced by the roar of our outboard, and sometimes just by the quiet of the gray-green cathedral of river and marsh enveloping us and beckoning to us, asking us to leave the engine off for a time and to drift without schedule.

We may happen to be the sort of people who will search out the deals in boats and cars, and tinker with them until they are running, and be willing to deal with it when they die, but maybe that’s the spirit of just being willing to get out there in whatever you can get out there in, and be ready to let the adventure be the main attraction rather than to get hung up in the material details of how you got to the adventure. Really, a rowboat would have sufficed. For only a few hundred dollars, we are out on the water, and most importantly, spending time together, having fun even in seemingly dreary conditions. Truly, this is yachting on a grand scale.

Left Behind, making the best of it

2008-08-02T05:29:00.001-04:00

Circus not being in the water, I am missing a race. Camden to Castine, to be precise.

I actually thought we would be going on Famu Sami, Dicky Saltonstall's 42' Kurt Hughes tri, and I was looking forward to it, considering Sami is more like flying than sailing.

But, somehow, the Wooden Boat Regatta and the Camden to Castine race got scheduled on the same weekend, and Guy always does the Wooden Boat deal with Charles on Susanna. At this point, I could go down and hitch a ride, but who would take care of Rory? Oh- and this week is Lobster Festival, so if I farmed out Rory and went, he and I wouldn't get to go to the parade together. AND to add insult to injury,- yes, I will say this in print since no one reads my blog anyway, I have my period.

What the hell does Ellen MacArthur do when she has her period? I guess you have to plan your attack around the Horn around your own Roaring Forties.

I know it sounds like I am awfully full of self-pity, but this morning, I am pretty much over it. It happens to be thick a fog and drizzly, with no wind. I don't fancy sitting on a boat I don't know bleeding in the fog. In fact, I am probably going to have a lot more fun today than most of the people out there on those 150 beautiful wooden boats, or those little yachts, or whatever, because I will spend the day with my son at the parade or at the Festival, and I have easy access to tea and a heating pad.

The nice thing about being a vegetarian, too, is that I won't be eating any greasy festival food and feeling sick afterwards. So really, I can congratulate myself on all accounts for going along with the flow. So to speak.

Rory and I did go down to the Festival Tuesday night, and caught the Sea Goddess contest. Personally, I hate those contests: girls in polyester gowns with random muzak playing whilst the emcee in his wide tie talks about their participation in various well-rounded endeavors that I obviously did not participate in, being too busy hanging out in Boston getting wasted as a teen.

But wait! Did I hear that right? Standing by the Yo-Yo, watching my son spinning around like a pair of socks in the washer, (truly I can't watch, I don't know how he goes on those rides) the emcee tells the crown about one girl who wants to go to Main Maritime Academy and then sail around the world. Then he tells everyone about another girl, who is interested in mechanics and has a job at an auto repair place. Another girl is a single mother stay-at-home mother scrambling with a bunch of entrepreneurial schemes to keep it all happening.

Can I begin to believe that maybe things are starting to change for women? Or that this new generation of women isn't waiting for things to change?

I want to rush down the hill and grab those girls, and say, "Don't let me down. Kick ass. Get out there. Don't waste your life sacrificing your dreams to make other people happy. I will be watching you."

Maybe things are changing a little. But, I still think it would be nice if these pageants were a little more honest about what they really are. Why not include the boys? How about a Drag Queen component?

Anyway, it's great to see some young women thinking outside the box. It keeps this lady determined.

Eygthene, Revisited.

2008-07-17T17:14:00.000-04:00

A crash course in IOR rules from the early 70's through whenever. Shucks, maybe through whenever Duran Duran became popular?

I want you to absorb this concept: masthead sloop. It's old, it's outdated evidently, but it's cheap.

I guess.

And, there seems to be a revival in the oldies but goodies.

