Wednesday, January 31, 2007
I believe in Tooth Fairies, I do, I do
I want my Mommy! I think my wisdom tooth is acting up. Who better to say soothing words and make the boogie-man go away than a mother? This concession of swollen cuspids is one that I can't complain too much about. Goodness sakes! I'm a tough seafarer after all, and must be careful to maintain the image. By the way, as a redeeming footnote; please utilize clove oil for oral aches and pains. I have this archane trivia in my head ( a couple inches beyond the tooth) but no clove oil until tomorrow morning. Poor baby. If I do die from this malady (highly unlikely) please extract the tooth post mortem and scrimshaw it with a warning to those overfond of Key Lime Pie. Then, throw it in the ocean as a tribute to my demise. Bleeaughhh!!!
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
23 January, 2007
Key West
A cool breeze is sweeping the weariness from the corners of my tired ol' ragdoll self. Tomorrow will be my day off and I feel all blunder-fingered at the prospect of a whole lazy day to squander. Today was near perfect. We worked hard but laughed and were easy-going about it. Good sailing. Cool fish. I jumped from the very furthest point of our egotistical bowsprit into the salty water, spitting and spluttering it out and laughing my way back to the Jacobs Ladder. We saw a tiny Portugese Man-of-War but continued to swim. The ocean amazes me. When swimming, I try to pretend that I'm in the Great Lakes with their sweet-tempered fish. That I'm swimming withing a half-mile of sharks, enormous fish and other scary things is too much to think about if I intend to continue to scream and jump with childlike abandon.
I asked Captain Rob if I could have the time to go to church on Sundays. He had not one trite remark or sharp opinion. Instead, he gave me more time than I had even hoped for. Part of me is a little pessimistic, as if things are too good for me. Surely something will bust to pieces and I'll end up worse off than before. I'll not be able to find a church with sincere people in it or will earn the resentment of my crewmates who are shy with asking for more than an occasional dry crust of bread. Good grief LuLu! This God of mine withholds no good thing from his children. Why do I get this Eeyore mentality of joyless dread? Take joy, dear one.
Key West
A cool breeze is sweeping the weariness from the corners of my tired ol' ragdoll self. Tomorrow will be my day off and I feel all blunder-fingered at the prospect of a whole lazy day to squander. Today was near perfect. We worked hard but laughed and were easy-going about it. Good sailing. Cool fish. I jumped from the very furthest point of our egotistical bowsprit into the salty water, spitting and spluttering it out and laughing my way back to the Jacobs Ladder. We saw a tiny Portugese Man-of-War but continued to swim. The ocean amazes me. When swimming, I try to pretend that I'm in the Great Lakes with their sweet-tempered fish. That I'm swimming withing a half-mile of sharks, enormous fish and other scary things is too much to think about if I intend to continue to scream and jump with childlike abandon.
I asked Captain Rob if I could have the time to go to church on Sundays. He had not one trite remark or sharp opinion. Instead, he gave me more time than I had even hoped for. Part of me is a little pessimistic, as if things are too good for me. Surely something will bust to pieces and I'll end up worse off than before. I'll not be able to find a church with sincere people in it or will earn the resentment of my crewmates who are shy with asking for more than an occasional dry crust of bread. Good grief LuLu! This God of mine withholds no good thing from his children. Why do I get this Eeyore mentality of joyless dread? Take joy, dear one.
Regarding the princess in the tower and the Maxi Taxi
I work on a 125 ft. traditional old-school schooner. My hands are rough with the work and my arms are growing thick and strong from hauling lines and clambering over everything. My nose is brown from the sun, and I, err, glisten in the heat. Walk down the docks here in the historic seaport of Key West and you might see me sanding down the forever punky foredeck, wiping the sweat from my cheeks and scowling at the sunshine. I'm just another girl, not Cinderella, not Sita. Virtuous and sweet – maybe. Human – most definitely!
So there I am on the foredeck and I look up to see one of the Maxi Taxis taxi up and open its door to belch out passengers. I was glued to the sight, to the utterly improbable chance that I'd see one of my loved ones jump out. It's a new version of the spinster-bound maiden sitting on her father's porch and waiting for some poor guy to come over after church. Of course, he will catch her eye across the piles of fried chicken and in a gastronomic state of supreme satisfaction with life, his mind will twinkle and sparkle with the realization that this homely girl is indeed the goddess of happiness. He will marry her and they will become fat and happy together, forever after and a day.
One stranger after another tripped out of the Maxi Taxi. It was not my day to be discovered. This sounds weird, I know. But as I bent again to puck up my sandpaper, I realized that in my subconscious mind, I'm the princess in the tower; waiting to be rescued. The thing is, I love my life. I don't want to be rescued from this life. Maybe on this point all previous concessions bust to pieces.
This work is so beautiful, so full and rich and so draining. The chemicals and the repetitive work leach away my vitality but enough of that! I want to share it with someone. To lean over and know that when one or the other goes senile, the other can sit and stroke their hand and recount all the lovely adventures of life had together. Yeah, I know that this whole entry falls in the category of romantic drivel but lump it! Tomorrow we'll be back to crab-cake recipes and other safe subjects. Anyhow, since when did Prince Charming trade in his steed for a Maxi Taxi?
