I took the angel, but didn't mean to...

I didn't realize that I took the angel.

When we broke up in May, part of the two full carloads of things I packed to take from his house was a box of what I thought were just my Christmas ornaments. Most of the ornaments I have were given to me by my sister over the years and have sentimental value, so I wanted to be sure I didn't lose them. A few others I bought in my single years at the local drugstore when I was first living on my own all those many years ago in Florida. Another one or two, I bought when he and I were together in Leavenworth or elsewhere--moose or bear things that reflected our shared joy of the outdoors.

I was in such a pained and traumatized emotional state that day when I packed all of my things, that I didn't do any more than quickly lift the lid of a single box, see that the plastic poinsettia flowers I'd bought at Michael's were in there, and called it good.

Today that one box has been calling to me from the closet. Calling like Poe's Telltale Heart.

I knew (from an email from him) that he and the kids and his parents decorated the tree on Wednesday or Thursday last week. It saddened me greatly to not be there for it.

This morning I woke up to the painful memory of having bought a set of four little ornaments a few years ago in Leavenworth for us and with great love. Each ornament was inscribed with one of our names. I was especially pleased with the purchase because his oldest daughter has a somewhat unusual name and stated often that personalized items were never made with her name on them. But I had found a set of matching ornaments for the four of us! A family, or so I thought in my heart--represented by those matching ornaments.

I also woke this morning tormented with the memory of the set box from Costco that his youngest daughter gave me as a gift now three Christmases ago, I think it was. It was a set of four picture frame ornaments, very pretty, in the shape of snowflakes. I worked hard to select pictures, cut them to size, and fit them into the frames. I think I only managed to get three of us framed, though I can't remember which one of us was still yet to be done.

I awoke this morning to the painful thought that both of those special ornament sets were probably still at his house. That they and he would have likely encountered them as they decorated the tree last week. As I lay there in bed in my pain, I imagined him coming across the little ornament with my name on it--and throwing it in the trash. :( I hate to think of what happened to the photo frame ornaments. They were such a special gift from his younger daughter. At the time I don't think I was able to express enough to her what a thoughtful gift they were. I remember that at the time I was in a state of being overwhelmed at trying to fit in as a stepmother. All the responsibility. All the emotion. All the challenges. All the grieving and coming to terms with other dreams lost. All the uncertainty. All the still-present loneliness. The child did a sweet thing to try to please me and I think that I failed to reassure her of just how much she had.

I often failed, these last 4-1/2 years. Not that I didn't try. I surely did. Tried very very hard. But also failed frequently. It's painful to acknowledge that. Maybe more so because my partner so often seemed to focus on my failures... instead of on my successes... or even just on my trying. :( So, in that way he failed, too. WE failed. We failed his kids. And we failed each other.

So, back to the angel. I remember the day when he and I bought it together. I remember each of the maybe two, maybe three?, Christmases after that that we put the angel up atop their usually extremely tall tree in the living room. It required a tall ladder to get her up there. And usually a restringing of part or all of the tree lights so that the light plugs were going in the right direction.

She's fairly simple, but amazingly pretty somehow for being from K-Mart. She fit us well, he and I and the girls, her little gold beaded strands decorating her red dress so that she looked sophisticated and even elegant... but she was from K-Mart so she was budget and realistic, which matched our shared values.

I didn't realize that I took her. I didn't mean to take her. At least, I didn't think I did. Though maybe part of me did, knowing at that time last year that we were already pretty deep in crisis, and that if we didn't make it, if we couldn't figure out how to work out our difficulties, he would move on quickly, and me not wanting that special part of our relationship to be transferred on to some new woman. She (the angel) and the emotion behind her -- when we bought her together, and each time we four put her atop the tree -- was that special to me, that I didn't want it easily transferred over to someone else. It was our special thing. Our angel. Our star of hope atop our attempt-to-merge-as-a-stepfamily tree.