So here is the deal. I've been sailing around with Joan and Howard on their veritable San Juan 28, which is a masthead rigged sloop. What that means is that all the foreward sails, such as the jib, the genoa, and the dreaded spinnaker, go all the way to the top of the mast. A fractional rig, such as the much more in style and ever more expensive J24 (meaning, I can't afford one) employs the more modern technique of controlling the boat more from a bigger main, and the foreward sails do not go all the way to the top of the mast.

Basic problems with masthead rig: you have to have a lot of sails for your different wind situations. And yes, they call it a wardrobe of sails. Basic problem number two: Those big sails hold a lot of air when they are out there. It is not implausible for a woman weighing 130 pounds to find herself at one end of a spinnaker sheet about to take a hot air balloon ride.

Well, this only happens when things are not sorted out and going right. But, let us imagine the good things about this Generation X rigging technique:

Perhaps if the wind is light, you have a lot more sail out there, maybe you still sail.

According to Guy: It was not uncommon to be peeling sails often during a race. The forestay would have two slots in it, so you could run up a small jib and peel down the genoa, for example.

Also according to Guy, "the guys" used to grab a hold of the big gigantic genoa clew, and throw themselves and the sail over to the other side of the boat to tack. You see that sail being so big really does get caught up on whatever, shrouds, the spinnaker pole, the lifelines, it can be a real mess.

So maybe this is like big earrings and platform shoes. The excesses of the 70s and 80s. I really don't know.

But this is how it is on the masthead sloop that is based on all these things I race on: You are dealing with all this headsail, the spinnaker is unsafe at any speed, and if I were on a J24 it wouldn't be much of an issue.

So: we have to pause and ask ourselves this question:
Why do I want to go to the innards of America to trailer home a classic example of a quarter tonner IOR masthead sloop?

Insert Picture Here:

Okay, this is something called an Eygthene, designed in the early seventies by one of the folks who really defined this sort of thing, Ron Holland. The deal is, if you happen to be Australian and you say the word "eighteen", it sounds like the above heiroglyph. In the land of plenty for some, the boat got re-christened the "Kiwi 24." The boat is 18 feet on the waterline, and 24 feet overall. So you can see how this little thing might have happened.

The other item of note is that this blue Kiwi is called Valkyrie. A very grand name, I think? It might be a little bit of overkill, ha ha ha no pun intended.

Mike, if for some reason you stumble upon my insane blog and see yourself sailing your Kiwi 24 that I am about to have a little internet think on, I hope you are okay with making a cameo appearance with Lizzie and Flying Circus.

Now- we have to mention that this Kiwi 24 has a little coach roof of sorts, to accomodate tall people who want headroom and ostensibly a head as well. The original boat, which Mr. Holland designed and with which he won the Quarter Ton Cup in 1973 (photo by Stephan Lautram, if you stop by my site Mr. Holland, I'm hoping you can see I have about two people who regularly read my blog and you don't mind my admiration of your lovely original boat to the point that I want my two readers to see how it is very much more beautiful than the production models that followed)

And there we have it, the flush deck, such as you might encounter on a J24, suitable for racing. And of course a few 70's guys on board, exhibiting decidedly more yachting style than men you might encounter on today's high or low seas. Please, God, can men learn from this example. I really hope my readers can somehow supersize the photo so that you can see the disco shirt the fellow on the rail is wearing. If you must see it in full glory, please go toThis page of the Eygthene 24 dedicated site.

The truth is, I want to go hundreds of miles from home in an old pickup truck and trailer home (on what trailer?) a boat that is a blast from the past because it is just that: it is odd, unique, and it strikes my fancy. No one else wants it here in America, and yet on the other side of the pond, there has been a recent revival in the old IOR boats, and there are now quarter ton class races. This is a case of recognizing something that other people are shrugging their shoulders over.

Perhaps. OR it might be a moment of insanity.

Woodwind Takes to the Wind at Megunticook

2008-07-05T08:56:00.001-04:00

Our second family voyage in our GP 14, Woodwind. As we were coming back to the launching ramp (with about 5 or 6 other 4th of July boating expeditions, it was a bit zoo-y) a woman in a motor boat snapped a picture of us, and here it is!

