grating carrots

Wednesday? Day 3 of Trip 1. May 28, 2009

Down in the galley – people're playing Scrabble & Pig-Out (Andy Timo & JR) – I am glad to have my shoes off. We're tied to the dock in Castine. It's raining. I love driving the yawl boat – I love being here.

Today I put too much BQ & made eggy cake instead of quiche – at lunch, I burnt beans onto the pot – but b-fast spuds were great and lunch was saved by my mac & cheese. Dinner – forgot sugar in the carrot cake – but psgrs all went ashore and that gave me time to chillax & prep – could've been ready @ 5:30 but it was good. I went to #4 to lie facedown awhile & heard my name yelled & went back & got a round of applause. It was a good day but a bit like an emotional rollercoaster – ah, me; ah, life; the Maine Maritime Academy is big brick & rain falls hard steady & wet. We left some psgrs – somewhere – I was left alone on the boat, below, dealing w/lunch catastrophe – boiling macaroni – finishing oatmeal cookies – and I hit my head running and said fuck and cried, I cried . . . but I dried my eyes on my apron & kept going. I looked @ the white longboats @ the MMA yard – I don't think I could have done that Outward Bound thing I'd been hired for, bought a plane ticket for, & then decided not to do it! But I don't think I could've done it. I can do this, though. Jetty, Getty – Benton Schottenberg is trying to spell Jetty w/ a G @ Scrabble. The Pigs game is done – Tim won. I like Andy's hairy chest & slow Tennessee drawl. Shepard Fairy went to RISD, Timo tells me. Cool. Now it's all quiet. Am I making them uncomfortable? I dunno. I'm goin to bed.

Very, very late May 2009. about 4 p.m.

Last day – Day 5 – of 6-day trip.

Thursday? No – it must be Friday? I dunno.

Sitting port fwd, feet up on table, sore. Been movin' since 4 a.m. Wow – just after lunch I reconsidered this – can I – should I do this all summer? Can I, is the question. I'm learning a lot on this shake-down cruise. Full boat. Crazy. Now we have only 9 or 10 – and Deb & Ben, the newlyweds, left early, today, b/c Deb threw her back out. She used to play Scrabble in tournaments. I stayed up last night & played them. They are nerds. They use the scoreboard & dictionary & "ketchuppy" wasn't in there & they didn't want to argue about words though we did laugh at the juxtaposition of "ninja" & "sexy" (mine – 47 pts on a triple word – ha haa! the "s" ended "jitters.") – and "no bop noise" in the other corner. Anyway I do like it. Poor Schottenberg. Benton works so hard but he's such a fuckup. Nobody likes it when I get all bitchy w/him, including me, but – !!! I washed the sole myself, today, & felt a lot better not sliding around on grease. It's rainy. We're in Rockport. All the passengers except Doc are touring the ship yard. Doc is from the UP, Michigan, & he's so awesome. He remembers the lyrics to many, many songs – he's an old submariner w/a smile like an orange slice whose wife, Betty, supposedly doesn't know he comes here, & drinks till he's sleeping on the stool in the galley. Puts on his Finnish accent after 2 or 3. Sang me a sweater song and a fine rendition of "Heart of Solid Oak" – (the Prince George Hotel) last night. He's a kind of know-it-all in old Carhartt jeans w/suspenders and a green shirt buttoned all the way up and his Maine cap that matches the cap's. He's also a Lutheran minister or nearly so.

Same day

Post–festival of meat

Steak good – Italian & Cannonball. 

Cut off the fat.

God w/crushes I am an ass idiot.

Well oh well. How is Curt W. responding to my letters? He's probably in Reno boinking his gal.  

It's a kinda foggy gray-green kinda day here in Rockport. Evening. My hands are perma-dirty & my jeans – I have only 2 pair – are both foully filthy, chunks stuck to the knees holding little hairs to the blackness. In the morning the contact lens solution are very cold. I just now had just a taste of the cheesecake – I made 3 in pie pans – delectably perfect. We had like 20 steaks on the BBQ. 2 long racks of ribs. 20 chicken legs. 15 lobsters. And a huge bowl of pot salad. Why am I writing about food – but I feel gone – my body is here but my mind is off. People talk to me and I am wordless but nice, I'm nice. I try to respond; I am trying to be nice. No words. When I bake, I need to concentrate. The 2/3 C oil blond brownie was crap & made this awful hard unsweet pan so I had to do the panful over using my own recipe. And they're great. I'm very good @ this – if my messmate was on top of it, I'd probably have a helluvan easier time. As it is it'll be pretty easy.

