What the fuck, over?

Yes, it sure has been… and I’m feeling so very behind on all of it, blogging-wise. Several great tales to tell, some with bittersweet endings, and some, well, made inconsequential by subsequent events.
I ought to try and flesh these stories out a bit and get them written down, but seriously… The best parts deserve telling in person; if you’re the sort of person who I need to tell, you’ll hear it all eventually anyways. For now, the Cliff Notes:
Launched the boat. After 3 years of relentless complete refit work, living in the boatyard, on the hard, Centaurea hits the water. Then comes The Caper; never having sailed the boat at all, ever, I quit my job, round up a friend, and sail off soundings to the island of St. Croix. All the usual last-minute stocking/storing/staging/staggering about happens there, and with Slacks in the pocket, we head offshore for the Chesapeake. As many of you know by now: We Never Make It.
Heinously storm-damaged, jury-rigged, dis-masted, transmission seized, another nasty front on the way… picked up by container ship, landed on Bermuda… still haven’t found the grief that is supposed to come; maybe just too stunned, maybe in denial, or maybe just finally relieved to have all ties to James and that fucking boatyard finally finally all cut away.
So. Bermuda. A few days spent in recovery, Slacks sent home, then jetting off to Troll Farm in PA to check out the new digs: some good, some better than good, some mostly overwhelming, but more on that later.
Back to St. Croix to pick up the next boat… and an 8-day float-plan turns into an 18-day trip north, stopping in every scabby Bahamian port along the way to beg entry and fuel. The whole trip graced by either no wind at all, or rippin’ T-storms; I feel like a lightning magnet once again, and sustained 40-knot winds offshore now feel “normal” (amazing what you can get used to, eh?).
Bermuda dollars in the billfold. Wavy-edged Bahamian coins in the pocket. Back here on the farm, but not for too long; heading down south sooner than later to Charleston to grab the boss’s boat and keep hopping north.

And today? Today I keep phoning on the phone, arranging HVAC contractors to get AC in my new house. Oh yeah, I have a new place to live… a ways from the sea. Not giving up on sailing, oh no, but seeing that I have an opportunity to allow something other than boatsboats24/7boats in my life.
The new job, the new digs? Almost too much to express; I still wrinkle my brow at every possible explanation, at every query of, “What do you do?” or, “Where do you live?”. I’ll try to tackle these again, anon, another post.

I’m back up! Some fun glitches left ‘means of seeing’ off-line for a couple days, but all is once again well, fine, and dandy.
I hope you’ll all be delighted to hear that I’ve spent the last hour-and-a-bit updating my blog page, utilizing all the latest-and-greatest WordPressy goodness, struggling to make it all look and work pretty much exactly as it did before.
Hurray for progress!


Somehow, I’ve become the last able-bodied person at work. This must explain how I’ve become so harried and busy lately. Scott blew his back up, and after several specialist consultations and an MRI, he’s scheduled for some serious drugs, perhaps surgery, and definately a long break from work. Freddy had a stroke(!) a couple weeks back, and was hospitalized with a brain infection, and while he’s doing well enough now, he’s pretty much out of the picture. James’s knee goes out every other day, so now he’s been left hobbling around in his knee-brace.
With Freddy out, I’m running the crane (somewhere between really fun and really nerve-wracking), but I generally refuse to get myself involved in any sort of paint or varnishing other than my own, and that being Scott’s main job, we’ve had to cancel plenty of brightwork and bottom jobs.
Today my left arm and wrist has been giving me twinges… or maybe I’m just that much more aware now that I’m the only worker left working at work!

cheap and loud

Read review in a drumming mag a few years back. They were talking about the new Zildjian Z-series cymbals. The line that has always stuck in my head is:
“If loud is good and expensive is bad, these are the cymbals for you.”
Almost, but not quite just like saying, “These are cheap and noisy.” Ah, the spin.
One can’t help but wonder about this evening’s upcoming election results… spin, span, spun. My oh my!

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