It all went off without a big hitch, except when we got to the launching ramp, we discovered that we had lost a shackle that holds one shroud in place. Maybe even the turnbuckle, too, thinking about it now. So Guy rigged up a rope assemblage, which worked great, so off we went.

But, unbeknownst to those who amble through the wind and waves with carefree abandon, the rope assemblage was being gradually sawed away by the sharp edges of the ring that should have been holding the missing shackle and pin. With a big snap, our rope jury rig snapped when we were halfway through the beat back.

Guy, being a good Boy Scout, had remembered to bring a Ricotta Cheese bucket full of odds and ends, so, finding another shackle with a smooth surface, he tied up another turnbuckle arrangement with a bit of spectra while I held Woodwind into the wind, and then we were off again.

I think it may have been one of our more successful family yachting occasions. I still get nervous steering dinghies, but not as nervous as I used to. If it were just me, I wouldn't mind so much, because if I capsize on my own, I don't really care. Obviously, a much bigger pain in the butt in Woodwind, since she is big and heavy, and I would have a job getting her flipped back up again, much more so than an Opti or a 420. I think it is just the fact that I worry about it a little with our 10 year old son Rory on board. But, the second time I steered, it was very fun. I love being the jib person, though, so I can sit up on the rail when we are beating and hike over. Dinghy sailing goes so quickly...especially on the lake, where the wind is so varied, pouring down from the mountains, warming and cooling, swirling around, creating so many little shifts. Very different from sailing on the Bay or in the Ocean, where the wind is much slower to change her attitude.

Before we started our sail, I was waiting with Woodwind at the float while Guy went off and parked the car and trailer. Another couple were launching their motorboat. The man was backing in the trailer and the woman was holding the rope. The usual arrangement. There is a little ramp/walkway from the land to the float, so that you can walk along the trailered boat as it lowers in without having to wade along with it. But, as he began to lower the boat in, it started floating off the trailer toward the float and right toward Woodwind. So, I climbed out on the bow and fended off, holding the stern of their boat steady.

The man leaned out of his pickup truck window and started making a big fuss at the woman. "That's why I don't like you dragging it over the trailer, because I have a lot of sensitive instruments down there that can get damaged very easily." Sensitive, indeed. Obviously, he hadn't noticed that the laws of flotation had manuevered his very sensitive and special boat off its trailer, not the woman holding the rope.

So then he blusters his way out of the truck, pushes her away, grabs the rope, and says, "I'm in control now." Oh yeah? I guess he had forgotten that I was holding the stern of his boat. The imp in me really wanted to give it a very strong push away from our boat, and see if it accidentally got some of his precious and sensitive instruments caught on something. But, I didn't. I just let go.

I'm not sure why men think they are having fun, if they feel that they have to be such idiots while boating. There really wasn't any reason for him to act like that, and in fact it made him look really stupid, rather than macho. Truly, I don't understand why more men aren't embarrassed by their behavior on the water.

It's just part of the human soup of existence, I suppose. I hope the men who happen upon my blog don't mind, I don't really hold it against them, I just wish they would stop doing it. Maybe if they can see that at least one woman doesn't take it personally, but just wishes they would chill out, hey, no big deal, the pressure will be off. Isn't it refreshing when we have enough humility to say, "yeah, you're right," when someone tells us we are being a jerk? It kinda brings down all the walls of pretense.

J24 Racing in Camden

2008-07-03T21:44:00.000-04:00

Awesome evening...wind strong at first, plenty of waves. I love it when it is like that, sitting over the rail, waves splashing over me. Of course, it helped that it was really hot and muggy, and very rarely here in Maine do we really feel like being splashed with sea water...but tonight it felt so good.
I was on Patti Dinse's boat, Havoc, with her two children, Michael and Amber, and crew member Gretchen.
Oh, I forgot to say- Patti's children are grown-ups.
My arms are actually a little sore from hauling around at the guy.
We had two last places, one due to a wardrobe malfunction. Meaning, spinnaker issues. It came out twisted. We'd been practicing a set before racing, and got hit with a puff and a wave. It was almost a broach; the guy got blown and the pole swung, we yelled "Duck Amber" and she dropped to the foredeck. But, the last race, we redeemed ourselves for a first place. Everyone dialed in and we got it together.
I love the calm after the storm aspect of sailing. Being out there in the wind and waves, all the exertion to get sails up and down, the mental work, and then the race is over often simultaneous to the wind dying down at evening, and so you sail back in to the harbor watching the sun set and breathing in the peace, bantering with your crewmates, or just watching the Camden Hills while you coil up spinnaker sheets or while you tidy something else...