But, these months later--and all that transpired between us in the meantime--I didn't realize that I'd taken her. Not until just now tonight when I finally gave in to the calling of the Telltale Heart and pulled the box down from the closet. I found her quickly and to my chagrin... under all those fake pointsettia flowers.

Here she is, a picture from two Christmases ago, a picture that I used as part of a special book I spent hours to make up and to have printed as a tribute to our memories thus far of us as a family.

I can only now imagine how it felt, for the three of them, to not find her in amongst the remaining boxes of Christmas decorations. :( It was probably painful to them, but I didn't mean for it to be. :(

Holiday tradition made bittersweet

One of my most favorite things about my little apartment is the ever-so-slight view I have of Lake Washington. That view has brought me much serenity these last many years.

My favorite thing this time of year about my proximity to the lake is that every year I get treated to the Lighted Boat Parade put on by Argosy Cruises.

It's the "Christmas Ship Festival," in which a flotilla of vessels, large and small, deck out in colorful lights and sail around to various spots in the region. On board the main boat is always a choir and an unbelievable sound system capable of projecting the music easily a mile or two in all directions.

Most years I don't look at the schedule to see when the boats will come to the waterfront park near where I live. I just look forward to the surprise, never knowing exactly which night it will come.

It never fails to rouse me, no matter what I'm doing inside my little apartment home. Always on some evening nearing Christmas, I suddenly hear an ethereal sound as though heavenly angels are descending into my front yard. My upstairs neighbors and I then run outside to watch and listen to the 20-minute performance.

"Silent Night," then "JOY TO THE WORLD" they sing. "HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!" is always the last chorus to rise as the boats begin to pull away at the end.

It's been my favorite, private little Christmas tradition for many years.

It's an event that I'd always hoped to share within my most special relationship. But these last four Christmas seasons, he was always far away and I was alone, or else we were out doing something else. I started trying to plan our holiday activities so at least I wouldn't have to miss the night myself. Like I said, it's my one special personal holiday tradition.

Two years ago, we actually managed to make a special family event out of it. He and the girls and I bundled into the car and drove to the Ballard Locks on a night when the boats would be passing through.

It was so festive to be there with all of the other onlookers.

Then we dashed to the car and drove madly to Golden Gardens Park, the final destination for the boats that particular evening.

The four of us trounced through the sand together, his youngest daughter and I taking off our shoes so we could feel the sand between our toes, nevermind how chilly it was that night. I remember she happily offered me her hand, as my other hand held his, and we walked chummily toward the water's edge together. My heart felt warm and happy and hopeful.

There was a HUGE bonfire on the beach, something I would expect to see at a "Burning Man" festival or something. I took pictures, with my little handheld digital, of the boats out in the water. It seemed like the evening even had a nice impact on his oldest daughter, who was at that time still pretty resistant to anything so-called "family time" that involved me.

It was such a special evening.

Tonight when the boats came, when I heard the angelic singing descending to embrace my home, I stuck my feet in some shoes and went outside... but I couldn't stay out there, couldn't watch for long. My special tradition has now become bittersweet, changed and colored by loss.

In remembrance, though, here are some of the pictures I took on that beautiful evening two years ago. I hope some day maybe it will hurt less. Maybe I'll go back to Golden Gardens to watch again and enjoy the bonfire and festivity. Maybe I'll even be able some day to print one of these pictures and hang it on my photo wall as I originally intended.

Not yet, though. :(

Maybe my life is The Truman Show?

Okay, honestly I've never actually even seen the movie (I'm really not much of a Jim Carrey fan), but the general concept (at least as I understand it) is nevertheless interesting.

Sometimes I like to wonder -- hope? -- that my life is being somehow orchestrated--toward a positive outcome--outside of myself or my pervue.

So, for example, I see my counselor today and she speaks about present, past, future, and somehow in it all I suspect (hopefully) an allusion that maybe my sadly horribly painfuly dead relationship isn't actually fully dead and gone. That maybe she knows something I don't know, something outside my available context.