A little later now. All's put away from dinner & I'm in the liferafts. Cap's playing guitar. He is really good. Of course I love all of them. "Whiskey Before Breakfast" an Irish folk song. Really beautiful. Doc's sitting right in front of him. Cap's on the rail by the BBQ. Timo's washing the deck. Andy's hanging a coil back aft. Psgrs are sitting on the cabin tops listening to Cap JR who's now talking about something. He went to Whitman. Corona box sits on the white cooler. Fine mist wets all the surfaces except the "Chenoble" as Benton calls it. 

He's talking about the Barnes family – Noah, & his son Ken – on the Stephen Taber & their bagpiping. Timo asked me what I laugh at, today. I laugh when cute boys're around, I should have said. Joke. I laugh 'cause I don't have anything funny to say & I'm hoping it'll make someone else say something funny. Nahhh. What evah. . . . 

I do like it here, allot. I feel like crying a little but I'm going to smile instead, even tho I have such deep hard sad pain and I wish, I wish, I wish.

OK, getting a little teary.

It's OK. I like the "Sailing on the Grace Bailey" song. I like Doc around. 

Well I've recovered.

Well anyway here we are anchored in this bay and as I was saying the job is so much all the time on my feet I barely have time for a thought to race by before it's back to flour, butter, sugar, hoping the fridge is packed better next time, wishin' and a-hopin' and a-thinkin' and a-dreamin'.

Timo made the laugh comment when I came up after, or during, b-fast. He & Andy had been singing "Idiot Wind." We threw around a few other songs' lyrics. He is very cute but 25. Andy's a playah & not my type. I hate concerts w/15,000 people. A big cormorant just flew by, low to gray green water. Timo's setting out kerosene lanterns. God I can't – Yes – I can! I am.

I'm wearing my Cons & lovin' em. This morning Mike from Boston who lives in NY now – thick, thick accent – wife Nancy's a music teacher who does Kazorchestras w/little kids – he said, "today's entertainment'll be watching ___ cooking in the galley," and I felt kind of self conscious because I had taken off my pink fleece and I was wearing under it only my ancient black bra, silk, and thin green tee and felt exposed as I whipped up brownies . . . it got better after I went & put on another more restrictive layer, a white shelf bra tank top over old blackie. Timo & Andy are now having a smoke back aft & cap's playing something a little more blues-ariffic.

Tomorrow: I dunno, muffins of some sort. Eggs & ham. Bread & butter. I don't care. A SHOWER.

I took one @ the Rockport YMCA the day before we left – walked in & the desk lady said are you on a boat & I said yes & I had said I just want to take a shower. They had a really cool climbing wall w/a really cool window showing it, by the stairs that led down to the locker rooms. A great shower. Tomorrow I'll be doing that again. My hand's getting tired but I don't want to stop. This is better than sitting in some coffee shop even tho I am a bit cold and.

I went down & peed & got camo tea & he stopped. Thats OK. I am going to go to bed soon. Benton has a bad habit of hanging around too close to me. He's a very good person, has a great attitude, & takes every piece of shit thrown at him gracefully, but he's also a slow, sloppy messmate, lacking in attention to detail and generally kind of slow on the uptake, but he's really super great, so I don't mean any harm.

It's really nice to marathon scribble, even though my ass is wet & the cabin top's hard. Now I'm on the stbd side of the liferafts looking across at the foggy trees, white buoys.

As we left Pulpit Harbor this morning I stood & watched a big rock – Pulpit Rock, I think – with seagulls & cormorants all over it. I always want the local authority to be watching me.

(Later now – in bed.)

. . . And not Benton to be watching me.

I played some Pig w/the boys. They get louder & have more fun after I go. I think Andy feels weird around me b/c of me. He doesn't know how to handle me & I feel the same – that is, I feel that feeling I feel when I feel like I'm not razorsharp wit. Nope. I'm really dull shy & introverted – at heart – I'm no trash-talker. I don't like it – I'm not at all competitive. I wish there was another gal on the crew. Ladies come & talk to me – the girl, Pierce, on board w/her dad, is a soph @ Wellesley, on the crew team, very cool girl really – they're from Sonoma, CA; her dad reminds me of a mellow Larry Wilson; anyway, she sort of looks at me sometimes; like she's trying to figure me out. 

