Fathers' Day reflections

Erica & Adam aboard DejaVu III, ca. 1985

It is so awesome.  No, not as in the now-common parlance, but rather in its original meaning:  AWEsome. Being a father, that is.

You bring these small, completely helpless creatures into the world (well, OK, the mother does have a small part to play here, but this is Fathers' Day, after all).

And then they rapidly become *people*.  People with dreams and hurts.  People with skills and shortcomings.

As a parent, as a father, it is your job to smooth the way for them (not to do for them, because this steals from them the joy of achievement), to hold their hands and help them over the rough spots, and to guide them.  But the best guidance is not what you say, but rather what you do.  It is far better to model the behavior that you want your children to adopt than to simply demand it (although sometimes both are necessary, realizing up front that you are then modeling autocratic behavior).

But the most important thing about parenting is this:  Children inherently trust and love their parents.  Never, NEVER betray this trust; never take advantage of their love.

And yes, I do believe that there is a marine gene.

Fathers' Day reflections

Wait... $5/pound!?

Turns out Chuck was right - the tank indeed was monel (a copper-nickel alloy), and monel scrap is valuable - $5/lb in fact.  So the 50 lb that I took in to the scrappie was a nice little windfall (I'm sure it will get absorbed quickly in boat work of some kind).  Now I really regret that the first 15-20 lb of tank pieces made it to the dumpster before I took Chuck's advice and called around.

Ignorance is expensive.

Moving on (and trying not to think about the dumpster), the project itself is nearly done.  I have scraped and cleaned the walls of the compartment and painted them - the space is much more cheery now.  That said, it was easier said than done.  There is room for my svelte body down there, just.  But hardly room to swing a paintbrush.  And of course, I couldn't do the floor while I was squatting on it, so that had to be done lying on the cabin sole, working at fully extended arm's length, brush grasped with fingertips. 

Remaining to be done:

• Make and paint a floor board for the exposed opening in front of the generator
• tie off those hoses and cables.  Now that the tank is gone, you can see them.  They've always been there, loose like that, but hidden beside the tank.  I am uncomfortable with leaving things like that tho - I guess you could say that it offends me, in some nautical, shipshape way.

That won't be enough to make a blog post about, so please go ahead and assume that it's done.

I'll never tell.

And don't think about the dumpster.

Wait... $5/pound!?

Life storms

Recently found on a piece of paper that had been crumpled up and then flattened out again, Jane wrote this not long after 9/11:

Rain pelts the deck of the boat with fury.  I lose my footing as gusts of wind force the ketch to roam the slip without consent.  Listening to the barrage, the rain becomes heavy on my shoulders and seeps into my conscience.

Why does this glorious essential plague me so?  Often its tip-toe sound lulls me into a blissful sleep.  But today the edge of gray-blue silver drops cut to an area of my thought that is vulnerable.

So much on my mind makes the visitor seem intusive.  Why now?  I am heavy with a need to make decisions, which seemingly made, won't have any impact on the course of events.  The visitor challenges my significance.

Maybe the challenge is not as first perceived.  As I ride the storm, the headlines of the paper on the settee ebb and I concentrate on the integrity of our ties, securing the spring line to comfort the craft.

The ketch no doubt would have suffered no real harm.  Yet now I realize my wet encounter found me decisive and directed.  I took no time to ponder the what-ifs or what-mights.

Lines cleated for life's storms.

Life storms

Chilly this morning

It's cool and kind of misty this morning over here in Port Madison. The eagles have been busy fishing, and now they are just taking turns in the nest - probably babysitting.

We had a spectacular sail over yesterday evening - a close reach in 15 knots apparent wind, right in Eolian's sweet spot. At times we exceeded 8 knots on almost flat water.

Sleeping at anchor is so peaceful.

Chilly this morning