Oaks and Sugar

We visited a plantation on the Mississippi today. Took us an hour to get there, where we saw the beautiful 28 oak lane leading up to the antebellum mansion. I've been there before, back in 1993, and our tour of the mansion was cut short then because they were filming Interview With A Vampire there. This time we were able to see the whole house, which was very beautiful.

It was cold and rainy today, and walking around the grounds of the plantation made me feel a little depressed. When I came to the plaque commemorating the slaves who worked on the plantation, I had to stop and think. After a while I started walking away, feeling even more depressed. But then I stopped, as an amazing thought struck me. Has anyone at this plantation bothered to tell the ghosts of the slaves the news? I looked back at the site where the slave houses had once been and whispered "Guess what! A black man is about to become President of the United States!" I smiled and walked away, feeling much better.

There Is A Bird In The Terminal

I keep trying to come up with some kind of metaphor for the bird I see flitting about by my gate. I'm sitting here, waiting for my plane after an hour delay, two terminal and three gate changes. I'm exhausted and still unsure about the benefits of this trip. Yet my predicament is nothing next to the one this tiny little brown sparrow is in. There is nowhere for him to go, and he's surrounded by fast moving giants, loud noises, vehicles buzzing around and not a bush or tree in sight. All I want to do is help him, but how? What can I do? I know there are metaphors here, but my tired brain can't pick them out. Help.

Why?

I just finished reading an article in the NY Times about what's going on in Zimbabwe, and I can't help wondering why we aren't doing anything about it. By "we" mean America. How is it that the Bush administration justifies invading Iraq on suspicion (meaning Not Verified, Not CONCRETE evidence) of weapons of mass destruction, and we can't be bothered to do anything about Mugabe? The man has torn down to the ground a proud, successful, wealthy country, replacing it with a country with one of the worst economies in the world, and a rapidly mounting death rate of the cholera epidemic, because of a collapse of basic services. Even when members of Mugabe's insane military (insane because they still support him) riot because they have no money to feed their families and aid workers taking on the daunting task of cleaning up the cities' water supply to contain the cholera epidemic mysteriously go missing...still nobody does anything to step in.

After the botched elections earlier this year, I really thought the international community would step in to stop that power-hungry madman. I guess I was wrong. And I shouldn't be surprised, considering the present state of Somalia, the Congo and the unforgivable genocide in Darfur. I can't help but wonder, if the people in Darfur were Jews or Whites, would the rest of the world have stood idly by and let millions of people be slaughtered?

Christmas is rapidly approaching, which normally is a season of hope and family and gifts any togetherness, but what about the 60,000 dead in Zimbabwe? What about their families and all those who are at risk of dying an excrutiatingly painful death from cholera? Where is their Christmas miracle? Why can't we do something to help them? Our economy may be tanking and people are losing jobs and homes left and right, but it is nothing compared to living under the control of a government that could give a rat's ass where or not you live or die. Just as long as people like Mugabe stay in power. Right. He's nothing but a terrorist in President's clothes and yet we allow him to continue killing off his people.

If anyone needs prayer this Christmas season, it's the people who are being oppressed and murdered by corrupt governments. It's especially the people who are suffering through the cholera epidemic in Zimbabwe. Pray for them.

Hidden Memories

When I was a kid, there were a number of movies that I watched so many times they became a part of the fabric of my imagination. Last night I turned on the tv just in time to catch the end of A Charlie Brown Christmas. That reminded me of another movie, Bon Voyage Charlie Brown, that I had on a tape. The tape had been a recording from tv, including commercials from the late 80s, and at the end of the Charlie Brown movie was The Flight Of Dragons.

After watching tv last night I decided to look up both films on YouTube, and sure enough they were there. I went to sleep after having watched the begining of Bon Voyage. The music, the sounds, the scenes were so deeply ingrained in my mind that I could remember what it was like to watch them when I was a kid. I could even remember the commercials scattered throughout the tape. Especially that Jiff peanut butter ad where this mom is talking about it and drawing a perfect heart with her knife in the smooth new surface in the jar. For years I did that to new jars of peanut butter.

What memories do you have associated to something you watched or did as a kid? Are you able to remember those vague feelings from when you were young? It's hard to describe...

Well, back to my old movies. Cheers!

21 Years

I'm writing this post from my brand new iPhone, my birthday gift. Now that my 27th birthday has come and gone, however, I must take note of a much more important gift. 21 years ago, my mother and her boyfriend walked into a mall in Nice, France, and they stopped in a shop that sold toys. After looking over the wide selection of stuffed animals, they settled on a small black panther with bright green eyes. They delivered him to an extatic 6 year old, who named him Moonlight, because his eyes seemed to glow in the light of the moon at night.

