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I watch a young couple slowly working the bay with thier lead line from the deck of a skooum folk boat.  Unlike all the couples that motor in on thier large boats yelling and screaming back and forth, this couple is silent, they work as a team.

I’ll never understand why people make anchoring so fucking complicated, find an open spot and drop the fucking hook.  I don’t even bother setting Sookies anchor, I ghost in down wind, motor shut off and when I feel good I kick it over, let out a pile of line and snub it on my mooring bits.

I’ve been blessed more and more each day with pocket cruisers sailing into our little bay.  This sitting around and waiting is killing me, yes I need to work but still I could survive without it, it think.  Even the luckiest of us will only get 75 summers in a lifetime, if your 35 half of them are over and you have to wonder how many great ones you will get, maybe 35 more??? What if it’s only 25, time is a wastin…

So I contemplate rowing out with the man can and pouring them a glass of my shit box wine but they look so peaceful I don’t want to spoil thier party, I retreat to my cabin and pout.  Sorting through paint brushes and varnish to take my mind off of my dockside prison I spy a cruising rag a friend dropped off, garbage.  There is a reason blogs will always have thier place in this world.

I love occasionally watching sailing videos but I can’t imagine being a slave to a video camera, sure it pays the bills but at what cost, every memory is talking to a piece of glass.  I really want to expand into video but like my blog, 15 minutes a day is more than too much time to spend on such trivial things.  I throw the rag in the corner and pick up a literally destroyed copy of the cost conscious cruiser, this little book of mine has been through the ringer and many many sailboats with me.  The broken spline is from when we took a mast in the water knock down after having lightning strike within touching distance.  Blind and deaf I left my little boat to tend to itself while I dove below to check my through hulls, I slipped on the book that had been hurtled across the cabin splitting the spline and almost my head in the process.

Those old time writers really had a good strategy, go play for a few years till you find somewhere to swallow the hook for a bit.  Write a book and then wash your hands of it all and go sailing again.  I’m pushing closer and closer to going completely rogue, cancelling my Instagram account which I truly loved was one of the many steps I have been taking to unplug.  And so back to the young couple heaving thier lead line as they slowly practice what the ancient mariners  for many a generation passed down to us, seamanship…

From the log of Sookie BUSTED.  A late eventing call to help move a friends boat and his wife looks at me “are you wearing a skirt?”  No it’s my man kilt is my simple response.  “Stormy, that’s a full blown skirt”. Yes I know that, I say with a  🙂 ” I understand”. She says with a ;).  My friends don’t think I’m nuts, they know I am and they still love me which is why I love them so much.

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play, 

Came to the mariners’ hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,

It perched for vespers nine;

“God save thee, ancient mariner! 

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