Plain Jane, the non-cruiser

Dear Ean,

For the past couple of days it's been SUPER here in La Playita.  Get it, SUPER?  As in, the SUPERmoon?  Here for your enjoyment are pictures of the dinghy dock ramp at a supermoon high and a supermoon low.  You have to guess which is which.  S/v Pi just dinghied past, saying they were going to do their final pre-canal-crossing provision.  I wonder if they remembered, about the supermoon low.

Ever since we decided to quit cruising, I find myself, in various moments, imagining: what would a “normal” (land-lubber, first-world, not-too-terribly-adventurous) person think of this particular aspect of the cruising life?  Would a "normal" person be paying attention to super highs and super lows?

I was messing around with the dinghy this morning – climbing up on the arch, pulling one drain plug and unscrewing the other, replacing both plugs, jumping into the engine compartment to flip the breaker to the dinghy lift motor, lowering the dinghy and unclipping the lift cable, securing the lift cable to one of our stanchions so it wouldn’t rock ‘n roll ‘n bang in the constant swell.  Later, when I sat down with a bowl of cereal, I realized that I had a little blood dribbling down my arm.

You’re not here, and I can only spend so many hours on facebook, so I have to talk to myself.  In an effort to make talking to myself more entertaining, I carry on imaginary conversations between Sailor Jane and a hypothetical “normal” Jane – let’s call her “Plain Jane.”

Here’s how the conversation went, this morning.

Plain Jane:  Aaarggh!  I’m bleeding!!!

Sailor Jane:  Pffft.  Barely.

PJ: When did this happen?  Was it the edge of the engine compartment?  That sharp hinge? Or the corner of the solar panel?  A stray strand from the lift cable?  What happened?  Why did this happen?  Who let this happen?

SJ:  It’s a boat, wussy.  A bit a blood.  Bound to happen.

PJ: What should I do?  I’ve got to clean the wound, so I can see how bad it is.  All this blood, I can’t even see the actual wound.  Is it a puncture?  A scratch?  A cut?  I think there’s too much blood for it to be just a scratch.  I think it’s deep.  Am I up to date on my tetanus shot?  It’s my LEFT arm, OMG, I’m left-handed, what if it gets infected.  I COULD LOSE MY ARM!

SJ: Yer cereal is gonna get all soggy if you start some big “wound-cleaning” program.

PJ:  Well… that’s true… I hate soggy cereal.

[Later]

PJ: I’m going to get out the first aid kit now.   I’ll wash all the blood off, check it out.  Didn’t we buy some sort of antibacterial wound cleaner stuff?  And then a bit of antibiotic ointment.   I could use that gauze stuff and the sticky tape, but how am I going to wrap that around my arm without help?  Maybe I should go over and get Paul from s/v Pi.  What was his wife’s name again?  Maybe she has some medical experience; she’s very friendly, anyway.  She would probably take good care of me.

SJ: Huh.  [eye rolling]

PJ: Well, maybe it’s not that bad.  At least it’s not bleeding anymore.   I won’t use the gauze roll, I’ll just use a couple of regular Band-aids… I'm sure it will clean up nicely - I'll probably find that the cut itself isn't that big.

SJ: That blood has already congealed – if you wash it off, you’ll start bleeding again.

PJ: OMG I don’t want to lose any more blood... I think I’m getting faint…..

Honey, don’t worry.  I am, after all, up-to-date on my tetanus shot.  And I cleaned the blood off the settee.  It’s all good.  I AM a cruiser, after all.  Tough as barnacles.

XXOO, J

P.S.  Here's a good link: What is a supermoon?

overJOYed

This dinghy, along with the boat behind it, will soon be FOR SALE.

We are overJOYed.  The title for the post is Ean's pun, of course.  Anyone who knows him would guess it.  As in: Dear JOY, we are OVER you.

When we started this crazy adventure, we set a goal - to get 'round the world - but we gave ourselves a two-year "out" clause - if, after two years, either of us wanted OUT of this life, then we would get OUT and get a NEW life.

The first time we WANTED out - really discussed it seriously - was in Key West last June.  I just went back to reread the blog post.  I wrote, "I'm sure I'll look back at this juncture and either laugh or cry hysterically."

Well, I'm looking back now, and I realize, it's not an either/or thing.  I can do both.