Patti's husband, Jeff Dinse, is usually the main contender at these affairs. Guy sails on his boat. But, this year, Jeff has ripped tendons in his shoulder and must sit out the season with his arm in a sling! So Guy has assumed the organization of crew aboard Jeff's boat, Blue Zombie. She's a Blue Zombie because she rose from the dead. And she's blue. Jeff, meanwhile, has been out on the committee boat, and seems to be developing a keen analyst stance apres race. Really, I think it would make very interesting sports casting. He gives a good race analysis. If I had my stuff together, I could find a movie camera and go out on committee boat on the nights I am not sailing, do some filming, and get Jeff to do some commentary. We could have post race discussion. "Now to you, Jeff." (Camera pans to Jeff, arm in sling.) Some gripping, terse sports-lingo.
Lizzie: "Jeff, can you tell us what is going on out there?"
(a banner running at the bottom of the screen, saying something like, "Live from Camden Harbor, Simulcast on Channel 58, Knox County)
Jeff: "The only thing to do after setting the spinnaker for the downwind leg was jibe."
(quick shot of boats in action, some jibing, some not, circles and arrows appearing on screen.)

Anyway, it could be fun. I have no idea how to make a TV show, which could be a little bit of a problem.

Woodwind: Trimaran Dream, amended, and my roses are blooming like CRAZY this year!

2008-06-29T13:21:00.001-04:00

Rather classy, don't you think? I guess it's appropriate, considering my first instrument is the flute. This is a GP14 dinghy that Guy picked up this summer, and fixed up. GP stands for "General Purpose" I believe, and she is 14 feet long. So I have to let go of Circus for a while, which doesn't mean I won't visit her beside the barn and talk to her about the sea she is missing so much. It doesn't mean I won't surreptitiously scrub at her and make sure that her bits and pieces are staying shiny. But, I guess sometimes we have to let go, because it isn't worth getting what we want at the expense of other people's uncomfortable feelings. Hard to understand sometimes, I mean, if one is going to sail across the Southern Ocean, I suppose one has to do what one has to do despite the opposition from loved ones. When I am ready to do that, then we will see.
Don't forget to visit my music website, I sometimes forget that I am a musician- or rather, I don't forget, because I make most of my living teaching guitar lessons and I have a wonderful bunch of students who keep me hopping up at Northern Kingdom Music in Rockport, Maine, but I forget just to make music and to make songs. That's the danger- you get so into teaching or making production-type music on the computer for this or that purpose, but you forget to just create for the sake of it. Which is how Black Art came about, I was having a very difficult life moment, and a lot of time on my hands since I was pretty much unemployable and laid off, and so the songs just rolled out of me. It seemed like a waste of time at the time, as though I should be out there trying harder to get a job, but all that time schlepping around with my guitar playing songs for people set me up to be a very busy guitar teacher now. Even when things seem pointless, if you are doing them with your heart, eventually the puzzle will fit together and we see why and how and where.
We're going to go down to the harbor and randomly toss rocks in. (Me and my 10 year old and his buddy.)
Ever onwards,
Lizzie

Time for a Bloggish Moment, and do check out Rachel Griffin's website when you need an uplift