That somehow maybe she and God or my "Higher Power" are working in collusion. Working with and on and through my dear now-former partner, that they will bring him live and in person on stage to declare that it was all just a terrible joke. "Punked." Or tested to see how I would cope or react. (Which would be "Not well, tyvm." :p )

That somehow a rabbit will be pulled out of a magic hat at the end of the show and then we'll all get to live happily ever after.

Heck, I honestly never expected nor necessarily even wanted an idyllic "happily ever after." I've been so willing and commited to the "hard work" of relationship! I just wanted a fair and honest chance at that.

I feel like I've been thwarted at every turn.

So here I sit, wanting to hope that somehow someone is orchestrating it all. That a miracle of magic or God will be pulled off at the very end.

That somehow the story will get to wrap up tidily and in an emotionally safe and happy way for all parties involved. :p

I want to believe that it's all just been a big cosmic test by an enormously benevolent Tester and that really everything the last five years has been orchestrated for our eventual good and happiness. :p

That Cinderella (for I've definitely had the "step" family experience she lived through, not the blissful peaceful sleep of Snow White) and Prince Charming will come together and find forever joy and relational bliss. That Romeo and Juliet will both have only swallowed a few sleeping pills and will wake refreshed in the morning to experience together the glorious breaking of a new dawn.

Reinventing life - again

This has been the year from hell. The year of Big Loss. Losses tantamount for me to the death of a child and the divorce from a (still beloved) spouse.

Dark, dark days, inside and out. At least outside, we know the Winter Solstice will come -- ten days and counting -- and then the days will start to grow gradually longer, brighter. The future for the inside is much less certain. Right now it feels as though the long, bitter freeze of winter will never end.

It's been suggested to me by a caring friend or two that maybe I should consider moving. Restart my life somewhere different, away from the shared spaces, all the memories.

But I've already reinvented my life that way. Twice. I simply Do Not have the strength to do that again. Plus, I love living in the Pacific Northwest. I can't think of anywhere else I would rather live (aforementioned dark days not withstanding).

But, move or not, I find myself at another crossroads in life. Another time of being forced to take stock, shore up my meagre mental and emotional resources, and figure out how to start over. Again.

I so don't want to be starting over. I thought I saw my life ahead of me, thought I knew which direction it was going, thought it would be a good direction eventually. I touched the dream, tasted the potential for sweetness, joy, shared life with a shared love and dreams.

But now all of that is gone, and I have to start over. But I'm older and more tired this time.

I don't know how to begin reinventing myself or my life this time.

The practice of acceptance

Here are some good words to live by. I'm quoting them from a book I'm reading just now, a book that is providing no small insight about what I've been attempting to deal with the last four and a half years. These are some positive, helpful words in the midst of a lot of hard truths about trying to live in relationship with someone who, it seems, maybe has tendencies toward borderline personality disorder.

I can say that here safely because he has already moved on to a new relationship (yes, already!) and is completely disinterested in me, what I might do or write or think or have observed or (shocking!) even maybe "know" after four and a half years of shared intimacy with him. No one in his life ever was or has been closer. Of that, I'm sure.

Thus, also, sadly, no one else anywhere around us had any idea the Jekyll/Hyde effect I was dealing with. "High-functioning invisible," that's how the book I'm reading (by an expert on the subject) has defined it.

I am still in the throes of the excrutiating-ness of the sadness, loss, grief. I had so much hope and so many dreams for us. Now I have a sleeping bag made for one, instead of one half of a pair that would zip up together with his for everlasting camping harmony. :( Just one small, sad, painful detail of so many.