After we'd been cruising for about a year, I wrote a post called "The Backside of a Dream."  I admitted:

We're coming up on our one-year cruising anniversary, and Ean and I have been reflecting on our new life. We're still pretty clueless.  We've found this life to be more difficult than we expected.  Things break all the time and we don't know how to fix them.  Ean misses toast.  I miss floor space.  We hate being mono-lingual and sand.

We realized, even then, that this lifestyle is not a good fit for us.  But hey, we had agreed to two years.  Let's see what happens.  We had this GOAL, you see.  Of circumnavigating the world.  We thought we could do it.  We wanted to have done it.

To cruise or not to cruise....we've been back and forth a dozen times.  It's hard to explain, but as I wrote a few months ago, cruising has made us bipolar.  A couple of months ago, I was SO excited about making that big leap out into the Pacific.  A couple of weeks ago, I was getting excited about gunkholing around Panama and making our way down the coast to Ecuador.  Hey, maybe we'll do Galapagos after all!  Hey, Easter Island, how cool would that be!

A couple of days ago, after many long conversations, some bitterness and tears, some wistful sighing and wicked blame-slinging, we finally admitted to ourselves that the highs aren't high enough to justify the lows.  Or the lows are too low... or too numerous...?  Maybe, if we would have made it across the S. Pacific, we would have decided to stick out.  SO close.  But Things Fall Apart.

If you're a little sad for us... yeah.  But don't be TOO sad.  Me and Ean, we are lucky, and we don't lose track of that.  We need to figure out what the new life will be - and we have lots of good choices... more than we deserve, probably.

I'll end here for now... although of course there's more to say. Stay tuned. Our next post: JOY FOR SALE (cheap).

Hard Ship

JOY, sitting on her bare bottom.

Last weekend we were motoring across Gatun Lake with our friends Tim and Cath aboard s/v Helena May. The weather was, well, Panamanian, but it mostly didn't rain. We even got to have a wee bit of an escapade when we went to shore after having bid our "Panamanian Cruise Directors" safe travels and fond farewells. Our stay at the Sheraton was a slice of paradise. Tim and Cath: we thank you kindly for your unparalleled hospitality, but you are just not equipped to compete with unending hot water, a mini bar and room service. Short of ironing our t-shirts we availed ourselves of every amenity the Sheraton had to offer. Emboldened by our night of luxury living, we successfully navigated our way through the wilds of the Panamanian bus system and to top it all off, DID NOT get mugged in Colón in the dark in the rain waiting for a taxi.

And then we were back at the marina and our "palace in the clouds." Life on the hard, it turns out, isn't that much different from living in a hotel. True, there's no hot water unless we walk the two blocks to the marina showers, which we might as well do since that's where we have to go for a toilet, anyway. We wash hardly any more dishes than we would staying in a hotel since it leaves a big, dirty puddle under the boat which never dries. There's no room service, but the marina restaurant is closer than the bathrooms and the food is almost as good as the candy bars and potato products we prepare at home. But, what we do have that our hotel room did not is a maxi bar. No college dorm sized fridge here. No sireebob! We have cases and cases of beer and bottles and bottles of spirits and the best part is that we don't have to walk down the hall to get ice; it's right here.

And, of course there are always projects with which to distract ourselves. I'm waiting for a beetle to die that I trapped under a tupperware container several days ago. I've just deleted 205 tv shows I've been storing on my Mac. (It was so full I couldn't open Photoshop and anybody who uses Photoshop knows the magnitude of such a disaster.) And while her partner Jaye is on vacation, Jane is singlehandedly turning The Monkey's Fist into a lean, mean blog collecting machine. And just today we discovered that ants have discovered us, so I'll need to annihilate them periodically. So it isn't as though we're just waiting for things to get done around here.

We'll be up here for about another week or so. The paint on JOY's bottom has to dry, of course. Once they apply it, that is.  We need to replace the propeller that got mangled when we went aground plus a few odds and ends. Then we'll be back on water to tackle the rest of our repairs.  If all goes as planned, we'll be bored of this whole refit thing in a few weeks and we'll leave to embark upon our own Panama Canal cruise. South Pacific, don't go anywhere, we'll see you eventually!

Click on the monkey's fist to read others bloggers on this topic.

Cruising has made us bi-polar

We've just celebrated our sixteen-month cruisiversary.  We're like toddlers: you keep counting by months for the first couple of years, right?  We've been out here, living and learning....  wondering what the HELL we've got ourselves into....