2008-06-29T03:33:00.001-04:00

I am not so sure why some of us feel the need to publicly discuss everything from broken toes to the state of gender relations. Maybe because we feel that if there is a discussion, then change can happen. I am not so sure what anyone is going to get out of discussing a broken toe in a blog, maybe just sympathy.
I don't want sympathy. That's the poison of apathy. That's the stuff that says, "Now, now, you poor little victim." Sympathy gives me an excuse to not get up off my ass and do something about myself.
Which right at this moment, 3.30 am Eastern Standard Time, entails drinking some warm milk with nutmeg in order to feel sleepy again, and clogging up some database somewhere with my Bloggish thoughts.
Whining is not good, either. Okay, so whining about my problems publicly in order to attract sympathy is completely unattractive. But, the fact remains, I am suddenly not going to get Circus in the water without trashing my relationship. So how the hell am I going to go sailing this summer?
Factoid One. Guy bought a very nice wooden GP14 dinghy earlier in the year, probably partly so that I wouldn't sail his boat. I still hate having to digest that concept: his boat. And partly so that we could do a different sort of family sailing adventure: trailering a little boat around to different dinghy-specific bodies of water. I currently have full permission to take the dinghy off someplace and sail it. Currently.
Problem with Factoid One: you need a trailer hitch to tow the dinghy. The trailer hitch resides on Guy's car, which he lets me use, but not always very happily. So either I ignore that, or I buy a trailer hitch for my car for $250 bucks and install somehow, or I find a cheaper trailer hitch somehow.
Factoid Two. This fellow we know is looking for a mooring this summer, which we have, and I might be able to convince everyone involved that if he keeps his boat on our mooring (still not so sure if it is ours or not) maybe I can sail it sometimes.
Problem with Factoid Two: Someone else's boat. Inherent "You didn't put this away the way I like things to be put away" syndrome. Something gets broken. Or not. Whatever.

Okay, so there are the Factoids.

Now time for rank speculations.

What if a boat landed in my lap? Well, I would get squashed. But here is one boat that I have been keeping an eye on for a while: Wind Maiden, the boat Guy sailed over the ocean in. The man who bought her from Guy has unfortunately trashed her. She is truly a mess. But, boats that are a mess are sometimes cheap. I like Wind Maiden. I am not so sure how cheap or how for sale she even is, but, there is always the possibility.

That's about all I can imagine for rank speculation right now. There is also this other boat I like that looks like a bathtub that is moored near our mooring, which evidently is strong enough to sail around the Horn, according to Guy. Evidently its rubber-ducky nature, while somewhat unattractive, is a benefit. It looks self-righting. Or like it aspires to being a Martha's Vineyard ferry boat.

Spiritual musings: none. I got an email return from my mass solicitation to visit my blog from Rachel, who says she misses me. I am not sure why, because I don't think I have ever done much in Rachel's life that is worthy of being missed. I also couldn't remember which Rachel. So I Googled her email address, which starts out with the phrase, "Peace in Every Step", and I got directed to some You Tube viddies of Ram Dass interviewing Thich Nhat Hanh. Who told Ram that we have to hold our anger like a mother holds a baby. We have to take care of our anger. That anger is an emotion that happens, but somehow I think the idea is that if we acknowledge it with some level of detachment and mindfulness, we can love it into submission. I guess. There was some breathing involved, which I was trying to do when the phone rang.

I kinda like that idea about anger, though I did have a disparaging moment in realizing that "these are men" and what the hell do they know about mothers holding babies. It would be nice if we had some women Zen masters around. There is that wonderful woman whose name I forget but whose book I hang on to for dear life sometimes, "When Things Fall Apart."

It's also sort of not-coincidental that this email from Rachel led me to all this, and also to her website. It doesn't even matter if she wasn't the Rachel I was emailed by, because she ended up being the right Rachel. She's got a little greeting on her site that says, "Well, hello there, you beautiful person!" And considering the fact that I was definitely not feeling loved by the universe or by anyone at that moment, it was a nice reminder to get back to trying to love myself. I mean, I just felt like dog doo doo, sitting there thinking about not being allowed to launch Circus, sitting there KNOWING that I have capabilities that are being actively discouraged because someone else is threatened by them. How are you supposed to be respectful and loving and forgiving in situations like that? I just end up feeling angry and resentful, which for me is real poison. I am slowly becoming compassionate and respectful of this thing, but, it ain't coming easy. Just the decision to NOT power my way through getting Circus in the water because Guy didn't feel good about it is enough, I am certainly not planning on being overjoyed about having made that decision.

