Written on: July 4, 201
Happy Independence Day America! For half the crew, however, who are not American, it is just another day, except that now we have crossed the midpoint in the journey. We are now out in the middle of the Atlantic, about a thousand miles on either side of us of pure water, no land in sight. I don’t think it will get much colder than this. The ocean is still beautiful, the waves mesmerizing. Today we saw schools of yellow fin tuna following the ship, gracefully gliding with their blue fins and yellow tails and heads swaying in the water. We caught three and ate them for dinner, M and J cooked- perfect!
Yes, the sea is still magical, a mysterious force, completely fickle, going totally flat with no wind for days then suddenly picking up to Force 5 or so, swells as tall as the “beam” on the ship, at least ten feet. Every moment is new and we can take nothing for granted, especially our safety out here. This is like human relationships.
With the sea and with people, change is the only constant.
=== ==== ==== ===
Written on: July 3, 2010
At sea, there is something called the doldrums. This is when the wind just stops and you are suddenly at a standstill. There is no breeze to push you along and little current. You just sit there and bob and drift quite aimlessly, maybe going one or two knots in the right direction, preferably not in the wrong direction. Today, I feel like I am in my own personal doldrums. Everything is blah and grey. It is cold out, like we all knew it would be. Inside it is chilly too. It is an inside day, a drink-tea-all-day day. I have slept a lot today. Folks sleep a lot on the ship. I guess, with our crazy schedules, you just get it when you can. I love my shift, but sometimes- especially when I go to bed late- getting up at 3:30 am every day makes me think of nothing but sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep. I nap often now. I take little catnaps in the AM and sometimes in the afternoon, or Rio and I watch a movie before my shift (his is 8-12), holed up in our little bunk with the lights out and our headphones on. In one hour, I am on duty. Sometimes I am feeling lazy and am hoping that we are hove-to, so I don’t have to helm or read the wind. Right now, however, I am anxious to move again and I hope that I can jump on the helm. I am not afraid of that anymore.
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Written on: July 2, 2010
For Michael Love
Today is the second of July. My dear friend Michael Love of New Orleans, LA is gone, passed away sometime over the last few days. Got an email from his daughter after getting the intuition to email her about his status. She wrote back a beautiful play-by-play of what was going on, that he had slipped into a comatose state, peacefully sleeping, and that that he may not last the night. Now, the next day, standing with my headphones on on the bow of the ship, again swaying in tai chi form to the swells of the sea and Duckie (the RVH) bobbing with them, I feel my friend in the wind, in the surf, in the water, in the clouds. We had talking about the ship the last time I saw him in San Diego about a month ago. I showed him pictures and he said that he felt as if he was right there, taking the journey with me. He said he was ready for an ocean-going adventure. Now I listen to Buckwheat Zydeco – Crying in the Street- and I feel as if he is right here with me. Michael Love, artist, writer, visionary, romantic, partner to Aysha Love, musician, father, brother, grandfather, friend. Michael Love, this song is for you. You are forever in my heart. XO.
Happy Independence Day America! For half the crew, however, who are not American, it is just another day, except that now we have crossed the midpoint in the journey. We are now out in the middle of the Atlantic, about a thousand miles on either side of us of pure water, no land in sight. I don’t think it will get much colder than this. The ocean is still beautiful, the waves mesmerizing. Today we saw schools of yellow fin tuna following the ship, gracefully gliding with their blue fins and yellow tails and heads swaying in the water. We caught three and ate them for dinner, M and J cooked- perfect!
Yes, the sea is still magical, a mysterious force, completely fickle, going totally flat with no wind for days then suddenly picking up to Force 5 or so, swells as tall as the “beam” on the ship, at least ten feet. Every moment is new and we can take nothing for granted, especially our safety out here. This is like human relationships.
With the sea and with people, change is the only constant.
=== ==== ==== ===
Written on: July 3, 2010
At sea, there is something called the doldrums. This is when the wind just stops and you are suddenly at a standstill. There is no breeze to push you along and little current. You just sit there and bob and drift quite aimlessly, maybe going one or two knots in the right direction, preferably not in the wrong direction. Today, I feel like I am in my own personal doldrums. Everything is blah and grey. It is cold out, like we all knew it would be. Inside it is chilly too. It is an inside day, a drink-tea-all-day day. I have slept a lot today. Folks sleep a lot on the ship. I guess, with our crazy schedules, you just get it when you can. I love my shift, but sometimes- especially when I go to bed late- getting up at 3:30 am every day makes me think of nothing but sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep. I nap often now. I take little catnaps in the AM and sometimes in the afternoon, or Rio and I watch a movie before my shift (his is 8-12), holed up in our little bunk with the lights out and our headphones on. In one hour, I am on duty. Sometimes I am feeling lazy and am hoping that we are hove-to, so I don’t have to helm or read the wind. Right now, however, I am anxious to move again and I hope that I can jump on the helm. I am not afraid of that anymore.
--- --- -- --
Written on: July 2, 2010
For Michael Love
Today is the second of July. My dear friend Michael Love of New Orleans, LA is gone, passed away sometime over the last few days. Got an email from his daughter after getting the intuition to email her about his status. She wrote back a beautiful play-by-play of what was going on, that he had slipped into a comatose state, peacefully sleeping, and that that he may not last the night. Now, the next day, standing with my headphones on on the bow of the ship, again swaying in tai chi form to the swells of the sea and Duckie (the RVH) bobbing with them, I feel my friend in the wind, in the surf, in the water, in the clouds. We had talking about the ship the last time I saw him in San Diego about a month ago. I showed him pictures and he said that he felt as if he was right there, taking the journey with me. He said he was ready for an ocean-going adventure. Now I listen to Buckwheat Zydeco – Crying in the Street- and I feel as if he is right here with me. Michael Love, artist, writer, visionary, romantic, partner to Aysha Love, musician, father, brother, grandfather, friend. Michael Love, this song is for you. You are forever in my heart. XO.
posted by Nikki Lyn Pugh | 11:08 AM
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