Bananas ripening at Coco Banderos Cays

But now, I have a major breakthrough to report.  We have made a quantum leap in our understanding of the cruising life.  As Ean was writing his three-part series about our "adventures" in Kuna Yala, we came to this realization: cruising has made us bi-polar.

I don't suppose that we meet DSM standards to actually be diagnosed by a mental health professional, and I certainly don't mean to make light of what can be a crippling disease.  But now that it's dawned on us, we can find no better way to describe the mental state that for us has been a primary "side effect" of cruising.  Sure, I had highs and lows before we moved aboard JOY.  We had good days and bad days, sad moments and happy moments.

But since we started cruising, the spread between high and low has been wider. The highs are higher, the lows are lower, and the speed at which we travel between the extremes is whiplash-inducing.  Joys and sorrows.  Boredom and terror.  Wonder and dismay.  The past three weeks have been a microcosm.  It reminds me of that cartoon depiction of a dog's life, where she greets each event with either MY FAVORITE! or BUMMER!

Snorkeling off Isla Tintipan

Leaving Cartagena, heading for San Blas and the world: MY FAVORITE!

Anchored in 25 knots of wind on the windward side of Isla Grande, afraid that we're going to drag onto the rocks:  BUMMER!

Anchored off the lee shore of Isla Tintipan, tucked in, safe and sound, and I'm snorkeling in ten feet of gin-clear water: MY FAVORITE!

We start our passage to Panama with no wind, but the seas are big and lumpy and on the beam: BUMMER!

Arriving at Tupbak in Kuna Yala in the early afternoon, after a nice overnight sail: MY FAVORITE!

Ean has already written about stupendous Ustupu, Sally the starboard engine on strike, the GROSS grounding, our hero Amelio and his ulu, our wind-on-the-nose squally sail, the ups and downs of Elvis the generator, and a perfect drinks-and-dinner moment in the cockpit (MY FAVORITE, BUMMER, BUMMER, MY FAVORITE, BUMMER, BUMMER, MY FAVORITE, MY FAVORITE).

Andres from Ustupu helped us translate more JOY everywhere! into the Kuna language.

Both the rudder and the coral head were a little the worse for wear after their encounter.

The next day we had the most beautiful sail that anyone could ask for.  We had planned to stop at Nargana, but it was such a wonderful sail that we decided to go to Coco Banderos.  But then we kept sailing on to Holandes Cays. We just couldn't stop.  MY FAVORITE!

This is the kind of sailing day it was.  We weren't the only ones out enjoying it.
If you know the Canadian flagged s/v Aries, please send along this picture with our compliments.

In Nargana -  Internet: MY FAVORITE!

It looks like I'm in Nargana, but actually I'm on the WorldWideWeb, baby!

But then the internet was down and Nargana was out of coca cola.  BUMMER!  But when the coca-cola boat arrived, I bought a few bottles to go with the big bottle of Abuelo rum we found at the billiard hall: MY FAVORITE!  The island is covered in trash: BUMMER!

Molas from a master mola maker: MY FAVORITE!

We went to Mormaketupu (Mola Makers' Island) and bought molas from Venancio

Here's one of the molas we bought - learn more about this Kuna art form here.

I stupidly wrapped the dinghy line around the prop while we were anchoring later that afternoon: BUMMER!

Hanging with friends (who had sailed from Cartagena ahead of us): MY FAVORITE!

We first met Kirk (s/v Salsa) in Cartagena, where he had just completed his circumnavigation.
We had a couple beers with him in Lemon Cays.

And on and on it goes.  Getting into a slip at Shelter Bay Marina on a windy afternoon with one engine: BUMMER!  But then here we are, and we're getting big hugs from our buddies Arjan and Maia from s/v Skye: MY FAVORITE!

There are peaks and troughs.  We are learning to let the highs lift us: to truly appreciate all that is good.  And when it turns around, and we go tilting into the trough, we remind ourselves that the next big swell is coming.  As I sit here typing away, Ean pops over to the marina store and buys me a fudgesicle.  And if I'm lyin', I'm dyin' - it is the BEST fudgesicle I HAVE EVER EATEN.  And Ean: well, of course, he is MY FAVORITE!