But, let me tell you about Rachel's website. She's a singer-songwriter I met a few years ago in Portland, at a benefit concert that a DJ at WMPG organized in order to do something positive with his grief after a very young singer-songwriter, Liz Cutting, committed suicide. Rachel at the time was very young, too, and she did this very jazzy and somewhat provocative song at the piano. I can't remember the upshot of it, but it was sort of the kind of song like my blog probably is right now- you read it and wince.

Some years have gone by, Rachel is still very young, but she's developed a huge dose of spirituality along the way. It really got me thinking. Her latest "man song" (or at least later than the first one I heard) is called Half a Heart (I think) and the whole upshot of the thing is that she would rather be single and working on her life and her music than wasting her time with a man who wasn't totally into her.

She said something so striking- that it is strange how we spend so much time and energy searching for love when love is all around us, all the time. But we think we have to find it in this "one person" out there somewhere. She has a couple prayers she has written on her website, too, since she has discovered that she is happier when she is following God's purpose for her, which is to make music and to be a source of joy for others. (I'm not there yet, though a friend of mine once told me that she thought my purpose in life was to make others uncomfortable so that they would be shaken up enough to actually think, gee, thanks God)

Anyway I will close and attempt to get back to sleep by sharing her website with you, www.rachelgriffin.com

She said something that made me smile- "the older I get"- She's got to be all of 24 or 25- or younger- but it made me smile in a couple ways, sad and happy. Sad, because I think about all the dreams I have abandoned in my life because I didn't have the strength or the wherewithal she has to put myself and my dreams before taking care of a lot of people who really didn't need me anyway, and happy, because I am so overjoyed that there are young women out there who are growing and learning that you don't have to surrender yourself to find love.

Anyway, Rachel, if that was you, thank you so much, you really brought me back down to earth, and yeah, let's hang-
Lizzie

Hills of Another Nature

2008-06-28T15:54:00.000-04:00

Here's what I am supposed to be doing: being a good girl and baking pies. Instead, we had a discussion yesterday which caused the solar panels to be moved...check it out, they are moved... but this is truly a dark moment in the annals of trimaran transportation. It turns out Guy really doesn't want me to launch his boat. For a while there, it was "our boat", but now it isn't. There are many emotional reasons wrapped up with this, no less a complete tour de force of family economic theory, "whose boat is it anyway if you worked on the boat and I took care of the kids," you get the picture. Truly a dark day, I don't know how I am going to prevail.

The Solar Panels: the other Obstacle du Jour

2008-06-27T08:56:00.001-04:00

I was such a mouse when Guy brought these home! I knew I didn't want him to put them in the way of the trailer, and I knew he was doing it on purpose! But did I say, "No, let's put them over HERE?" Women of my blog, please learn to SPEAK UP!!!

The Hill

2008-06-27T08:45:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I got this brilliant idea! Why not assemble Circus at home, and then trailer her down? That way, I wouldn't need to borrow the second trailer! Having to borrow a trailer has been a huge holdup. Guy is convinced that Bill is sick of lending us his trailer, and I can't think of anyone else to ask.

(Please remember to vote on this one, and if you know of a trailer, let me know)
So I called up a friend of mine who just got the State Police to escort a boat, and she said, "Call the Rockland Police." So I did, and the woman at the desk sent me to the harbor master.

I don't know why. Neither did Nathan, the assistant harbor master. He figured she was trying to get me back on the idea of trailering on two trailers and assembling at Snow Marine Park.

"Where ARE you guys?" Goes Nathan. "You're usually the first ones in."

So we mulled and stewed for a few minutes, he gave me some numbers, but then I called back the police again.

And yeah, they will escort me, no problem. Just call at 4.30 am and we will send an officer up.

I was elated! The solution! But then- just one little problem.

The Hill. I'll let you absorb the magnitude of this situation from the safety of your own computer LCD.