Warm in bunk now feels so good.

I like camomile tea A LOT but it also makes me have to pee & then 5 min later pee again. I don't know what kind of muff/cake to make & we're out of pots for hash so what. Bread we have. OK. Bread is good to have.  The fridge is a wreck. The festival of meat was obscene. I like pigs b/c it reminds me of dice. I want a shower. I don't miss my friends but I love them. I don't miss Ryan. He had become kind of a suck on my soul. I am glad he's my friend but he's really neg – our laugh fests were usually at someone – anyway – we are rolling now at anchor & something is banging & my wall is squeaking – I don't want to think about the future much.

Just sleep. I think I'll read some Harry Potter awhile first. And hope to be able to stay in this cabin awhile. I need more pants. I like laughing. Singing. My poems will protect me. I miss Mr. Stevens. Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know. The sea commands me (Sr F. Drake.) or was it Conrad. Ah, me! Ah, life!

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Spotless Laundramat (sic) Camden, ME.

Time flies! I'm not as tired as I was last Sunday. This next week'll be on Grace Bailey w/Cap. Ray. Last week we had the Christofersens aboard : Art & Audrey, and Art Jr., John, Lois & Scott, plus grandson Joe – all very cool. It was a very good week. Colby Pup was great. I'm now sweating having to live/work w/Benton again – not a big deal, really. Just a week. I have to take out my contacts; have gotten back into the habit of leaving them in overnight. $240 in tips this week.

Last night – yesterday – after the boat, I went to Gilbert's & had a few w/ little bear, Andy, big bear, & Timo; I expressed disinclination to share sleep-space w/Benton & Andy looked very put-off & I wish I hadn't. I like A, & I want him to like me; my prudish, snobbish – social snobbery – my anti-Bentonness embarrasses me. It is the negativity scourge that makes it so easy – it is so destructive, though – to rant about him. Shitty. I should make nice. I will.

Anyway I went to the library; talked to Marty on the phone; bought some Salinger & Sartre @ the upstairs bookshop; then back to Gilbert's for a vegi burger.

Then I went w/ Timo & Lynn to Capt. Ray's for a BBQ. Rachel the bartender joined us. I sat in an Adirondack chair & drank 3 Coronas & smiled @ the red dog Kelly & the black dog Keno & that's about all I did. Left w/Timo & gals – also Joni – and picked up my Js @ my truck – got lotion on the ground – & as I squatted, squirting lotion out, thought here I go again, drunk & seeking pot . . . being a little too overanxious to please . . . but it did feel good to sit on the grassy hill & share my doobie around. Then I rolled down the hill & walked away alone down the beach. Rachel came to find me & I hauled her up on the stone wall w/ me. Later I went to Gilbert's & played pingpong. I won one & played w/ Captain Dan but he beat me bad & I got flusterated & tried to quit early & he so seriously said to me something like, when I play it off the table just keep going. It all seemed very significant, to play w/ the Captain; to be practicing communicating, in the dark loud bar, w/ serious fatigue & impairment . . . then I drew on a dollar bill awhile & went to bed in Merc #4. Today I got up & laid on the house top & read "Franny." Then went to the Boynton & McKay & bought a NY Times & a Mo Beta odwalla & a b-fast wrap – too potatoey.

Then home to Merc #4, where I laid in bed awhile & thought about JR . . .  and then I got up to go do laundry & here I am. I got my period today. I am going back to the boats now. Ryan called, it was good to talk to him. I miss him, now.

I hope to have fun this week. My concerns are few, really. It is exciting to be challenged . . . joyful to feed people. I like it.

June 8? 2009

Thursday night of 6-day trip #3.

Spinach lasagne & lemon bars in; gentle rock on Grace Bailey. I'm in cabin 15 w/ Bob D, Tangled Up. Red Buddha is next to the coffee. Big bruise on inside back of left high knee from climbing up from the yawl boat – the man-rope'd been wrapping up the hammock. Julie & Paul – the nurse & the guitarist; another nurse, Bonnie, an oncology nurse, here to be away from sick people. A super old, frail couple & their daughter & g-kids, Katie & Zack. Less singing than the Christofersen trip. We rafted up to the Heritage, the Nat Bowditch, the American Eagle, the Isaac Evans, on Monday. It was cool. I met the Eagle cook, Robin. Doug & Linda came to my galley. I stood & signed their book, on the end of the counter laden w/ my gorgeous Newfie bread & pound cake; I told them (Linda) I learned a lot from her; they nodded at me, mouths a little open, when I answered their question about what others I'd cooked on. Ray said how'd that go, & I said, I didn't really know what to say. What do you say, I said. Get outta my galley, he said. Funny.