21 years later, he still has some of his original silky hair under his legs and in his ears, but the rest of him bears the marks of 21 years of love. He only has two wiskers left, and there are a couple of little bare spots here and there, but he is in great shape and his eyes still glow in the light of the moon. He's been to every country, every state, every place I've ever been, even out to sea.

I'm sure people think I'm nuts for the devotion I show this little kitty, considering that he's a stuffed animal, but I've never thought of him as anything less than real, anything less than the best, most loving friend I have. So here is a very Happy 21st Birthday to my Moonlight.

depths

I don't know why I think about these things, but sometimes random contemplation comes to me in random places. I was thinking about how some people are really shallow, transparent, and others are really deep. I eventually decided that people are like the ocean.

Some people are like the Keys. Some are murky from the wave action churning up the sand till you can hardly see anything and there isn't much to them. Others are clear and bright and you can see long distances underwater. They are colorful and full of life, just like the reefs you find in the Keys.

Others are like the deep ocean. Their personalities may stay near the surface, where the light filters in, or they are very dark and unfathomable as they go deeper. Where the ocean looses all light is a forbidding, pitiless place, where life must struggle to survive.

I think I'm like the part of the ocean where the continent drops away into the abyss. I can see long distances around me, and there is a lot of life and color there, on the continental shelf. There is also darkness, if only I step off the edge. But I choose to stay near the surface, loving the light and color and life that flourishes there.

Cheers!

The Things My Hands Do...

This is the final outcome of a very long running project. I was shocked when I saw it for the first time, in stone... I've been staring at it for weeks in clay on a piece of plywood.

amazing

This morning my iPod woke me with some Led Zeppelin, and as I rolled over and turned the light on, I realized what day it was. It was the first day of living in a country with an African-American President. All I could think of was that black and white photo that Charles Gibson showed on tv last night, of Mr. Obama with the simple caption of "Mr. President."

I can't explain the feelings that I've had all day. I have no words to describe them properly. Pride? Confidence? Feeling good to be an American (for once)? Its a little of everything, but much much more.

When this whole race began, years ago, I didn't know what to think. I carefully ignored all of the useless retoric tossed around since the primaries, and tried not to take too seriously the negative ads on both sides. I was disdainful of the masses that followed Obama. And I really liked McCain. I did. I wanted to vote for him. But I wasn't going to make up my mind till I saw the debates.

The debates changed my mind. That and Palin. I like her, but not as VP. She's too green, too unknown. And McCain's attitude during the debates...I found myself getting more and more frustrated watching him. I've spent 8 years being frustrated and disgusted with the Shrub, and I didn't want to spend another 4, maybe 8, feeling that way again.

Throughout the race, I have only been following it online and on the radio, so as the months passed, I found myself completely forgetting the color issue. But when I turned on the tv last night to watch the results coming in, I slowly realized that we were about to see the impossible dream come true. When Mr. Gibson said in a slightly unsteady voice that Barack Obama was the 44th President of the United States, I felt my heart jump. (I want to stress that I am not an ObamaManiac.) But at that moment I felt prouder of my country than I ever have, prouder of the people who decided to give him a chance.

The proof of last night's success was at school this morning. That every single 6th grade class I entered today cheered for our new President was proof of the awesomeness of the day. And the beaming faces of every single one of our African-American students, among all of the excited students all over campus, made me feel like the day couldn't get any better.

Welcome to the New World.

Crap. (otherwise known as poo, shyte, refuse, etc.)

I screwed up. I'm writing this down to get it off my chest, because I'm not sleeping well at night now.

You know that feeling? when you've done bad, and pushed it away, and it won't leave you alone, and it sneaks up on you when you're not ready for it....that feeling when your heart pounds uncomfortably fast, regardless of the amount of coffee you've injested recently?

This is one thing I hate about doing commercial art. Sometimes I get hung up over something and I put it off and put it off...and then it turns around and bites me very hard in the butt. I've got 4 and a half projects due for the studio. I'm at least 2 weeks, maybe three behind (another of my problems is loosing track of time...).

Friday the foreman called. Today the boss called. I haven't listened to either message. I have some idea of what they have to say, but I don't want to listen. I'm having a hard enough time sleeping as it is, and if I listen to the messages, then I have no choice but to call them back. What do I tell them? I'm tired of making excuses. I'm just behind. Uninspired. Unmotivated.

This little voice in the back of my head says "maybe if they paid me in advance..." But that's just another excuse. And if I were behind it would be even worse for me.

I hate this feeling. I hate it when I get myself into these situations. I feel responsible. I feel like I have totally failed everyone. I know that if I take a step back and look around, this is nothing. This is not the end of the world, and ultimately teaching is more important to me anyway. But I still feel like a failure. I have people relying on me to get something done, and if I can't get it done, than what am I to everyone else?

*Sigh*....I thought writing all this down would make me feel better, but it hasn't. So, I think I'll just go to bed, and try to sleep.

Ta.

"I used to sit and watch the pouring rain..."