The romance of the sea is emptying my wallet.

2008-06-26T20:34:00.000-04:00

Well, not quite. It turns out that trimaran insurance isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I won’t need a survey, either, which is a miracle. It seems an omen of good things.

So: the inspection of the mooring is lined up, and we can all now pray that the top chain doesn’t need replacing. The boat insurance is lined up, pending family discussion. Which sounds a little ominous in print, but, let’s keep things in the moment.

Tomorrow: I have a lawn to mow and a garden to do, take Rory to the doctor for a follow-up on his sprained ankle, and then madly race home and find some time to do another scrub of the bottom. I had planned to get that done this morning, but a refrigerator that needed defrosting and cleaning stole me away. Pathetic, but, the
door wouldn’t close anymore.

Then: cook dinner, off to Library night.

Friday, only one garden needs me for about an hour, and so Friday will be devoted entirely to Circus.

Here’s what needs to be done:

Find someone to help me heft the solar panels out of the way of the main hull.

Pull main hull forward.

Take cover off boat.

Load up cushions, sails, rigging, etc.

Wash main hull.

FInd someone at Hamilton Marine who will service the outboard, perhaps for the price of a hand-knotted doormat.

Attach outboard to bracket, if ready to run.

Rig mast.

If I can get all that done in one day, it will be a miracle.

Enough laundry lists.
I will publish something I wrote last year, so you can get more of a sense of the inner turmoil, drama, and sheer passion of what is actually a laundry list.
(In other words, I was still thinking about sailing, not actually doing it.)

When you dream about sailing, do you dream about bottom paint running down your arms?

2008-06-26T20:32:00.001-04:00

I opted out of painting the dinghy’s bottom. There are these little places on the keel that the paint always falls off. I should have touched it up, but, how do I know it doesn’t fall off the minute I put it in the water?

I did clean the bottom and the hull. With that stuff that smells like rotten eggs which will eat through a few layers of skin if you get it on you. Ah, the romance of the sea, pure air, salt breeze, and Muriatic Acid.

“Why are you launching the dinghy?” Guy wants to know.

“Because then I can row it around and stuff,” I say. What he really wants to know is, does the launching of the dinghy portend a launch of Flying Circus.

Here is where I am supposed to practice compassionate acceptance. After all, Guy is accepting of me. He is complaining a lot, but, the truth is, he isn’t actively stopping me.

“Did you paint the bottom of the dinghy?”
“Do I have to? It looks all right.”
“I guess not, I think it was two-season paint.”
“Well, I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”
“Then leave the boat in the yard.”
“You said I could launch it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Too late, because I have already gotten things going and have been investigating all the options.”
“Well you had better investigate them.”

But he doesn’t stop me. I mean, what would he do, call the police or something and say help, my partner is trying to launch our boat?

I read a meditation the other day. We do not fight. We have nothing to defend. So, I am attempting to move through what I need to do without a fight. We’ve been having a good time, lovely dinners, talk. So there isn’t any tension.

Sometimes, when we are ready to stretch our own wings, we have to remember that the people who love us might feel insecure about our independence. Will we still need them? Also, there are times when people might feel as though being an expert at something or being in charge of something defines their self-worth. If their partner comes along and wants to also participate in that activity in such a way as to be capable rather than dependent, this can also upset the balance for a little while, too.

So we have to love each other through these growing pains.

It turns out that I can get the dinghy in the trailer myself. I used to loathe having to lift that thing with Guy. I thought I was going to have a heart attack every time. Well, I backed the trailer up to it and hefted it in. Then had to flip it over.

Zach came out of the barn just then. Guy’s coworker.

“See, you didn’t need any men to do that, you got it in by yourself.”

I’ve been up since 4.30, when I began my day with a misty jog, so now bed.

When you dream about sailing, do you dream about bottom paint running down your arms?

2008-06-26T20:32:00.000-04:00

“Why are you launching the dinghy?” Guy wants to know.

“Because then I can row it around and stuff,” I say. What he really wants to know is, does the launching of the dinghy portend a launch of Flying Circus.