I work on a 125 ft. traditional old-school schooner. My hands are rough with the work and my arms are growing thick and strong from hauling lines and clambering over everything. My nose is brown from the sun, and I, err, glisten in the heat. Walk down the docks here in the historic seaport of Key West and you might see me sanding down the forever punky foredeck, wiping the sweat from my cheeks and scowling at the sunshine. I'm just another girl, not Cinderella, not Sita. Virtuous and sweet – maybe. Human – most definitely!
So there I am on the foredeck and I look up to see one of the Maxi Taxis taxi up and open its door to belch out passengers. I was glued to the sight, to the utterly improbable chance that I'd see one of my loved ones jump out. It's a new version of the spinster-bound maiden sitting on her father's porch and waiting for some poor guy to come over after church. Of course, he will catch her eye across the piles of fried chicken and in a gastronomic state of supreme satisfaction with life, his mind will twinkle and sparkle with the realization that this homely girl is indeed the goddess of happiness. He will marry her and they will become fat and happy together, forever after and a day.
One stranger after another tripped out of the Maxi Taxi. It was not my day to be discovered. This sounds weird, I know. But as I bent again to puck up my sandpaper, I realized that in my subconscious mind, I'm the princess in the tower; waiting to be rescued. The thing is, I love my life. I don't want to be rescued from this life. Maybe on this point all previous concessions bust to pieces.
This work is so beautiful, so full and rich and so draining. The chemicals and the repetitive work leach away my vitality but enough of that! I want to share it with someone. To lean over and know that when one or the other goes senile, the other can sit and stroke their hand and recount all the lovely adventures of life had together. Yeah, I know that this whole entry falls in the category of romantic drivel but lump it! Tomorrow we'll be back to crab-cake recipes and other safe subjects. Anyhow, since when did Prince Charming trade in his steed for a Maxi Taxi?
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
White Squall
“Sorry is not gonna cut it.”
I was able to watch White Squall this afternoon. Now, I've heard about this movie; I remember people asking me if I've seen the film. “Uh, yeah. I think so. Wasn't that some Warren Miller freeskiing wannabe movie?” No wonder they looked funny and changed the conversation topic. Awkward. I do much better talking sourdough bread than the crazy movie world with their J-Lo and Jackie Chan, Errol Flynn and Miss Zeta Jones. But before I rabbit trail off into a ramble on flemish desem and storebought flour, let's get back to the movie.
White Squall follows a class of sail trainees, boys from all over the place that together must become a crew onboard the brigantine 'Albatross'. It is the schoolship of schoolships. No apparent benthos buckets or fishtanks in the galley. Chest bursting fresh air, raw saltwater (I could almost taste it on my lips) and bluewater sailing under the free sky and those tanbark sails I'll always love. The guys all seem to be between 15-17 years of age. I thought of my five brothers and imagined them as the ones on this ship. It is an exacting enviroment and not as forgiving as the wilderness. Still, those boys became men. They had to face their fears, control their passions, sweat blood and draw together as a community.
I liked the movie from the beginning. The boy walks up to the ship and in those first emotions and tumbling words, he asks what happened to the Albatross. Her pretty whites are all streaked rusty. He's a kid; he doesn't know about darling Mary Kate and the constant maintenance that every ship demands. When the boys jumped from the yards, I was right there with them. I understood when the captain told the kid to “hate your way up another rung.” I've never had hate like that, or fear either. It's like the Nike jingle: Just Do It. Whatever it is within you that drives you, use that energy: love, hate, pride, compassion... fill in the blank up another rung! I'm getting a little philosophical for a moment but I just want to pose this question: Is love as compelling as hate? I've got a really good, sweet heart but I can't imagine scraping up enough love myself to 'go another rung.' Unless love is greater than self, it won't trump anything and even then it is a weak, small sort of love. I have been taught that the love of God is so great that it is beyond conceptualization. Jesus Christ came and lived as one of us, he embodied love for us. We all know the story. Christ is God Incarnate. He gave touch and feel tangibility not only to God but to love as well. 'All you need is love?' Well that's the sort of love that does the job. Okay, so maybe talking God and all that is awkward when you are wanting to hear about sailing, mountain climbing and movies. It's an integral part of my life's adventure but it doesn't tie up all my questions nice and pretty. Love seems to look stronger on paper and in my cozy circles of friends than it does in the 'real world.' Why does Hate and War seem to be the trump card in this life?
Anyways, wrapping up the movie review; It's not a pretty movie. Beautiful, yes. Watching those boys sail that tremendous ship set all my heart to the sea. I am so glad to be going back to varnish, Mary Kate and happy sailing in Key West but I really miss the bluewater and that life. By the end of the film I was all aglow and a little streaky with tears. Love is not to blame for the freaky storm that bowled them over but it was there painfully at the end. [sigh] You'll like this movie if you love the sea and especially the traditional tall ships that sail across her. Tell me what you think.