A couple aboard, Vivian & Greg, are from Redondo Beach, CA; Greg was Demi Moore's sidekick on General Hospital in the 80's, or some other soap, I forget. Vivian's an agent & wants to start a shipboard cooking competition show. Greg knows Cliff Claven who wants to start a sailing channel. They're loaded.

Anyway, I bit the inside of my left cheek today eating ham & mustard on white sliced. Bean lunch day. There are 2 men on, twins, 50 or 60, Pete & Carl – Pete & Repeat. Large, kind; want to share their Kanadle recipe. Well. Got to pee.

Hoofbeats pounding in my head

at breakneck speed

& making me see stars . . . 

Idiot wind  . . .

June 13 I think. Sunday

I'm at Cappy's. The burn on my right forearm hurts; I'm glad I put a band aid on it, purchased today @ the Rockland Hannaford, along w/ burn cream, a mango, a large Naked berry juice, a bag (as yet unopened) of garlic pretzels, and 2 Snickers bars. This morning I walked to French & Brawn in my PJs for a coffee, croissant, Odwalla, & turkey sandwich. And a Boston Herald. Then I laid in bed all morning & read newspaper & napped. Ryan called around 11:30 – he's moving to Boise! Wow.

I had a shower @ the Y when I finially did get up. Rainy day. Shower felt good. My right forefinger's outboard edge is still really rough & dirty, one crack opening hurts. But I wasn't as tired when we came in yesterday. Rowing the Whitehall to the moorings w/Benton was really fun. I did well. I row well. Anyway – so yesterday's tips were $215. OK. I enjoyed a bttle of Geary's Pale Ale that had been left in the cooler; I went to F & B & bought a 6-pack, then to the library park where I enjoyed the Boston Globe & a beer lying w/my head on my paper bag. I got a lot of email from the Christofersens. Went to Gilbert's & had a PBR on the couch, reading more paper. When the boys came in I went to be w/them. Lost at pool to Colby. Beat Captain Dan @ ping pong. Then got creamed by Timo. Then Rachel & Joni took me for a car ride w/ a little glass pipe to Lake Megunticook. Swam, swam, swam, singing Dona Nobis Pacem. Now I feel very foolish. I am so weird. But grateful. Back @ the bar I was really drunk. I gave Andy a hug & said something like, you remind me of my dog. I developed sort of a crush on him this last week. He kept asking me about  Alcyone.  He wants to be a captain. My dual crushes are absurd. As if. I met Anna; the Merc had come in about an hour after we did. She's a small dynamo, a talker, talk talk, toe ring, clear dusky skin, bright brown eyes, chat chat, super enthused about how fun the boy scouts were. I was just tired & didn't really feel like chatting. I met Margy (Mar-gee), Dan's wife. She's nice & has impressive biceps – & a daughter, Perry. At one point me, Anna, Margy & Margot were all down in Mistress's galley. Kind of cool. It's small. Smaller than Alcyone for sure. Like a yacht.

Anyway so after my drunken stonedness I was Cut Off @ Gilbert's! Astonishing. I went back to Grace Bailey #15 & slept pantsless. Nice.

Well I also woke up around 3 am & called Frank. No answer! He called back at like 7. Well anyway – I went to a movie today after buying my bandaids (& talking to Frank on the phone in the store). "Angels & Demons" with Tom Hanks. Neat views of Rome; I was at the Pantheon – I loved the Pantheon. Well – I wonder what'll happen.

No worries. My arm'll heal.

I also went to Maine Sport & browsed a long, long time, and bought a Nalgene bottle. Thought abt one of the Swiss stainless-steel ones but went w/good old Nalg to save 15 bucks. Whatever. Just something. The Aquafina bottles taste funny too soon & when they hiss when I open them I get a little worried. It's all poison, anyway. 

I wish I had something really great to read. Maybe I'll invest $8 in a Carl Hiaasen.