Here is where I am supposed to practice compassionate acceptance. After all, Guy is accepting of me. He is complaining a lot, but, the truth is, he isn’t actively stopping me.

But he doesn’t stop me. I mean, what would he do, call the police or something and say help, my partner is trying to launch our boat?

So we have to love each other through these growing pains.

Zach came out of the barn just then. Guy’s coworker.

“See, you didn’t need any men to do that, you got it in by yourself.”

I’ve been up since 4.30, when I began my day with a misty jog, so now bed.

Journal of Something I am trying to Do.

2008-06-26T20:30:00.000-04:00

That doesn’t sound very poetic, does it.

I scrubbed Circus’ bottom yesterday. Nothing too unique and adventurous about that. I’ve scrubbed her underbelly many times, and each time it is like scrubbing a big whale.

Circus is Flying Circus, a rather large and orange trimaran. Except her underbelly, which is black. This is how it began:

“I’m too busy to launch. You wanna launch, go get a can of bottom paint. Scrub the bottom. “

That was Guy. He’s the sailor around here with the expertise, having sailed alone across the Atlantic, having sailed here, having sailed there. I have spent my whole life trying to sail 50 yards. Guy finally taught me to sail three years ago, I’ve sailed hundreds of miles now with him, but this year, no. Circus is for sale, (she’s on Yachtworld.com) She’s too much work. He’s had it with that boat.

“If you’re going sailing this year, you have to make it happen. I can’t do it for you.”

That’s what he said. So, okay. I am trying to make it happen.

Here’s the deal. Most boats, you just lower in. With this boat, there is some assembly required. Meaning, there are three hulls that need to be attached. All of them add up to about 4500 pounds.

Here’s the drill. First, you change the registration on your car over to the truck so you can tow the trailer. Then, you try to convince Guy to ask his buddy to lend me another trailer to haul the two outrigger hulls, properly called amas. since they don’t fit on the main trailer with the main hull, which is called the vaca. This buddy is not going to lend me the trailer. He will only lend it to Guy. So there is that little problem.

Second, you have a very large and heavy aluminum mast to get on top of the boat. Usually, you carry the mast with a lot of cursing and near-drops into the barn, where you hook it up to this sling that is operated with a block and tackle. You then hoist the mast to the top of the ceiling. Then, you drive the boat into the barn, and lower the mast down. Well, Guy has a large boat rebuild going on in the barn, so forget it. This is going to require about 6 chicks and two ladders.

Third, you have to move the solar panels that have been stored in the way.

Fourth, we forgot to take off the cover, so, this is actually fifth.
Drive boat out from beneath appletree. Load crossbeams, called akas, into back of pickup. Load trampolines, traveller, rigging, cushions, toolbox, forestay, sails.

Fifth. Drive illegal trailer to public landing with one person tailing closely so cops can’t see out of date registration. (Hope Guy doesn’t make me register it, he never does. I think I am supposed to be a good citizen, though. And it is only 20 bucks.)

Sixth. Go back and get other trailer loaded with the amas, which you have managed to drag up using rollers and come-along. And the 6 chicks.

Seventh. Assemble all hands at the public landing. Hopefully you remembered to bring the crane along. Hoist akas up and on to vaca. This will take at least three people. Lash boards across akas. Hook up crane and come along to vaca. Lash webbing around amas. Hoist amas up to akas. Screw in bolts, which you remembered to bring.

Lash tramps, turn turnbuckles, screw on the traveler.

Eighth and worst. Back assembled trimaran as close to harbor as possible. Hopefully it is high tide. Attach strange contraption made from old snowblower and two by fours that extends the trailer so that you can get in lower. Lash contraption to truck trailer hitch. Lower boat into water, with 4 people on standby to catch her as she goes.

Ninth. You forgot the outboard.

Okay, so, tomorrow, all we have to worry about is one more scrub of the bottom, pulling the boat out so we can get the cover off, attaching the aluminum rack the mast rests on in transport, and engineering a way to get the mast on the boat.