And so, as I thrash about in the emotional and psychic realm in which I'm now left to occupy my time... as I fill up already in less than two months time more than half of a paper journal that it ordinarly takes me over a year to fill... as I sift gradually yet voraciously through the stack of nearly 30 or more books that now crowd his side of the bed... as I sleep fitfully each night next to them instead of (fitfully) next to him... as I drive about the Northwest, going about my day from Seattle to Mt. Vernon and back, sitting stunned at my steering wheel with some version of PTSD... I attempt to internalize small simple helpful things such as this, let them be the salvation of my sanity:

Practice Acceptance

When you practice acceptance:

--You acknowledge that things are the way they are at this very moment and that some things are beyond your control. You didn't cause this, you can't control it, and you can't cure it.

--You live in the present, not the past nor future. You don't dwell on negative aspects of the past and try to assess blame.

--There's no place to go but up. Without acceptance, when you look around, all you see is what you don't have. After you've accepted the worst, you will see how much you actually have.

If only I can manage to hold these words close and internalize them. It can be so hard, during hard times. These are hard times, to be sure.

Neglected too long

No promises, but I do need to get back to working on this blog.

I'm sure I'm not the first person ever to start one and then let it fizzle. But the name of my blog is compelling to me.

My attempts at making a new start in this "second half" of life, at now newly age 41, have been... well... a little fitful. Less sporadic than this blog, but still a bit tenuous.

Rather like being in the passenger seat with a driver brand-new at the helm of a stickshift transmission. Make sure that both the lap and shoulder belts are fastened! And someone should warn you of the potential for whiplash injury.

I find myself at a place in life where I'm walking away - not so much by choice as by a feeling of necessity - from something that, at the same time, I so desperately don't want to lose or leave.

It's amazing how much one can still vacillate, even after the decision has been made, the steps taken.

Back to the car analogy, it's like abruptly taking a fork in the road at the last possible second. And then reconsidering the move for the next how many lonely miles down the road...

So here I am. It's a tenuous one day at a time, literally.

I've been... not exactly keeping myself busy... but trying not to just lay down and quit, either.

I got my first SLR camera late in the summer, so I've been learning to use it and taking lots of pictures. It's something I really love to do. I'm grateful to have made a couple of friends recently who also like to do photography, so getting out with them for photo walks is helping to keep the life energy moving.

Here are just a few of the many images I've recently taken:

The beauty of beets

Summer in the Pacific Northwest provides bounty in many ways, even when the sunshine is sometimes less than consistent. Outdoor activities are plentiful: sailing, hiking, photography, evening concerts at local community parks, plus pleasures such as grilling dinner fare of fresh vegetables from the nearby outdoor markets. It can be challenging to figure out how to fit onto the calendar everything that one would like to do, enjoy, experience!

Perhaps I offer all of this by way of explaining why I haven't blogged in a while? :) (I have a backlog of a few posts that I still hope to get to.)

The Northwest is also a region of many gardening enthusiasts, me included. I don't have room for more than a few potted plants outside my front door. This summer I've thoroughly enjoyed my Tiger Lillies (or "Lilies," depending on your preferred spelling), a pretty blue Delphenium, and lovely purple Salvia, plus my forever faithful friend -- Lavender! Last year my upstairs neighbor filled a few spaces in the yard with multiple Lavender plants, so that we now have at least three varieties. Oh the happiness in that! I adore the huge slow black bumblebees that lazily zzzzttt around on the blossoms, collecting pollen until they can barely keep themselves airborne. Love in velvety black, with wings!

Meanwhile, Larry has been enthusiastically adding more raised beds to the small vegetable garden area we started a couple of years ago. Now there is a fairly expansive and impressive true-business (that's an ASL phrase :) garden!

Among other things, he has some enormous cabbage.



And the beets were plentiful and obscenely large this year!

Last year we ate beets fresh from the garden through the summer, and then did a harvest and canning project on September 1st. Here are a few pictures from last year's process.







We ended up with 6 quarts last year. That did seem a bit underwhelming--I remember the feeling from when I took this picture--after all the work that was involved. Still, they were pretty, and we enjoyed having beets available long after we couldn't get them out of the garden anymore.