Whatever. Tues. June 16, 2009

I'm not that ashamed – but I was annoying people by singing on Sat. @ Gilbert's, which is embarrassing. So I'm exuberant. Oh well. I have lotion on my hands & my band-aided burn presses the edge of the paper & those are the worst problems I have, so I am a fortunate gal. I'm @ Boynton McKay's in the hot window, just ordered a skillet #1, on Rico's suggestion.

Sat. : got drunk, swam in Megunticook w/Rachel (Joni drove); got cut off.

Sun. : read newspapers in bed; went to the movies; got band-aids in Rockland too. Finished the day @ Cappy's w/ 1 bluefin stout.

Mon. : laundry; wrote to Anne. Got notebook @ Reny's & started transcribing recipes. Got oil changed in Rockland @ VIP Discount Auto Care. Mailed letter to Anne & book (Harry Potter #4) + letter to Mike McFadden. Hiked up Maiden Cliff trail on Route 52 (by where we swam). Drove back to VIP for a new turn signal bulb. Went to Cuzzy's for a pizza & 2 Geary's Pale's, met Tess & Richard who owns Bayview Lobster restaurant. Walked over to Wayfarer to look @ big sailboat. Sumofin or something. Had a drink of Rico's rum. Went to bed & looked at books. Before Cuzzy's I went to a used & rare bookstore nearby called ABCD. As I browsed I overheard the owner saying she's sold all of her inventory to a store on Islesboro. 

I didn't like her but I bought 3 books: The Dictionary of American Slang (1950's) ($16) – short stories by Cheever, something about Apples ($12) and a Lucretius ($4).

I wanted to stock Merc's library so I did. Maybe I'm a chump. I don't care. 

How far this is from last summer. What'll happen next summer? Anyway – on to b-fast.

Well it's the same day but a lot later. June 16, 2009.

Beer-30; maybe 4:45.

Whatever. I spent $24 on books just now @ Stone Soup. A lot of male fiction.

I'm so lonely, I feel like the boys are all scared of me and I don't get to participate in all their fun. I dropped a bench on my right toes in the galley & it hurts. And my finger's perpetually dirty. And it's kind of chilly in here & my toes hurt.

Today I went to Boynton's & had a skillet b-fast, a NY Times, & coffee ($10). I finished transcribing recipes. Then I went & took a shower ($3). I'm embarrassed to go to Gilbert's. I shouldn't be. So I was singing songs to myself in the corner, so what. I miss my friends.

1 am, Wed., June 17, 2009.

In bunk. Woke from dream of flashbulbs popping as I added un-parboiled potatoes to pans of hashbrowns, . . .  laid here feeling a little bit like . . . there's nothing for my heart to leap up for, now; I'm sort of feeling old. Un-new. Mom & Dad are so old.

I called Anne after the above writing. She was in her studio breakin' stuff. I had the pear salad, then; then bread, brie, & beer; then some cold Gilbert pizza; Rachel said I'd walked thru the bar, arms out, singing America the Free. Oh, jeez . . .

I liked my salad @ the Waterfront yesterday. I liked rowing the peapod and hearing about the Sumofun (sp?) the big boat the bisected a Herreshoff 30 during a yacht race, sinking it, & then kept on going. I kind of like my dirty finger. I am curious abt the new psgrs, my evolving speed & relaxation, thinning out my clothes, seeing if I'll ever get time to read. Today I need to do the food order, return the trays, and pick up ice & wet stores. Maybe I'll turn on my computer, upload photos. Maybe I'll ask about my pay check, set up direct deposit. What's next? Maybe I need a story for anyone who asks, and for me.

I kind of want to work with books. I've bought so many, trying to recapture, define, understand or create my supposed knowledge or love of lit., maybe; maybe what I really wish I had was my homemade lyric study-guide collection, bound in orange & dark-green thread; I want to show off. I'm going to not bring my tight dark Levi's because I felt like a sausage in them yesterday. I'm enjoying "Carrie" by Stephen King. Maybe McMurtry will let me manage a store in El Salvador or part of Archer City.

Today is Thursday, June 19, 2009

God I had a shitter of a day. I feel OK now, but still like a loser, a fool . . . I am lying on a house top hoping JR will keep playing for 1 or 3 pages, but he won't. Whitaker doesn't love me, was the theme of my cry this afternoon. Couldn't sleep last night at all. Cabin 3 sucks for the noise. I just now helped furl the stays'l. We had a power bake this evening on Holbrook Island and it was pretty cool. And I guess I felt like the boys were all a bunch of boys who were laughing at their own jokes and it was like I (he stopped; now the weird NY guy will read Moby Dick.)

