warm and calm

Wed. July 30, 2009

Mercantile on a calm, sunny day. 8 psgrs. Raisin-bran muffins were WAY too salty this a.m.; did I double the soda? Josh made a great blueberry vinaigrette; he is a great cook. I'm not. It's OK, though.

I got my thesis in the mail the other day; put it on the cookie-sheet shelf & it made me happy to have it near. Now it's in my cabin.

Rico was fine to sail with; a bit indecisive-seeming. Why I allow myself to crush, I do not know; but as it seems to be a part of me, I try to accept & work w/ it; I am liking this environment, on the whole, w/ it and w/o it. More sleep'd sure be good; god and I miss my pals this week, a lot. Anna, Rico's lady, gave me a blue fuzzy. The Mistress went by us earlier today and we threw baked things at one another! One of our (8) psgrs got hit in the back of his Texan head w/ a Mistress biscuit. Heh heh; he always has kind of a sour look on his face. 

Today I ate a big b-fast : scrambled cheesy eggs, bacon and coffee cake – made a good s'wich; I sliced strawberries on the foredeck; I want to write about how I had a hard morning – not hard, relatively, but hard b/c of those damn concave muffins, & my persistently feeling that the reason the stove doesn't get hot or my muffins work out is because I am a shitty person . . . whatever. Josh said the other day, "I don't get stressed," and I believe him; "I envy that," I said, also truthfully – the jealousy I feel is also tinged with a slight sense of superiority – but I'm just old, old, old; I'm so damn old.

I've had this huge butt-zit; I popped it in the shower at the Y last Sunday; I think . . . it's going away. I hate how hairy I am, god it's gross, really.

later – after chicken dinner

(the shit I make following the menu – is so plain, dull, gross, even; I am not good at balancing the menu and creativity; I don't enjoy being a kendrickian rebel at my job; I like doing the right thing, well; – I feel like Josh's calm, creative caring so darkly overshadows me; all I am good for is waking up early; and I hate to do that! Ugh.

Anyway – it was a good day, I guess; warm and calm; we followed the Lewis R. French, slowly; now anchored, near Holbrook Island, near Nautical Rock or something; it is a nice harbor, anyway.

So now some German-accented guy who swam over here, or rowed, I guess, is bidding farewell. Ach, mon dieu. 

I love the gold-drippy sun.

I had such a good swim! Trent & Josh went in, jumped off the strongback; I was whipping cream in a hurry – I'm always in a hurry – Josh finished it for me, but turned it to butter; but he made more. 

I immediately dolphin-kicked; I swam back & forth, the yawl hauled like a fat spineless puffer-fish, a beautiful rough red bottom-painted curve, the sharp bow point, I love how it looks, but the fenders and puddnin' are ugly.

Back & forth I went; started to feel a little lightheaded; kept it up, stayed in. So salty. Last time I swam in salt was in Turkey.

I worry about my hair getting in the food; I worry too much. I worry and worry – how can I get something else to happen in my mind, something better; like how I have had the habit of repeating shitty things like "I am so ugly," or "     dummy" or whatever, I can't remember; anyway – we are all facing starboard, as the sun sets; the pale blue moving water is covered with liquid gold, and the nearer trees are dark, the further away ones lighter, as if grayed, paled, washed out by distance – ach, I want to cry I miss my friends so! My phone's on the Bailey– makes me feel far away, even if I never use it.

Kids are swinging into the water from the stern of the Mary Day, yelling; Sawyer and Elliott; their big flag floats in the air; their light gray rowboat's oars unevenly ply; voices from their big crowded-looking boat easily pass along the water to us; they are perhaps 100 yards away. I am now lying on the aft housetop, thwartships, feet to port; Bigbear came aft to laugh about Capt. 2nd mate Rico snoringasleep on the fwd house;

well – the sun is an orange bright light – I am going go to bed, now, though, and hopefully dream something true, even if it's not nice.

And sleep instantly, deep and hard; I wanked in the head today – sssssshhh . . . I ate four choc. chip cookies – they were perfect; for dinner, salad w/ blueberry vinaigrette, and strawberries; oy the swim felt good, I stank all day today; in my tight blue Tahiti-bought joggers' tank top, felt my belly bulging over my Dickies & Turkish belt whenever I sat down, self-conscious.

this is NOT the Mercantile, but i don't have any pictures and the ones online are wrong. this is some photo from files titled schooning classsic mar regatta. Not even a schooner but it's the closest old Chimacum Press can get to Maine, sorry