Off and on for the last few weeks, a very troubling thought would randomly pop into my mind. I missed the rain. I've lived half my life in places where it rained almost every day like clockwork. Since moving out to California, however, the number of days it has rained while I've lived here wouldn't fill a year. That's what I get for living in a sub-saharan climate.

The lack of rain has really bothered me recently. I've been trying to remember the last time it really rained down here. I figured it out today. I think it was right after the Witch Creek Fire last October, when Pendleton burned all the way to the 5 freeway. A week or two after the firefighters got that fire under control, it rained for a day or two. Maybe more, I can't remember. But once the ash soaked into the ground, and after a few weeks of sunshine, Pendleton was once more covered in green.

The subject of rain came up last night too. I was describing how much I missed thick, heavy drops of rain splatting on the ground. I missed a good solid day of heavy rain, the kind that soaks everything. The kind that stays in the ground for days, and when you look around, you can see all the plants looking greener and perkier for all the water their roots are sucking up.

So, you can imagine my astonishment when I arrived at the architecture studio this morning, and saw first one, then two, then several drops hitting my windshield. The sun was coming up spectacularily over the hills, and there were large scattered towers of clouds all over the sky. You could see the rain in some of them. Not dark with menace, just heavy with potential. And as the towers swept across the morning sky, there were rumbles of thunder, and sweeps of beautiful, heavy rain coming down.

By afternoon the traces of rain were almost gone, but you can still see puddles here and there. And as the rain came down this morning, and I stood in it, letting it soak my hair and my shoulders, I just had to thank God for hearing our wishes, and today making mine come true.

Cheers!

students

As I sit here, watching seventh graders messing around, pretending to do the assignment I gave them, I can't help at wonder what some of them will be like in a few years. Some of the 7th and 8th graders I meet are very tall, getting their adult growth in. When they go off to High School, they have a semblance of adulthood. Others can look forward to looking young and out of place when they reach the 9th grade.

But that's not entirely what I mean when I wonder what they will be like. A handful of students that I have met in these grades have very mature senses of humor. Others are very good at imitating the adults in their lives. You can almost predict what their parents are like from the way they act.

After teaching for a couple of years, I can see the way people probably were when they were in these grades. The ones who changed the most, usually the introverts who develop into mild extroverts are most often the ones worth knowing. However, every personality, every character has its own charm, and as I look around me and see the way these kids express themselves, I dearly wish that I could see into their futures. I wish I could see what they will become.

Californian to Dana Point

I wasn't back two weeks from the Festival of Sail in Los Angeles when I found myself going sailing again. I have to be honest here; the reason why I never sail on the Californian is because I've always been terrified of the skipper who is most often her captain. He's a very tough guy who never smiles, and there are all sorts of stories about him chewing people out because they didn't know what they were doing.

So when I saw the list for the trip to Dana Point on the Californian, I was very excited to see that the skipper of the Surprise as Captain and one of the really nice guys who've been around for years as the mate, I was happy to volunteer to sail up and back. It was a great weekend. The sailing was marvelous, especially on Saturday, when we had wind that let us go up to 8 or so knots.

We left SD on Friday morning around 3:30am, and being on the first watch, I had the good fortune to watch the sun come up behind La Jolla. It was one of the most beautiful sunrises I've ever seen. Later in the day we saw dolphins, a sunfish, and three Fin whales played and fished nearby, completely unconcerned by our ship. We even had an apparently exhausted seagull who, after trying several uncomfortable landing sites on the ship, finally settled on the still-furled inner jib. We tried chasing him away by throwing pancakes at him, which he ate, and then the heaving line. This bothered him, but did not persuade him to leave permanently. Oh well. He stayed till he'd had his fill of the sun and relaxation, then left.

Once we reached Dana Point, we picked up passengers and headed back out for the afternoon's Parade into the harbor. Once that was through, and we'd rafted the ship to the others in the harbor, we ate and slept. The next two days consisted of opening all the ships up to the public from 10 to 4, at which time we all loaded up with passengers and headed out for afternoon gun battles. Six ships participated in this: The Californian, the Spirit of Dana Point, the Lynx, the American Pride, and the Exy Johnson and Irving Johnson.

The best moment of the two days of gun battles was on the first afternoon, when the Exy and the Irving came down on us together. We went between them going the opposite direction. What they didn't know was that unlike most of our engagements, we had two gunners on baord that day. So when they came up on us, we fired both broadsides at the same time. It was beautiful. The most talked about moment of the weekend.

Being such a full weekend, with so much that happened, I'll continue this in a second post, with pictures too. Cheers!

Suprise in LA

Since we tied off our mooring lines last Monday (wow, a week ago...) back in San Diego, I've been mulling over the trip I just went on. There is a great deal to mull. The trip was, in a word, awesome. No doubt about it. But there is so much to write about, and so much of that would be indecipherable to those who had not experienced it for themselves, that I think I'm just going to put down some choice memories from the trip.