This year, I dunno what happened, but the beets grew like wild. Larry had about three rows in one garden bed and another two rows in another bed. Those in the second bed were actually the plants he pulled out when he thinned the beets that initially came up in the first bed. He decided to go ahead and replant the pulled starts to use up the available space around the garlic. They thrived! Good strategy to remember for next year.

So, we harvested a LOT of beets this year. We did a rough weigh-in, with Larry standing on the bathroom scale first by himself, and then alternately holding the box of cleaned beets and then the box of greens. By our calculations, we had roughly 31 pounds of beets and 16 pounds of greens!

I hope that you're enjoying--or at least patiently tolerating--the number of pictures I'm including in this post. :) Clearly I've decided that beets are not only tasty, but also photogenic and even rather beautiful!







Harvesting, cleaning, separating, boiling to blanch, removing the skins from, and slicing up all those beets took several (many) hours. And it was a rather messy process! Jokes about crime scene investigation can hardly be avoided.







Larry and I working as a team are like a well-oiled machine. I'm convinved that we could win any reality television show we might enter together. Bring on The Amazing Race or some kooky Dr. Phil marital challenge. :) The only trouble would be that we work together so well that we don't even bicker or usually even get in each other's way, and that would make for really boring television so we would probably only last for an episode or two. :)

Anyway, the whole beet canning process went really smoothly, despite two jars that broke during the process of boiling the filled jars. Common collateral damage during the canning process, according to Larry.

When we were done, we had a total of about 19 quarts (mostly in quart jars, along with several 1-1/2 pint jars). Compared to only 6 quart jars last year! No wonder the whole process felt a lot more tiring this year. So much so that I left Larry's to drive home without even taking a picture of the finished product, the successfully canned jars lined up in pretty rows together! Larry took some pictures for me and I'll try to remember to add one here when I get them from him.

Here's my best photographic attempt at capturing a perspective on just how large some of the beets were this year! Larry hand-weighed one of the biggest ones and guessed it to be just under 2 pounds. And then later confessed that he was guessing pretty conservatively. This picture makes me think of blowing up a surgical glove to inflate it like a goofy balloon. :)



So, here I am at the end of this post, having found that there was actually a LOT more to say about beets than I expected!

Here's a final picture. Pardon if it seems irreverant. Unintentional when I took the picture. :) Beets are beautiful, even when they maybe look like weird googly eyes or something else, whatever your eye might see. :)

A new perspective on the Seattle skyline

I'm still figuring out this blogging thing. Next on my list to tackle and conquer is how to attach photos individually with specific posts. I want to keep the photos that run down the side of my blog, but want to be able to add more photos, too.

That will have to wait for another day, though. Which means you'll have to wait to experience the amazing views I enjoyed today of the Downtown Seattle skyline. W-O-W, what a beautiful city I'm privileged to live near!

Today's sail was a new experience in several ways. New skipper (and his wife). New boat. New marina. Much bigger boat - big enough to cause most any sailor a feeling of boat envy. 42 feet! Two could live aboard quite comfortably... and only bump into each other every fifteen minutes or so instead of every other second. :P

Alan and Wendy were great hosts, very pleasant, welcoming, and sociable. They met through sailing and have been together for the closer side of ten years. I wonder if sailing is the only thing that brought and keeps them together, or do they have other compatibilities? They were good people. I would happily sail with them again.



Eight of us on board, though, is surely a different dynamic compared to just three. More than one conversation was generally happening at the same time, and thus I was forever trying to figure out which one to listen to or participate in. It's less intimate, to be sure. I do think I prefer a smaller group, especially with people I've connected with. But branching out and meeting new folks and getting new experiences is a great thing, too!