And I walked off up a grassy meadow hillside toward a giant spreading oak, and peed in brown leaves and I went to look at a cemetery – some of the gravestones were 1880's. I sat on a picnic table during some of our power bake; I was good; it was good. I was sad today to think that I can only excel for an authority; maybe, maybe not; I have to respect someone to work hard for them – yuck; this is why, or is linked, to my feeling that, I am not one of "those" people, those "winners" – people who are so accomplished, who do great things, and break boundaries.

Fate, human nature . . . more fate. Are they really breaking anything, or just fulfilling their destiny? Am I limited in what I can become by what my parents are?

Of course / of course not. I guess Stephen Pinker's book speaks to that. I will / should / want to read that, and I will.

I need to break more paradigms. I could be a captain, but maybe I haven't had enough confidence, or . . . I chose to go the academic route. I feel like my DA is such a weenie degree, & like I only learned what to say to say it, not to actually know it – I don't know anything. I feel like . . . I just might have to go back to get my PhD so I can really have one; but why? To not feel compelled / obliged to correct passengers who say I have a PhD? To be able to answer when they ask what my dissertation was on?

Maybe I'll start making up lies –

then I'll have to think of a dissertation topic & flesh out an argument – like about George Eliot or GM Hopkins – all I can think of is some sort of feminism or something – I could say something maybe about Marxism, Eliot's political arguments in Celia Brooke . . . nahh . . . too much bull shit.

The annnoying New York guy came up to me and said loud & belligerent-like, "are you writing a novel or keeping a journal?" – ugh, I am, "I'm just writing some stuff," I said, kind of rudely. His name is Aaron, he doesn't eat pork, he's here with his friend Frank. He's the kind of guy I avoid b/c he'll talk to me for an hour about his chowder recipe & go on & on . . . there's also a nice couple aboard from South Boston; the woman, Jane, told me her husband (Mike?) set this up for her last-minute for their anniversary, Monday. She has E.T. – a "tremens" disease; her hands shake; she can't use plastic silverware. Maybe I'll call Brier. Aaron is holding court; I hope I can't hear him in #4; Matt was kind enough to trade w/ me, so he's in #3, thank God. The amazing thing about those guys who blow so hard is that people listen to them, always . . . people  like over-talkers; is it like the way I do; so that I don't have to talk? Maybe.

So anyway yeah; Whitaker's letter yesterday came, while I was (finally) helping the boys w/ the deck pitch-melting and -scraping smooth. I read the part to Andy, who'd been talking about his old g.f. (bitch etc) – I read the line about "I don't share your feelings but you shd have someone to suit your youth, vitality etc.; he's all, I'm a cautious academic . . . yes, of course. It was a kind response, really; the best I could hope for, really. I just feel like, desperately fear, terribly, awful lonesomeness, like I'm too old, sad, etc., etc., I'll never not be alone, I'm always too old & alone, I'll always be, I'm only getting older, it's just all bad, I don't have what it takes – and worrying about it just makes it, makes me so much less attractive, frowning, being sad, just makes it, me all so much the more awfully ugly. I feel like I've just got nothing to add, so much of the time; if someone is there to motivate me, and basically tell me what to do, I do it, but otherwise, I have no direction, no volition. Ridiculous, stupid crushes have come to nothing since I turned 30, I guess; those are only attractive when you're in your 20's, I guess. In my 30's, it'll be better just to keep working on my old career, or something. Whatever; I wish I didn't care, or something. I want to be wanted; but I seem to depend on what & where I've been, not on what I am– ah, shut it; I worry about it too much; I need some camo tea.

June 20, 2009

Saturday

Pulpit Harbor

I'd write this to Roger but he wouldn't care, not really; nobody does, nor will they ever; and I don't think that thinking they might would help change that.