It's Been An "Interesting" Year

We had decided we wanted to do something interesting with our lives.  We were at a crossroads: not fully embedded in our current realities, not completely committed to our goals for the future....  And Ean said, "If you don't do anything interesting, you aren't."  We decided that buying a boat and cruising around the world would be... interesting.  And one year ago today, we moved aboard s/v More Joy Everywhere.

"May you live in interesting times": it is said to be both a blessing and a curse.  Indeed we have found it to be so, during this, our first year as cruisers.

On the one hand: "Poof! We're Interesting"!  We have a lot of great stories to tell.  We're off on a grand adventure, living an unlikely life.  Some people, it seems, find us funny and thought-provoking.  Others, apparently, think we're nuts.  Either way: interesting!  Mission accomplished.  According to this blog post from Forbes, How To Be More Interesting (In 10 Simple Steps), we have got it going on.

Raft-Up: Keeping My Head Above Water

(photo by www.photositesag.com)

Sundowners aboard Juffa, a Fountaine Pajot Lavezzi, parked across the fairway from us at the Marina Santa Marta. Great conversation, great stories, a tour of their boat, and some great advice (Thank you, Caroline and Bill, for your hospitality). Eventually, we had to bid them good night. We had many garments to dry before we slept.

They had pulled into their slip bow first, starboard side to the finger pier. On their cat, just as on ours, the swim platforms at the stern end of the hulls are almost always the best boarding and de-boarding points. They were tied not more than 2 ft. (about a half meter) from the pier. Jane went first: grabbed a stanchion and swung/jumped off the boat onto the end of the pier. My turn. No life jacket. I'm so used to this feeling, the pressure in my chest, the buzzing in my ears, I hardly notice it now. More, I notice how embarrassed I am by it. I handed Jane my empty beer can, grabbed the stanchion, sat on down at the edge of the swim platform, stretched out my leg as far as I could and slid off, closing my eyes at the last second, hoping that I'd correctly gauged the gap. I did. The pier wobbled a bit under my weight, but I was OK, safe. We walked back to JOY, parked stern to, the bottom step of her swim platform not more than 8 inches (.2 meters) from the dock. Still, as I stepped across the  chasm, narrow as it was, there was that familiar moment of apprehension when I was more aware of the blackness that separated ship from shore than how easy it would be to step over it.

This month's "Raft-UP" topic is "fear" and when Jane and I discussed which one of us should take it on it was no contest. Jane is singularly unqualified to talk about fear; she doesn't have any. She is, with the exception of adolescent boys overstocked with testosterone, the most fearless person I've ever met. It is so annoying. That's not to say she doesn't get afraid in scary situations; she just doesn't have any abiding fears. Fear isn't something she has to negotiate with on a daily basis. Me? Yeah, I'm not like that.

I'm not saying I'm riddled with fears, that my life is ruled by them. It's not. It's ruled by only two. The lesser of which is a--fear doesn't even begin to cover it--dread terror of an accidental encounter with water. Nah, go ahead laugh; it IS funny in an absurd sort of way. I think it's pretty funny, too, when I'm not scooting around on my butt and remembering the occasions when I've gone under, the terror of flailing helplessly, sure that I was about to die.

I am often asked, as you might imagine, how I ended up being a cruiser when I can't swim and have an aversion to water. I've been asked this so often that now Jane and I respond in unison. "Well, first I (he) couldn't swim, then we bought a boat." More inexplicable yet is that this whole sailing around the world idea was originally mine. I can't imagine what I was thinking, really. Maybe I was just kidding.

Another First in Our First Year

Pretending to steer - captain ducked out of sight - during our charter in Annapolis

Our first year of cruising has been full of "firsts."  Our most recent "first" sparked some reminiscing - along the lines of, "You've come a long way baby."

Here are some important firsts that happened BEFORE we started cruising.

First time we saw a catamaran - on the hard, in the snow, in Milwaukee. (Feb 2011) 

First time we sailed on a catamaran - a two-day charter in Annapolis. (May 2011) 

First sailing lessons - through the Hoofers of UW-Madison. (Jun 2011) 

First circumnavigation - of Door County, WI. (Jul 2011)

First days of boat ownership - we flew to Annapolis to visit "our" boat for a few days. (Sep 2011)

The Backside of the Dream

We're coming up on our one-year cruising anniversary, and Ean and I have been reflecting on our new life. We're still pretty clueless.  We've found this life to be more difficult than we expected.  Things break all the time and we don't know how to fix them.  Ean misses toast.  I miss floor space.  We hate being mono-lingual and sand.