We sailed out of Shilshole Marina, which is near a much-beloved part of the Puget Sound region called Ballard. And also attached by proximity to the wonderful Golden Gardens Park. I have fond and varied memories of Golden Gardens Park. I've attended two weddings held in the Bathhouse there on the beach. Very simple affairs, while being the most beautiful weddings I've been privileged to witness. I've also attended an awkward 'singles' volleyball barbecue on that beach one time, several years ago. And also have stood on that same beach in the cold on a December evening near a bonfire reminiscent (to me) of "Burning Man" (not that I've ever been) and watched the lighted boats come in to the bay for the Lighted Boat Parade, complete with Christmas carols over loudspeaker. Golden Gardens holds a special fondness for me.

Anyway, a great thing about going out of Shilshole is that we were way close to another marina, Elliot Bay, which is just North of Downtown Seattle. We sailed down into the waters just off Downtown. That was waaaay cool! There were ferries coming and going. Giant cruise ships docked and, eventually, leaving port while we were out in shared waters with them. Incredible views of Downtown, plus (of course) the Space Needle, as well as other boats out sailing with us.






Bigger boat means bigger sails means faster sail speeds! We reached 7.5 knots, our top speed of the day as far as I know. That was while we were heading downwind, which means we didn't feel the wind speed near so much as when we were running into the wind. Heading upwind, while I was at the helm (the wheel on this boat was giNORmous, by the way!), I had to put on two extra layers of clothing in order to keep warm against the amount of wind I was feeling.

My top inspirational "OH MY GOSH I'M SAILING" moment today came when we were sailing off of Downtown Seattle and a large ferry passed us astern and I could see all the individual people standing at the back of the ferry looking down on us. It was a liberating -- as well as somewhat smug -- feeling, similar to being in the carpool lane and breezing past long lines of stopped traffic in the regular lanes. One of those times when you want to call out, "So long, suckers!" or something like that. One of those times you've experienced in your life where you've gone, "I wish I was THEM!" and then you realize, "Oh wait, today I AM!" :)

Today I was ON that 42 foot sailing yacht, crewing and pulling lines and steering at the helm. No more "Wish I could." I'm doing it. I'm LIVING it!

I could get addicted to this

Evening air, it seems, is definitely better than Sunday morning air! And maybe my sailing mojo isn't so bad after all.

I sailed again two nights ago. It was a great evening!

The temperatures were record high that day, near 90. It was a blessed relief to arrive at the marina just before 6:00 and immediately feel the cooling breeze coming off of the water.

It was a full boat - five of us on board. We were: yours truly, the skipper (Dale), my sailing buddy (Donna), a guy ("P") who Donna and I sailed with once last month out of Shilshole Marina near Seattle, and a new guy ("R") who was a fellow member of our sailing class. It was a bit crowded, but we all worked together pretty well. Aside from the fact that P and R had a penchant for standing shoulder to shoulder in the cockpit facing the bow (that's the front of the boat :), completely blocking the view ahead. Ah, guys - it's hard to steer when I can't see where I'm going! Blind helmsman (woman) here driving the boat!

The winds were decent, though less than Dale expected. He'd put up the smaller "jib" instead of the larger "genoa" as the head sail (as opposed to the mail sail). Weather forecasts had led him to believe the winds would be stronger, so he wanted to reduce sail area to keep the boat more manageable - thus the smaller jib. But then the winds didn't end up being that strong, nor the water that rough. Still, we moved, which was pleasant and gratifying.

I'm still waiting for "exhilirating," which is how I suspect that I'll really love sailing. But moving - actual power under sail - was still really a good feeling.

Donna said it perfectly for both of us when she remarked that this night was the first time on the boat where she actually felt halfway competent. (Dale had noted that she looked more relaxed behind the wheel.) (His boat has a wheel instead of a tiller, by the way.) That's how I felt this time, too. Halfway competent. Or at least, not entirely incompetent, for once. We all took turns "tailing" and "wenching" - part of attending to and adjusting the sails as we changed the boat's direction and "tacked" back and forth through the wind.



There's an incredible amount of force running against the sails on a boat of this size (24 feet, if I remember correctly, or maybe it's 28?), far far more than I experienced 10 years or so ago when I sailed little wooden dingies out on Lake Union! I'm finding that I struggle to translate my muscle and wind memory, which I still retain from that time, to a much bigger vessel.