Be Well,
LuLu
White Squall, 1996
PG-13 for the usual sailor stuff; boys talking about sex, drinking and some strong language. All appropriate for the story.
I was able to watch White Squall this afternoon. Now, I've heard about this movie; I remember people asking me if I've seen the film. “Uh, yeah. I think so. Wasn't that some Warren Miller freeskiing wannabe movie?” No wonder they looked funny and changed the conversation topic. Awkward. I do much better talking sourdough bread than the crazy movie world with their J-Lo and Jackie Chan, Errol Flynn and Miss Zeta Jones. But before I rabbit trail off into a ramble on flemish desem and storebought flour, let's get back to the movie.
White Squall follows a class of sail trainees, boys from all over the place that together must become a crew onboard the brigantine 'Albatross'. It is the schoolship of schoolships. No apparent benthos buckets or fishtanks in the galley. Chest bursting fresh air, raw saltwater (I could almost taste it on my lips) and bluewater sailing under the free sky and those tanbark sails I'll always love. The guys all seem to be between 15-17 years of age. I thought of my five brothers and imagined them as the ones on this ship. It is an exacting enviroment and not as forgiving as the wilderness. Still, those boys became men. They had to face their fears, control their passions, sweat blood and draw together as a community.
I liked the movie from the beginning. The boy walks up to the ship and in those first emotions and tumbling words, he asks what happened to the Albatross. Her pretty whites are all streaked rusty. He's a kid; he doesn't know about darling Mary Kate and the constant maintenance that every ship demands. When the boys jumped from the yards, I was right there with them. I understood when the captain told the kid to “hate your way up another rung.” I've never had hate like that, or fear either. It's like the Nike jingle: Just Do It. Whatever it is within you that drives you, use that energy: love, hate, pride, compassion... fill in the blank up another rung! I'm getting a little philosophical for a moment but I just want to pose this question: Is love as compelling as hate? I've got a really good, sweet heart but I can't imagine scraping up enough love myself to 'go another rung.' Unless love is greater than self, it won't trump anything and even then it is a weak, small sort of love. I have been taught that the love of God is so great that it is beyond conceptualization. Jesus Christ came and lived as one of us, he embodied love for us. We all know the story. Christ is God Incarnate. He gave touch and feel tangibility not only to God but to love as well. 'All you need is love?' Well that's the sort of love that does the job. Okay, so maybe talking God and all that is awkward when you are wanting to hear about sailing, mountain climbing and movies. It's an integral part of my life's adventure but it doesn't tie up all my questions nice and pretty. Love seems to look stronger on paper and in my cozy circles of friends than it does in the 'real world.' Why does Hate and War seem to be the trump card in this life?
Anyways, wrapping up the movie review; It's not a pretty movie. Beautiful, yes. Watching those boys sail that tremendous ship set all my heart to the sea. I am so glad to be going back to varnish, Mary Kate and happy sailing in Key West but I really miss the bluewater and that life. By the end of the film I was all aglow and a little streaky with tears. Love is not to blame for the freaky storm that bowled them over but it was there painfully at the end. [sigh] You'll like this movie if you love the sea and especially the traditional tall ships that sail across her. Tell me what you think.
Be Well,
LuLu
White Squall, 1996
PG-13 for the usual sailor stuff; boys talking about sex, drinking and some strong language. All appropriate for the story.
Scrambled Mess of 'firsts'
Sweet, lovely afternoon with the buzzing of lawnmowers outside. Laziness can weave a romance all of her own. The niceness of laziness quickly gets boring and then sour. So, I'm kidding myself into considering writing as my new industry for the moment.
This is a scrambled mess of firsts. My first entry in my first bloggish thing ever, still with little view of what the theme or tilt of it will be in the next months. Is it to be a journal of tedious facts of my personal life? Dental appointments and all that blather? I hope not. Neither do I want it to be solely about spirituality, literature, or blissful, blazing tallships sailing. I represent my generation (I know; scary, isn't it?) My generation of brilliant skills and scattered dreams but little cohesive vision and focused energy. Because of that, my blog will be a little scrambled until I get that needed focus. Join me on the adventure of life and check in for fresh updates on this blog. In case of me seeming to fall off the edge of the world, please send me an email at lauracavender@juno.com and pester me into writing some more.
This is a scrambled mess of firsts. My first entry in my first bloggish thing ever, still with little view of what the theme or tilt of it will be in the next months. Is it to be a journal of tedious facts of my personal life? Dental appointments and all that blather? I hope not. Neither do I want it to be solely about spirituality, literature, or blissful, blazing tallships sailing. I represent my generation (I know; scary, isn't it?) My generation of brilliant skills and scattered dreams but little cohesive vision and focused energy. Because of that, my blog will be a little scrambled until I get that needed focus. Join me on the adventure of life and check in for fresh updates on this blog. In case of me seeming to fall off the edge of the world, please send me an email at lauracavender@juno.com and pester me into writing some more.
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