We read a lot of cruising blogs and check-in with several cruisers who have facebook pages.  These people, as I have noted previously, are mostly

younger and prettier and smarter and more creative than we are.  They fix engines, install solar panels, sew cushions, grow sprouts, revarnish their teak, and understand how their systems work.  In their spare time, they sketch, make jewelry, write poetry, play the banjo, kayak, scuba dive, take fabulous underwater pictures, and never watch television.

Recently, a few of these cruisers, in their spare spare time, have begun posting lovely scenes with life-affirming messages.  For example, there will be an image of a sailboat, at anchor off a perfect deserted beach, and inscribed across the top, in an aesthetically pleasing font, a sentiment about Living Your Life: mindfully, in the moment, to the fullest, or whatnot.

These cruisers - they are inspiring.  We admire and envy them.  Early on, we, too, aspired to be inspiring.  But as it turns out, Ean and I - we're more like a cautionary tale.  But that's okay.  We've come to accept and even embrace our identity. In fact, we've come to understand it as a mission.

This mission: to anti-inspire others.  We're here to maintain the balance of the universe.  Our message to aspiring cruisers, or anyone who dares to dream of casting off the ties that bind and living a life full of fun/adventure and/or intention/meaning:  Is it too late to get your deposit back?

Here, humbly presented, for the first time in graphical format, an Expression of Anti-Inspiration.

Dolphins Send SEA-vite: "Big Party at Taganga, Dude"

I am not a morning person. People know this about me: especially, Ean knows. But yesterday Ean had me flying out of bed with a single word - and it wasn't "coffee." The word: "dolphins."

Flashback to the late 1970s.  This new adventure of ours continually reminds me of the other boat trip: the one that I did with my parents. Back then, dolphins were always news. That single word, "Dolphins!" would pull everyone to the bow. "Where?" "There!" It's notoriously difficult to get good photos of dolphins at play, but we tried, of course.

Twelve-year-old squinty-eyed Jane, on the bow of m/v Andante with a bunch of dolphins.

Flash forward: yesterday, Ean woke me up to a whole pod of dolphins having a party in Taganga Bay.

A Time and a Place

Just a few of our many mental declutterers

When we started, many aspects of this lifestyle were foreign to us and that has made for a very steep learning curve. Any skill set from our former life that transferred has been an enormous relief. One such set is organizational acumen. I am loathe to think how much more daunting adapting to this would have been had we not been such well organized people already. It really has made all the difference.

Our boat specific organizational strategies have withstood being field tested for almost a year, we feel it's time to share them. They are few in number, but comprehensive in scope.

1. Lists
We are big list makers. We were long before we were cruisers. List making is one of our most frequently employed tactics in our overall strategy for reducing clutter, specifically the clutter in our heads. Compile a list and then it's not only permissible to forget the items on it, it's smart. Do or get everything on the list and then throw it away. Very satisfying emotionally. We have the obvious ones: grocery, boat chores, boat projects, boat repairs, things we'll get for the boat after we become wealthy from monetizing this blog. We even make lists of lists we should make. 

2. Logs
Logs are new to us. We have only become log keepers since becoming boat owners. Logs, we have discovered, are really the other half of a solid mental decluttering program. The way in which lists and logs work together for us is simple. Lists are temporary; logs are ongoing. The difference is clear from the names of the activities themselves: list making versus log keeping. Logs record what's been done and when it will need to be done again in the future. We are not quite as good at logs as we are at lists, it is true. We're actually good at making logs also, just not at keeping them. This has inevitably resulted in a reduced ability to remember all the logs we've made. When we have time (see below), we will make a list of all our logs.

Cast Off!

It's been a long cuatro semanas, but Jane is back to being her old left-handed self. We could have gone back to La Clínica Prada, the urgent care facility, but really, what have they got that we haven't got?  So for all you do-it-yourself types, here's how to remove a cast in a few easy steps.

Tools of the trade

First, collect all the necessary tools and supplies:

1. A towel to sop up drips
2. White vinegar
3. A hacksaw
4. Kitchen shears
5. A bucket of water

Le Faux Pas (Troisième Partie et Finale)

Click here to read Part 1.

Click here to read Part 2.