My black pocket paperback Maupassant is in the aft head, now facing cover-outward, so that you see the cover illustration: a painting, sort of Degas-ish, Impressionistic, of a girl after the bath – or before – anyway naked, bending double to see her toenails. The 1993 Reed's is still there; the 1st Aid manual; Boone's Lick  by McMurtry, un-cracked, bought very, very recently @ Stone Soup; also the Trevor from Montreal; also the copy of Crime & Punishment  annotated w/my 1992 high-school ball-point and even some in pink highlighter. "Kim thinks he writes like dry toast . . ." begins the opening salvo. Anyway that Maupassant, that black pocket Penguin Classics paperback I wrote a poem about, once, that book, a black pocket paperback Maupassant, about reading it in the V-berth of MY BOAT, and there was also a mosquito. I bought it on Lopez Island, July 4, 2001, along w/ Willis Barnstone's Greek Lyric Poetry, my very favorite book in the world. Anyway I'm glad I turned Maup., Guy, to face that way.

Today was OK. I had sadness on Thursday and yesterday was chicken night and today when the psgrs were ashore on Bucks Harbor & I was stirring up batch 2 of Brown Bread (didn't realize I should double it, probably needn't've), I felt like singing. All that I could think of was Dylan, Red Wing. But I launched into "The Hour When the Ship Comes In." And felt better for it. I smiled, after. Laughed.

I need to be at peace to sleep. I love all my crew, all of them, even Rico, even. Shottenberg – Shock Top – Benton – he's improving, improved, so much, it's almost a shame to lose him. Josh'll be good; he might be too cool. I feel like everyone's sort of so cool – way more – I don't know how else to say – cool – than me. Socially adept, in an easygoing and confident way?

I got irritated today when I came up on deck & aft, the conversation was about how he called her a (something) that means Whore . . . boys, guy stuff, OK, I don't not love it, but don't love it much, either. Don't call me Mom, ever . . . well – Mother is OK . . . G-night.

Tue. June 22(?) 2009

Day 2 of Wizard trip. Grace Bailey. 

Tenant's Harbor, windy, lasagne in. Travis sits on day tank. Colby & Matt J. fold up awning in prep for sail. Lovely sail here yesterday from Camden; didn't leave till after lunch. Had an onboard bake last night; pretty good. It's great to have Travis and Colby; and Mandy's coming tomorrow. 

I am leaning on the butterfly facing the gorgeous Whitehall.

Nice passangers this week. Sidney's old & brash; is Al her ex, or current husband? Al drives dune-tours on Cape Cod, lives in P-town, has tan, paints on eye brows, bald, wears golf hat, light jeans pulled up, yellow sweatshirts, sometimes thrown over shoulders, lots of silver bracelets on his right hand. Gave me some terrible Cab last night; I told them abt Henk von Beever. Last night I had a great cheese sandwich of a hotdog bun, white cheddar, jalapenos, mustard, lettuce – it was so good. I feel pretty good. Kind of empty of mind. I like Andy. & of course – well anyway.

Almost done w/ Carrie.  Don't really care how it'll end. The prom scene is so bad. King's best – like King distilled. 

Thursday, June 25? 2009

Wizard Bailey

Quiche & pots was easy w/4 in the galley: Travis, Mandi, Colby & I. This morning I felt tired. When coffee was done, muffins were in, & Travis was doing potatoes, I took a mug & sat on the staysail boom. Pulpit Harbor, heavy fog. Trees barely outlined, a chunk on each side – all else fog. Finished my whole mug, straddling stays'l boom, getting dirty Dickies wet. Then I took a grumpy in the forward head & came back to the galley feeling great. Quiche in 3 cake pans more than enough for these 23. Way ahead of schedule. Right now, Lil' Bear is singing up an off-key storm down in the galley. Travis asked me about India this morning – he wants to study martial arts at an ashram in the south. 

Maybe I'll go to India in November. For 3 weeks. Miss Thanksgiving. Make it 4 weeks.

Thursday abt 5 pm

Anchored off Warren Island – Cap JR calls it Mystery Island, I dunno why. Cold water plus bare feet in sun on warm deckhouse; festival meats all ready; my own self is striving to be a Nobody; JR is being witty; the BBQ is being set up. Laughing gulls laugh; lobster boats are very gorgeous like all. Jeez it is pretty.

A bit later. Got my last (of 4) Heineken on the foredeck. Had 1 today w/ Colby & Mandi making cheese sauce for mac & cheese whole singing – I like working w/ Colby for that. 