First off, for those who have no idea what I'm talking about, I got to sail the HMS Surprise from the San Diego Maritime Museum, with 43 other crew to the LA Port in San Pedro. Considering that last November, we had no idea when we'd ever get to take our ship out for the day again, let alone 4 days, this was a major accomplisment. We left SD Thursday afternoon, two weeks ago, spent the weekend in San Pedro, and returned the following Monday. Why? Because of the Festival of Sail.

The Festival moved down the coast from San Francisco, and ended in San Diego (that was this past weekend, and a lot of fun). But we actually got to participate in San Pedro. For the most part that meant that our beautiful ship was docked and people were swarming all over it from 11 in the morning till 7 at night for 3 days. Those of us who weren't on anchor watch during those hours spent the days walking around, seeing the other ships that were there for the Festival, exploring San Pedro, or hanging out with visiting family and friends.

I really can't describe the things that happened over that weekend, because most of the memorable events involved very inebriated people at ungodly hours of the morning. Some of these people were crazy too, but nothing bad happened, and the ship and crew remained safe the whole time. (so, no worries).

But there was Saturday night, when 15 or 16 of us Surprises (including the skipper) headed off to the free showing of "Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World" at the local movie theater. We took up one and a half rows in the back, and we all cheered at the right spots, laughed at the jokes and sang along to the sea shanties. At the end of the movie, we gave a loud three cheers to the crew of the Surprise in the movie. We all felt good about having represented our ship with gusto.

There was also a lot of wildlife sightings on the way up to LA and the journey back. Mostly dolphins, but one whale, a few sea lions, and two sunfish. My favorite was while I was standing watch on Monday morning at 3:30 in the morning. I was standing at the starboard bow, leaning on the bulwarks, when suddenly I heard the sound of air coming from a blowhole. I looked down, and by the light of the moon I saw the smooth backs of dolphins coming up for air right in front of the bow. They were doing so very quietly, and gracefully, instead of jumping around and playing the way I've seen them do during the day.

But the best memory of all, by far, was at the beginning of the trip. Just as we were getting ready to throw off our mooring lines and leave the dock in SD, I heard the skipper call my name out loudly. "Front and center!" he cried. So, I took my place at the wheel. I had the enormous honor of taking the Surprise out as far as the first sea buoy. What a joy that was.

As the memories and stories unspool from my mind, I'll add some of the choice bits.

Ta for now!

People are Stupid.

Maybe it is just that I am very tired today. I went to bed close to 3am this morning, because I was finishing up the flag to give to Mr. Brinks later this morning. That was probably my biggest mistake.

You know, how when your tired, everything seems magnified? Like all of the stupid things people do? The guy in front of you is driving too slowly and your late for something, or nobody uses their turn signals, or people ask you dumb questions. It all seems to grate much more when you are super tired.

That was me today. Today was the day to finish the wheel. It now has a coat of epoxy on every surface. Some of it needs a couple more coats, but the point is, that it is 98% finished. And it looks gorgeous.

Nevertheless, I still got all of the original questions and statements that I normally get when I spend the day on the caution tape-roped-off-wheel. "Wow, that looks like hard work!" or "Did you lose a bet?" or "Are you being punished?" or "That's a big job...". And of course there are always moments where I have to laugh at people. I have now had three incidents of somebody thinking that we steered the ship backwards, and having to point out to them that the pointy end of the ship is actually the front.

Today takes the cake, however. While I was cleaning everything up in preparation for epoxying, I had three people come up and touch the wheel's spokes. Then a family came on board, and the dad walks up and says "wow, they must be working on the wheel. I guess we shouldn't touch it." What does he do? He reaches out and touches it. His three kids race up and the littlest follows his father's stellar example and grabs a spoke, prompting the man to start yelling at him, and the kid to start crying. Brilliant.

The best was at the end of the day. I'd just finished applying epoxy to the outer ring of spokes, and this guy and his two daughters walks up, and he reaches out to touch the wheel. I give him my I'm-going-to-skin-you-alive look, and say very sharply "Sir, please don't touch the wheel." He replies, "Yeah, I know..." and shows me his now sticky fingers. Crap and a half, man. Seriously. Rig up the grating. Give him a dozen stripes. He'll never look at CAUTION TAPE and FRESH VARNISH signs the same way again.

I had to leave shortly after that, because I was extremely close to maiming someone. And you know that as soon as I left, someone probably touched the very freshly epoxied wheel. I'm positive of it.

So, note to self: go to sleep early tonight. The last thing I want to do tomorrow during sail training is bite the head off of one of my mates...especially as I'm going to be living with 25 of them for 4 days in close quarters next week....

Cheers.

I Get All The Weirdos

Its true. Almost everytime I've had to be the person in the drive thru spot, I get the weirdos, the freaks, the caffeine addicts, the cranky people and the crazies. Like the guy who walked up to the window one night. We don't serve people through the window unless they are in a car....