Jasmine (L) and Makendy (R)

Makendy paddled out to us at just before six, although, at the time we thought he was almost an hour late. We had gone back and forth several times over whether or not Haiti observed Daylight Savings Time and ultimately came to the wrong conclusion. Truth be told, the longer past (our) six p.m. it got, the more strongly we suspected--hoped, really--that he'd forgotten, or something. We would have only partially minded. I went out to the cockpit with cash to pay off our balance and collect our meal.

"Hi, Makendy. Uh, where's dinner?" I asked, looking down into his boat, empty of everything but water. He requested that we meet him at the dinghy dock and he'd walk us to dinner. "Oh," I said, trying to try to hide my disappointment, "I was hoping we could get it to go, you know, here at the boat, for tomorrow."

"That will not be possible" he answered. Makendy's English was pretty good so I had to wonder how my request had gotten messed up in translation?  Or, had it gotten messed up? Perhaps he had never intended to be a "meals on keels" operation. More importantly, from what as yet unplumbed emotional depths were we going to get the energy to make it through a dinner, I wondered. There wasn't any politeness or curiosity or civility left between us.  Our plan had been to spend the evening curled up in as close to fetal positions as it was possible to get in our salon while watching downloaded TV shows on our laptop. But that was out now. An invitation was being extended to us and payment aside, it was a magnanimous gesture, we knew. We pulled psychic selves together as best we could, lowered our dinghy, and met Makendy at the dock.

A Day (or so) in the Life of a Dream

8:10 A.M.*: Anchors Aweigh

In our usual places, Jane at the helm, me at the anchor locker. I call for bumps forward to pull JOY up closer to her chain, and periodically a bump to starboard or to port, to lessen the strain on the windlass. Jane senses almost immediately that she got no maneuverability on the starboard side. She shouts out the problem to me and goes to see if there's any prop wash coming from under the starboard hull, but we both know what has happened.


8:32 A.M.: See Jane Snorkel
No early start for us today, yet we've been extremely lucky in the misfortunes of our prop. All three times it has fallen off before this, we've been able to retrieve it. Knowing that it was on when we anchored here, we expect we will find it somewhere within the arc that matches the swing of our boat. We also expect to find the nut that holds it in place. Owing to its size and buryability in the sand, I am less optimistic about the bolt.

...and Nearly Nary a Drop to Drink

There's a story told of a man who lives in a small house with his large family. Things, as you might imagine, are pretty crowded. But he loves his family, of course, so he takes it all in stride.

One day, his wife announces that her parents will be moving in with them indefinitely. Well, if he had been feeling crowded before, now he's climbing the walls. In desperation, he goes to see his rabbi.

"Rabbi," he says "I don't know what to do. My home, as you know, is pretty small and I've been blessed with a large family. Things are pretty crowded, but I love my family, so I try to take it in stride. My in-laws moved in with us recently and now we are bursting at the seams. I never have a moment to myself. We yell and curse one another from morning to night. I'm about to lose my mind. I love my wife, but I don't think I can take her parents living with us much longer. Rabbi, what should I do?"

Raft-Up: Are We Sailors or Travelers?

It's Raft-Up time!

We are part of a group of cruisers/bloggers who coordinate each month to write on a common subject.  Same topic, but different perspectives: it's pretty interesting!  Ean wrote our first Raft-Up article, about hobbies.  

The topic this month: Do we live on a boat because we want to SAIL or because we want to TRAVEL?

Of course, I could just say "BOTH" and let it go at that.  But this is, for most cruisers, one of those fuzzy "spectrum" questions that requires explanations and qualifications.  It becomes especially interesting if crewmates find themselves at different places on the sailor-traveler spectrum. 

You might guess, by this picture, which end of the spectrum I favor. 
South of Andros, entering the Tongue of the Ocean at dawn

any HOBBIES anywhere?

Yup, there's an
app for this.

Impellers need to be changed periodically, as do fuel and oil filters.  Winches need lubricating, raw water strainers need to be cleaned.  Every sheet and line needs to be inspected for chafe; every exposed wire and hose for wear.  Routes need to be planned, weather monitored, safety equipment checked and rechecked.  There are the usual chores that everyone has to do:  grocery shopping (a.k.a. "provisioning"), cleaning, laundry, bills, blah, blah, and blah.  (Insert whole additional section here if you have kids.) It is also statistically true that, be they major or minor, on a boat three things will break every day.  And since sailing/cruising is brand new to both of us there is the incredibly steep learning curve inherent in adopting a very different way of life in a very short space of time.  This pleasure boating thing is the most demanding job I've ever had.  Jane says it's ONE of the most demanding jobs she's ever had: right up there with being a woman at the Naval Academy and being a principal in the Milwaukee Public Schools.  Yarrrrh, what's a pirate to do!?