I keep thinking of that Elizabeth Bishop poem, The Fish, except instead of Rainbow, Rainbow, Rainbow, I think – "and everything was ego, ego, ego! And I let the fish go." That's how I see my stupid cap crush – coming as it is in such a long line of similar ones. I'm just like a little Lisa Simpson needing approval, fearing rejection, waiting & watching for any scrap of criticism real or implied, lapping up praise-bits like walnuts from the bottom of an emptied salad bowl – for what I am, not my chicken marinade; I'm far more touched by any mention of what Anna used to do, or anything like that. Am I scary? I wish I could cry but the air is too soft & sun on water hazy skies – It's all just too pretty & perfect.

I'm going to send Jamie Bailey, a Grace Bailey postcard – maybe he & Niki will have a Grace.

The problem is my wanting.

What'll I do, go to India? Move back to Pocatato – & live in the Monarch?

Nahhh . . . Portland, Maine, might need me, sort of.

Travis is so mellow. I wish I could be like that. I've been eating too much. Today I wanted to take a hundred cookies to my bunk.

I started reading Boone's Lick.  Carrie was so profoundly disturbing. Simple, plain horror. I'm glad it's over. I read McMurtry lying on the aft house while Cap praised the chowder. I heard that Anna reviles chowder. It was good. I am pretty good in ways. My flaws – I don't want to go into them. Lack of chat being #1, though. Lack of words, in general. Cap & Andy laughed about Cap Ray – last night Andy stuffed a pillow in his sweater & came down during dinner pretending to be Ray. Funny. JR does funny impressions of him too. Funny Ray is plain old funny. I love how. Happy. How much fun it all is. The world is all good, around here – it's all songs.

It's kind of annoying always being in someone's way – but worse are people feeling bad for being in mine. These boats encourage self – 

what's the word? I'm running out. Grating carrots is as articulate as I can get. 

I brought a lot of pens in my truck w/me. Overall my packing was pretty good. Too many clothes, but they may come in handy. Anyway – at least three of my old-standby pens have run out since I got here. Blue Bics, a black Bic I found on Lovejoy Street once . . . and I like that. A blue clicker . . . it must've been all that Spanish studying. 

I'm going to copy a Neruda & learn it in Spanish. Ode to the Tomato.

Colby & Mandi's song – "I'm a river driver and I'm far away from home" – in my head. A worm, Brian calls it – he & Pam, a minister, are nice; he finished my crossword today. It's nice on the Bailey how people have pre-dinner drinks aft. I wonder where I'll end up. Little bear just said it's the best mac & cheese he ever had. Pretty good. $5 for the next psgr who goes swimming, Andy said. Joel fell & cut his hand on the hatch – the other day, when it was raining. Did I already write about this? Travis had opened the hatch – he was helping. They stick when the wood swells when it rains. Joel went "Oh!" and fell down – the port mid-ships, by the 2nd head, hitting his elbow. The Italian doctor couple patched him up. They were very, very nice. I liked John's smile. They were small; he was very short; I'm being very anti-social, up on the foredeck. Oh well, fuckem all . . . I do like this wiggling ink over paper, lined. So what if –

the feminist in me –

are male-power activists called masculinists?

And everything was ego, ego, ego! And I let the cap go. Better – even tho he's Batman, and I want to paint, too; I want a big Wyethy studio, windows looking out on fog & Mainey privacy, loneness and winterdom – fires at night – tea.

I used to really sort of think it'd be cool to like to listen to classical music in the car. I do, now. It has happened.

What to paint? Cap asked the other day when I said, "I like that house" – "Would you like to write your magnum opus there?" – & I said, I don't have anything to say – True, true. He said something like – well, I said something, or tried to, about people who write about their English degrees, about the superabundance of English MAs, etc., who write books about themselves, and he said something about upper-middle-class upbringings, etc., etc. . . . not very much, just one etc. He probably is just throwing me bones, knowing they keep me functional. O me, O whatever. Why should I care. I just work here –

O but it is all about the people; and I have so forever thought, I cannot, could not, work @ McD's, or anyplace Corporate, b/c I don't believe in their mission, their purpose, or whatever. OK, that's a book. The worker's dilemma. Everyone's eating & getting louder; the misty gray cool night is moving in. J&E Riggin's off the starboard quarter. Andy ate a gallon of mac & cheese. My butt hurts from sitting like this, leaning on a beam on the foredeck, on one of those pieces of wood I used to probably know the name of. Fantasy, fantasy. I got rid of Jake precisely because I thought someone better'd come along. I should maybe be proud of my foul, filthy fingers