Dale is a patient host and sailing educator. He made sure that we each took a decent long turn at the helm. Steering the boat is challenging! The current, wake from other boats, not to mention the ever-changing and elusive wind on the sails. The rudder and any minor turn you make to the wheel makes far more of a change to the boat's direction than do minor corrections at the wheel of a car. Nevermind such intricacies as running downwind with the jib poofed out to one side of the boat and the main sail poofed out to the other side. I'm glad I wasn't at the helm to embarass myself trying to keep THAT going. (As it was, I started to get a little queasy during "P's" learning time at the helm in that situation.) There's a nautical name for running with the sails this way but I can't remember it right now. So many terms for nautical things...

It was nice to find the skipper trusting me a bit more with his boat on this trip. He had me take the helm first, and last, and once or twice more while we were out. On our return trip to the marina, he left me at the helm much longer than I expected, actually having me motor all the way down the river and into the marina itself. He only finally took over just before we arrived at his dock.

Dale keeps careful care of his boat, which is part of what makes it nice to sail with him. I've learned a lot of his routine for closing up the boat and putting it to bed, such as how to put all the canvas covers over the main sail, the helm, the dodger, and so on. On this particular night I also learned how to "swab the deck." Yes, seriously. :) Not with a mop, as you might imagine, but with a long-handled brush and a bucket of soapy water.

Overall it was a great evening. Deck swabbing notwithstanding, I think I could live this life...

Early Summer Sailing

I started taking sailing lessons through the Mountaineers in April. When I thought about how I wanted to change my life this year, and what I wanted in my life, sailing was the first thing that came to mind.

It's taken some effort of self-propulsion to actually do it. To sign up as a first-time Mountaineers member. To sign up for and commit to the sailing class. To attend all of the class sessions, even though I was going through some things at the time that made me rather just hide away in my apartment cave. Going to the classes, a large room full of many strangers, wasn't easy. But I kept at it, and ended up making a couple of potential new friends in the process.

I've actually been out on a boat four or five times so far! But to date I am beginning to wonder whether I have bad sailing mojo (or maybe just no sailing mojo). There hasn't been any wind! And no whale sightings, either, though the skipper I've sailed with the most, out of the Everett Marina, has reported seeing them numerous times in recent weeks.

Today's sail was a bit of a sit 'n spin. There was no air moving. But there was current, or tide, plus wake from passing powerboats. Several times we found ourselves in a boat that only wanted to turn in circles in one place. That was a new experience for me! The highlight of the trip today had to be the fourteen (yes, 14!) Bald Eagles we counted along the jetty as we left the marina.

We're going out again on Wednesday, in the evening. I'm hoping evening wind will be different from Sunday morning wind. I've only been out on a Wednesday evening once before, and it was very calm for the first part of the sail, but then a squall started chasing us and we got quite a bit of good air across the sails! That was exhilirating, if a little unnerving because it was my first time out as well as my new friend Donna's first time out.



The skipper was out on deck hoisting the sails with the wind buffeting him quite hard. If he'd gone overboard, no way would Donna and I have known what to do to get him back. Bye bye, Skipper. Poor Donna was at the helm, trying to keep the boat steady, and she kept asking me, "What do I DO?" I kept reassuring her that the skipper would tell her to do something differently if he wanted her to, that we just had to trust him. I sure hoped I was right. But I figured he probably wanted to go overboard a lot less even than we wanted him to. So, I trusted him. Wasn't so sure how wise he was to trust US, though. :P

The second time we sailed with him, I had to laugh. As we were prepping the boat to leave the marina to head out to open water, I caught the lyrics of a song he was playing on the boat's stereo system. A woman's voice was singing rather hauntingly, "I will go down with this ship." It's a beautiful song, by Dido, I later learned. But it was a rather disconcerting send-off song by which to set sail. :)