A Slice of Life

Ean is fixing the port forward berth, which caved in when we loaded it up with 350 cans of cat food, two cases of booze, six mega jars of peanut butter, two mega jars of olives, one case of tuna, one case of Dove body wash, and various other “provisions” (and, oh yeah, Ean was on it, too).

This morning I have TWICE managed to knock over Ean’s FULL glass of iced tea.  MORE TEA EVERYWHERE!

What's in a Name?

Today, not unlike the last going on four weeks worth of days, we are in Marathon, FL waiting for our JOY to receive transplants of most of her "organs."  Marathon, as evidenced by its one road, the Overseas Highway which connects all the keys to the Florida mainland, is a drive-through town.  This is not only our opinion, but also that of the several residents I've surveyed.  Even they say that there's not a lot to do here for fun; for fun there's Key Largo and Key West.  Marathon's draw is its affordability.  Live here, play somewhere else.

our home and our home away from home

This begs the question of what we do here day after day while JOY remains barely inhabitable for the want of innards.  We got lucky with our slip assignment.  Jane asked for a spot as close to a wi-fi antenna as possible which also happened to be next to a spacious tiki hut.  Most of our days are spent here.  Jane orders things we need, keeps up with her facebook pals, writes posts to our blog and to Cruiser's Forum, and keeps track of things political--all with her iPad.  I mainly work on our website.  One day we moved our pc, our mac, our printer, our scanner, and our new portable refrigerator out there and got a lot of "officey" things done.  Well, Jane did.  I mainly worked on our website.  We affirm our love for that tiki hut daily.

In Memoriam

I've been feeling a bit nostalgic, lately, for who I used to be.  Not like I want to go back and be that person again, mind you.  I don't miss her, exactly.  But, you know, I liked the old Jane.  I feel that some kind of memorial service is called for.  Here's a picture of Principal Jane.

Principal Jane, God bless her, was intent on Making A Contribution.    She was a serious gal, on a serious mission to Reform Urban Education.  What would you do if you were queen for a day?  Principal Jane would Improve Student Achievement and ensure that her fifth graders went on to decent middle schools, knowing how to read and write and think for themselves.  Principal Jane worked her ASS off to that end.  She got up early, worked late, and collapsed in front of the TV, totally drained, at the end of each day.

She was the opposite of light-hearted.  The weight of the world was on Principal Jane's shoulders, and she didn't know how to play.  She was passionate and impatient, bright and sharp.  Good ole' Principal Jane.

In a slightly different vein.  As I look at the picture, I recall fondly that Principal Jane was the kind of gal who:

   Bathed daily.
   Combed her blow-dried hair at least one or two times a day.
   Wouldn't be caught dead (much less alive) wearing barrettes.
   Paid $200 every eight weeks to get her hair cut and colored.  (Check out those highlights!)
   Put on make-up before she left the house - at least mascara and a little eyeliner and some lipstick.
   Wore different clothes every single day - mostly suits, with stockings and high heels.

Yep, them was the days, my friend.  Sailor Jane looks back and thinks, "Can I Make a Contribution, too?" and "Can play and JOY be part of the equation?"  And most importantly, "Should I take a shower today?"

Rest In Peace, Principal Jane.

Space Dreams

Jane smiling up through the hole
where our fridge, freezer and wine cooler used to be.

Once upon a time we had something resembling refrigeration.  It didn't work particularly well (read: beer chilled down to about 62 degrees).   Half of it opened from the top--the other half from the front--so if you wanted to see what you were reaching for from the part that opened from the front, you had to open the part that opened from the top so you could let daylight in, or else use a flashlight.  The freezer opened from the top as well, so between the two there was really no counter space.  At least unless you were the type of cook who could think of everything you needed ahead of time, which we aren't.

Eventually, the compressor seized altogether.  Then we had two dark, damp spaces that frightened the foods we put in it.  So we took them out of the dark, damp place and put them in a nice, bright, albeit cozy cooler.  And there they stayed nice and cold so long as we got them fresh ice everyday.

But we were sad. )c;