Last night took the cake in my book. I'm in the back doing dishes, and a car comes through. I can hear the car is obviously full of immature guys who are pretending that we are McDonalds. Haha. Okay, so moving on. They finally get up to the window, and man, they were out to have a GREAT time. More customers pull up to the box, and I'm having a hard time hearing them because of all the noise these boys are making.

We get their drinks made and handed out to them, and many insults and other such comments are exchanged (not by me, since I was trying to concentrate on the other customers in the drive). I turn to the window just as they start pulling away. The SUV stops so that the passenger is at the window, and one of the boys decides to show me his skinny white butt. They pull away laughing hysterically.

I really didn't need to see that.

I was in the neighborhood today, so I stopped by the store to get some coffee, and as I walk in a really tall skinny fellow walks out. I stopped, and watched him leave, thinking Man, he looks familiar...kinda like the driver of that car from last night.

I get up to the counter, and my AM tells me that that kid Was the driver from last night, and that he'd come to apologize and left his phone number. The AM gives it to me, and I get my drink and leave. As I got in my car, I noticed the kid was still in the parking lot, so I pull up to where his car is and I call out to him.

What followed was a nearly tearful, very panicked explanation and apology. The cops had called his folks. Oh boy. That CHP guy must have called it in! (I had written down their license plate number) I smiled, and told the kid that it was okay, and I really appreciated his apologizing, and with a grin, told him to tell his friend that he needed a tan.

So, that was my first experience being mooned.

=)

The CON

Every year San Diego becomes obssessed with pop culture in the second to last week of July. Comics, movies, games, art, costumes, music, anime, you name it...the International San Diego Comic Convention has it. Last year the Con had an attendance of over 100,000. I have no idea what it will be this year, but I went yesterday, on the first day of the Con and it was crazy....I don't really have much to say, since it defies description, but here are some of the pictures I took. The rest you can see at my smugmug page. Check it out in Slideshow Mode.

Dancing a Jig

Today marked another huge step in the restoration of the Surprise's wheel. I guess the only thing I can do is to show you pictures.

When we were finished for the day, as I walked out to the parking lot, I kept looking back to see the wheel. One set of spokes, you couldn't see...the other? Gleaming. There was a beautiful star of light sitting on top of the wheel. I was so happy, I could dance a jig.

Cheers!

Progress!!

This weekend, I decided to finally take some pictures of what I've been totally obsessed with at the Museum. As a few people might know (since I never stop talking about it), I've been working on stripping down the old varnish on the wheel of the Surprise, so we can re-varnish it and make it look pretty. So, here's an example of what part of the wheel still looks like, since we haven't gotten to it yet:

This is what 4 years of neglect and a crappy varnish job to start off with will do to a wheel. The props guys of Fox studios either didn't bother to do what we are doing to the old varnish (scraping it off and replacing it) when they were dressing up the "set" or they picked out the nastiest yellow varnish and mixed it in with some brown paint to make it look aged. I'm constantly ranting about this because you see the wheel close up in the movie for all of about 30 seconds, and in dark stormy weather. You can't even see the detail of the crappy paint job. Besides, what self-respecting ship's captain, looking for things to keep his often idle crew busy, would allow the wheel to fall into such disrepair?!

So, here is what the wood of the wheel (which is solid mahogany) looks like after it has been scraped clean, sanded well and has two coats of epoxy varnish on it:

There's no stain on that sucker. That's all wood baby. Ain't it beautiful? The day that I did this section, I was by myself, and as I finished cleaning up the mess from sanding, I say the higher-ups of the Museum going below for a meeting, including the skipper. When he came back up on deck, I'd just finished the last of the epoxy on the post. I called him over, and he did a complete double-take. After three years of seeing the wheel every day, looking like crap, finally some progress. I left that day with a huge smile on my face.

Since starting this project at the begining of last November, we've had every kind of delay to deal with. We've had to stop for months at a time because of the weather (can't epoxy when the wood is wet). We've been thwarted by people who either don't think the project is a priority, or don't agree on what materials we should use. But regardless of the obstacles we've still managed to get this far, and I hope to be done by the end of June. I keep saying by the end of the month, but what month we finish in is always changing. So, June. The large sections were easy, but the spokes are driving me crazy with sanding all of the detail and stuff. When I get tired and frustrated, I look at the parts we've finished, and I have hope. Some day soon we will be done, and then it will be on to the next project, whatever it may be.

Cheers

Hoist the Host!

Yesterday I got to spend the day at the Museum, working on varnishing a section of well-sanded wood on the wheel. When I got there I met up with our skipper, and he playfully asked if I was going to get Mike Rowe to help me out. Yes, he was there.

The Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs crew was at our Museum, filming Mike doing a variety dirty jobs onboard the Star of India. While I was sanding away, my attention was drawn to the sight of a cameraman and Randy standing on the main royal yard footropes, and Mike sitting pretty in a bosun's chair being hoisted to the masthead.

He looked tiny all the way up there, but he has now joined a select few individuals who have had a view of the deck from that very place. Dispite the fact that he's been to the 500 ft. top of the Mackinac Bridge in Michigan, as well as many other precarious places, no doubt this was the scariest. There is something rather dubious about sitting on a plank of wood supported by two ropes, hooked into a line and being hoisted 160 off the deck of a mildly swinging barque.

I can't wait to see the episode.

Cannon Battles of May 3rd

Friday, May 2nd,
This day began late, with a car ride down to the Museum and arriving there at around 10:30. I worked on the wheel for a while, joined by one of my crewmates, until we noticed these wonderful things we call “guns” arrive onboard. Most people refer to them as “cannons,” which in fact is incorrect when using them nautically. We call them guns, and the balls we fire from them are called “shot”.

Anyway, two little guns made their appearance on the deck. They were so small, they could be carried easily by two people. However, their arrival signaled better things to come, and we abandoned the wheel in favor of assisting the placement of the guns below decks. This was accomplished with sweat and toil, and we added two more guns to the company of the small ones, including a true 6 pounder. This is still a small gun, in the ranks of guns, but it packs a punch and makes a lot of noise. By the end of the afternoon, Timmy, Lassie, and Toto, the small guns, were on their platforms, followed by Muffy, Homer and Pearl, the 6 pounder. I left after Pearl had a home, since I had to go earn money for real work (yeah, right).

Saturday, May 3rd,
This day began before the sun rose. I climbed wearily out of bed, reluctant to leave behind only 3 hours of sleep following the closing shift at Starbucks. However, the day promised great things, so I managed. I picked up my contribution to the ship’s rations and made my way down to the Museum. Once the rum and ship’s biscuit were loaded into the galley (the coffee and every marked out pastry I could get my hands on last night), I helped the gunners carry on their supplies.

They seemed to be a lively bunch, happy to be there, and happy to be able to oblige our desperate need to prove our war-like capabilities. Last November’s three weeks of taunting ships with useless words and bananas shaken by our angry fists were finally over. Now we have a 6 gun broadside.

A couple of hours later found us out in the harbor, getting our feet wet, so to speak. The Fleet Week parade that we were supposed to be a part of wasn’t going to be underway for a couple more hours, so we had lots of time to kill. This time was spent well, with copious amounts of laying about the deck snoozing punctuated by brief periods of sail setting and bracing. We were under sail some of the time, and under motor power the rest. It all depended on the wind.

A few of us were worried, because the 100,000 people the papers had predicted to show for the first Fleet Week parade and the Red Bull Air Race time trials, were absent. The Navy’s destroyers made their way through the harbor, along with some hovercraft, and a few flyovers from very loud planes and helicopters. The parade was lacking the aircraft carrier, much to my disappointment. When the Navy ships finally made their way under the bridge, it was our turn to show off for the City of San Diego.

By now the people had finally come out. The Midway was covered with people, as well as the Embarcadero, and several dozen sailboats and pleasure craft that had parked themselves in prime viewing locations throughout the harbor. It made our job very difficult, being that our Porcella Nostra is not easily threaded around annoying little sailboats. We finally got to the open patch of water in front of the Reagan and the Inspiration Hornblower, and started exchanging shots with the Californian. Our first rolling broadside was awesome to witness.

When shots are received, you feel the full force of the sound wave. I took lots of video with my little digital camera, and every time the Californian fires, you see the picture jerk, because of the shock I felt each time. At one point later on, the Californian was so close to our starboard side that it was almost painful to receive their rounds.



However, this was nothing to what they must have felt when we returned fire. They had four small 3-6 pounders on board, to our 6 guns of varying size, including a true 6 pounder, Pearl. Whenever the gunners shot off Pearl, we felt the recoil impact in the deck beneath our feet. It makes you wonder what it was like to have the long 9 pounders and the giant 12 pounders on the ships of old. What must it have been like to be standing on the deck of the HMS Victory, with its 96 guns firing?

I’m glad I had ear protection. Once we were done by the carrier, we made our way to the Museum and exchanged more shots for the benefit of our esteemed patrons. Our first volley, however, caught an unwise pair of fishermen unprepared. They were right between our ships when it was time to exchange shots, and having endured crap from sailboats all day, our captain was not about to take pity on two unfortunates in a rowboat. The crew shouted to them to cover their ears, and they got the message quickly as they realized the predicament they were in. The shots were exchanged, and we laughed at their discomfort. They were seen to be moving off in the direction of the Midway shortly after. What a day to be out fishing.



Our last bout of firing came after we’d made our way up to Shelter Island. As we maneuvered into positions, the Red Bull competitors were up in their planes, limbering up for the race. They were performing the most incredible stunts above us. It was loud and somewhat distracting as we tried to get into the best position possible for winning the fight with the Californian. Finally our nemesis came at us, and came up so close to our starboard side that we were able to exchange demands and taunts easily. As you can hear in the video, some of us were dreading the pain that the exchange would cause, due to the sheer sound of the shots ringing out. It was magnificent nonetheless, and since they ran out of powder before we did, I think that we can safely say that we had the upper hand when the day’s hostilities came to an end.



Once the ships were safely docked back at the Museum, and we had put everything away and restored order to our soon-to-be-infested-with-tourists deck, our captain summed up the day. In short he was very proud of our fine performance, especially since we’d had the Museum’s Director on board as a guest. With a good third of our crew new to the ship, and the rest of us trying to remember how we did things back in November, the fact that we only made a couple of small mistakes was something to be proud of.

I joined my crewmates at the local pub for a few rounds of toasts to the ships’ crews, and the ships’ captains, as well as the master gunner. After about an hour of talking and drinking (water in my case), I left the pub feeling better than I have in months. It is a wonderful feeling to be wished well by so many people, to be a part of such a wonderful group that cares so much for each other and the ships that bring us together. The best thing is that this day was only Saturday, and we have crew tomorrow. Huzzah!

May 3rd

I can't believe this. It is so awesome, I have to share it.

So, we (the museum, and the H.M.S. Surprise and the Californian) were invited to participate in the Fleet Week celebrations the first week of May. Yesterday, the Captain shared with us the general plan. The Surprise and the Californian are going to duke it out three times, in three different spots on the bay, for the benefit of the public. Which means, obviously, that the Surprise is going to get guns! We are getting 4 small guns, 2 long guns and 2 swivel guns, as well as a guest crew of 9 gunners on board to man them. The guns will all be small, 6 pounders or less, but still. They will make lots of noise, and lots of smoke.

I can't imagine a better day. What's more, after the gun battles on the bay, that afternoon is the trial day for the Red Bull Air Race. So, we get to hang out at the Museum all afternoon, watching little trick planes doing sick stunts all around the bay. Sweet, eh?

There is progress on the wheel too. We've been scratching away at the Surprise's wheel for months now, off and on, getting a few hours in here and there. Yesterday we made a lot of progress. I started sanding down an area that had been really weathered and grey, and now the mahogany wood is rosie pink. It will look so beautiful when we oil the wood. We need at least a couple of weeks of nonstop hot weather to dry out the wood before we redo the varnish, so for now, to protect the wood till summer gets on for real, we're going to coat it in lynseed oil. No matter what, it will look so much better. Instead of being yellowish/brownish and peeling, it will be a beautiful, deep rosie brown. It will be so satisfying to see it finished.

Well, that's all for now.

Cheers!

Once

The mail came today. and as expected there was a little red envelope in the mail box. I pull it out and take it up to my apartment. There is a movie in this little red envelope. I pull it out. It is new to me...one that I’ve never seen before. I set it down on the bookcase, next to my tv.

It sits and waits patiently. Will I watch it today? Tonight? Maybe not. I’m not in the mood. I’m not sure about it. I’ve never seen this movie before, and though several people have said it was good, I have no idea whether or not I will like it. The main characters in the movie won a big award recently, and they seemed really cool. But still...it sits and waits.

A few days pass. I’ve watched about 12 movies in the time past, but still, it waits patiently for me to take it out of its little white envelope and put it in my xbox. The afternoon has come, and its peaceful out, with the sun streaming in and it seems like a good time to try it.

It plays as I work. It is so far a very nice film. Very genuine and the characters seem like real people. The song they are singing together is the one that they won the big award for. It is beautiful. The music of the film helps me feel the sculpture I’m working. It helps the clay move better. Now I want the soundtrack so that I can listen to it and work to it.

The movie is over now, and it was one of the most beautiful, simple, charming movies I’ve seen in a long time. I’m glad the sun was shining just right, and that it was a Saturday afternoon, and that I finally got the guts up to watch it. It was perfect.

Everything

God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping

God in my resting
There in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking

Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything

God in my hoping
There in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting

God in my laughing
There in my weeping
God in my hurting
God in my healing

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
You are everything

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
Be my everything

Rescued?

I went down to the beach again today. I really needed to walk off my thoughts and frustrations, including a whole day of subbing for 8th grade History. The county is laying off 1300 teachers and school staff...I'm totally broke...gas prices keep going up...

These were all things that were swilling around in my head. I stood at the waterline waiting for a friend who was supposed to go walking with me. As I stood there, I started looking for more bees, and sure enough I found them. Most of them were crusted over with sand, dead. But I did find one that was trying to get free of its watery prison. I picked it up off the sand and held it gently. After a few minutes of hobbling around, it started to clean itself. 20 minutes passed and it had gotten most of the sand off its legs and body, cleaned its antennae (one of which had been plastered to its head) and dried its wings. It was actively crawling around on my hand, so I decided to head back up to the sea wall. When I got there I went over to a daisy bush and the little bee suddenly took off and landed on a flower. I figured it would fly away eventually, but I wanted to make sure that it had some chance of flying to safety, rather than right into a wave.

I have no idea if the little bee made it, or will survive. But it felt good to give at least one of dying bees a chance. It also helped to clear my head a little as I walked alone down the beach, to the sound of crashing waves.

Where Bees Go To Die

This evening I took a walk down on the beach, just to get out of my house and get some fresh air. I walked the length of the seawall, from the parking lot I left my car in, to the other end of the wall and back. As I walked, I started noticing bees, on the beach.

Every couple of steps there were one or two, or a small group of them lying dead along the waterline. Right along with all of the kelp air bladders and small rocks and shells pushed up by the waves. No where else. As I walked back towards the parking lot, I counted the bees, and by the time I reached my car, I'd seen many dozens of them. Why were they all dead at the waterline? Why had they flown to the sea to die? The wind all day had come up from the ocean, not from the land, so its not like they'd been blown out to sea.

As I pondered this bizarre sight, the sun started to set. As it had been cloudy all day, I didn't think that there'd be much of a sunset. Was I ever wrong. This evening's sunset was one of the most beautiful I'd ever seen. So, with that sight in my mind, I left the beach to go do other things, but I will always wonder why the bees lay in their watery graves.

Dusk and Fog

The very early morning hours, just before the sun comes up, and the late afternoon hours just as the sun goes to bed are my very favorite times of the clock. Those dim hours give much inspiration for quiet reflection. Today's dusk is even better.

As I walked out of my apartment to get the mail, I realized that not only could I see a huge fog bank beginning to make its way inland, but I could smell it and feel it on my skin. The sky was pale yellow, as the sun I presume was sinking below the horizon. The fog had made its way through the park across the street, obscuring the jungle gym and the trees and turning the grass white.

To me, that kind of fog is absolutely the most beautiful thing on God's green earth. It muffles all sound, turns the world quiet. Paired with the dimming light, it infuses everything with a wonderful peacefulness that calms the soul. The air was cool after a long warm day, and the fresh taste of the wet air made me feel great. I could breathe it in deep without inspiring a coughing fit (of which I constantly suffer after my bout with the flu week before last).

Now I have the evening to look forward to, both at home and at work. The world as I know it is slowly being enveloped in beautiful obscurity. How I love the fog.

There is a last time for everything...

On Monday I subbed for a preschool moderate/severe handicap class. I didn't do much, not knowing what to do, and the class was very capably handled by several very competent aides. The kids were cute...all of them were about 4 to 5 years old. And several of them were sick. These were kids who weren't really able to go to the potty by themselves, much less cover their mouths or blow their noses. They sprayed stuff everywhere. We dutifully cleaned up all the messes, including the ones under their noses....but it didn't help. How only a few kids were sick, I don't know. They should all have been sick. And all who were should have been at home, in bed, with mom nearby.

Instead they were relying on me, among others, and they got me sick. Monday night I had a bad headache. Tuesday I subbed for a 5 grade class all day, and had a slightly sore throat and a headache all day, with the sore throat getting worse as the day progressed. I canceled my job for Wednesday, and good thing too, because Wednesday I started leaking. By the end of Wednesday I had consumed 3 extra large boxes of Kleenex, and by the end of Thursday, another 3 were added to that toll. Today has been just as bad, except that I am coughing now too. And the coughing has been pretty nasty. Throw in several days of off and on chills and fevers, and three nights of very uncomfortable and restless sleep, and you can see how crappy my week has been.

The doctor that I finally got in to see today gave me a couple of things. One of them is an antibacterial drug that I'm to wait to use another day, in case this is viral, which means it has almost run its course. The other is a syrup for the coughing, that also has Codeine in it, which should put me to sleep. Yay! I have partaken of the syrup and am now waiting to be blissfully unaware of my surroundings.

As I wait, I mourn the lost opportunities of getting to sub for a high school biology teacher (who had two periods of AP bio to boot), getting another few hours added to my meager payroll at Starbucks, and having my brother visit. He has a race tomorrow, and was going to stay the night and spend Saturday with me, but now for obvious reasons, he made other plans. Oh well.

Aside from the drugs and the obvious desire for all of this to go away, I wish I had my mommy here, to give me a hug and tuck me into bed....growing up sucks when you are sick. This is the LAST time I EVER sub (babysit) for a preschool class. EVER.

Sir Ed

Sir Edmund Hillary died today, at age 88.

Sir Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, who died in 1986. Both were great men.

May the world never forget the New Zealander who braved the world's highest mountain. Rest in peace, Sir Ed.