Memory Lane - Lover's Lane

 

The Good Samaritan
A memorable moment between strangers
by Stephen Sawyer

To Love. 
  To friends, to lovers or both.
      May we all experience it in abundance.

-- Claire Kingsley

Eventually you love people - friends or lovers - because of their flaws.

-- Karen Allen

Memory Lane - Lover's Lane

Memory Lane and Lover's Lane often run together.

Soulmates are seldom singular. They come to us as romantic Lovers, as Family and Friends. Even with Passing Strangers, we often share a glance, an event or a moment which lingers in the mind and heart across the span of years.

Memory is composed of moments of passion. Moments that stand out against a backdrop of routine and day to day concerns. Exceptional moments of hot and cold, peace and agitation, ugliness and beauty, love and loneliness imprint themselves upon us. Are drawn into the story of our selves.

So? My wish for Self and Others??

Let us fill our cup with love, wherever we find it. Turn toward those who bring love in each of the moments Life brings us. Seek it out in others along the way. Turn toward laughter and delight over those things we share. The antics of youth, bread broken together, a cup o' kindness tipped. We have more in common than not. 

Turn away from fear, from anger and despair. I don't mean suppress it, but rather reframe it. Resist, where need be, with the council of Gandhi, who with his friends overcame the greatest empire of their day: Seek out and appeal to the best in those you must oppose. They, too, are human beings, struggling to come to terms with a complex world.

Let us run our lanes together - Memory and Love - to the best of our ability. Build a life of memory, lined with love.

Let us find soulmates at every turn.

In the name of the daybreak
and the eyelids of morning
and the wayfaring moon
and the night when it departs,

I swear I will not dishonor
my soul with hatred,
but offer myself humbly
as a guardian of nature,
as a healer of misery,
as a messenger of wonder,
as an architect of peace.

-- From School Prayer by Diane Ackerman

Hitchhiker's Guide to Wooden Boats: Review

 

Margo St-Finch singing her Tide's Going Out

I almost look at it as being a little bit religious;

putting yourself out to the world and saying,

What do you have for me?

Where am I going to go?

-- Ryan Hashagen

Hitchhiker's Guide to Wooden Boats: A Review of Sorts

Every now and again we stumble upon a story that we relate to on some deep level, for reasons hard to identify, much less to express. 

This little film - presented by Northwest Maritime of Port Townsend, WA - is the story of a young couple's weekend adventure by land (camper van and bicycles) and sea (in HA!, a lovingly restored Bolger GLOUCESTER GULL).

Turns out, Ryan lived for a time afloat in Eagle Harbor, where we took our first steps in life aboard. HA! may even have originally been our friends' dory... the one which inspired our own. We surely have friends in common.

Turns out, Margot is a lover- and writer of sea-shanties, among her other artistic pursuits. Her Tide's Going Out was born with the patina of... well... je n'sais pas quoi. But it carries us out on its ebb.

Turns out it's a joyous adventure on the scale of Wind in the Willows, but shared by a couple obviously in love.

There. You see? These descriptions express nothing of why this one is worth your while. The best I can do is recommend that you invest a half-hour of your time to watch. To find out for yourself if it speaks to you.

If you're anything like us, you'll find yourself reviewing it on occasion, to lift your spirits in troubled times.

Outlaw Love

  

Yosemite Sam Collectible Figurine

Love is the ultimate outlaw...

The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice.

Instead of vowing to honor and obey, 

maybe we should swear to aid and abet.

-- From Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins

Outlaw Love

We might think of marriage as a matter of Law. Y'know... a social contract. A civil or religious ceremony. Or even of Common Law which recognizes a long-standing union.

For better or worse, the Law legitimizes or forbids the union of persons on the basis of 'norms', custom, tradition and taboo. I'm not writing, here, to argue the Law, this way or that. 

But Love...

I'm here to attest that Love is by nature Outlaw. Anarchy to its hot, beating heart. Feral... untamed and untamable. Insane... mad and maddening.

I'm here to deny that dominion or obedience have a lick to do with Love, though it may play at these. That coercion, punishment and revenge have no place within it. That duty and obligation are signs of Love, and can even be symptoms of its deficit.

I'm here to doubt that Love can be without respect, honor, consent and good faith. Without inspiring loyalty and fidelity running deeper than mere monogamy. That the choice to go forward together requires promise or command.

We are human, both individually and as Lovers. We are confused, inconstant and learning to know our own selves. And yet we find one another in Love, and for a while go forward, hand in hand.

Aid it. Abet it. Accomplice outlaw Love!

That would mean that security is out of the question.
The words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate.
My love for you has no strings attached.

I love you for free.

-- Continued from Still Life with Woodpecker

Dream vs. Reality

Obi-Wan Squareboti

 

A bird may love a fish

    But where will they build a home together?

– Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof

Where are you going?

Who will go with you?

What vessel shall bear you?

Answer these in the wrong order

    And you are in trouble.

– Howard Thurman’s Observation, extended

Dream vs. Reality

Some of the very first advice we got when first moving toward the water was, whatever you do, don’t sleep aboard a boat you’re thinking of buying… you’ll fall in love with it and lose yer objectivity!

And so it was. Sorta.

Here’s the problem, though… the point entire of the whole sordid affair is passion. Practical concerns have their place of course, and maybe even the final say. How do we find the right balance between dreams and reality? 

In Fiddler on the Roof, Tevya is speaking to his daughter who has fallen in love with a young man of another faith and ethnic background. It’s a good question and lovingly posed. Against his wishes, they go forward in love as lovers must. Who knows the outcome, for them or for any of us in the real world? 

We love. We act on love. We live the consequences of our choices.

The western-ish Apollonian imperative - know thyself - is excellent advice, but a little passive for my taste. To it, I would add the eastern-ish, Zen imperative - seek balance.

Day-dreaming a vessel is a wonderful passtime. Not only does it carry us to far and fragrant shores, but fills our hearts with those things we relate to as the well-springs of passion. Sometimes its sheer escapism from our daily grind is a soothing and revitalizing relief.

For we are embedded within a life of our own making. Our priorities and choices have cocooned us within habits, relationships and obligations. I don’t disparage… we’re all entangled, one way and another. But these are more or less the ecography of our lives.

So, if we have made a life we wish to more or less continue - have a home ashore and full of family, perhaps - it constrains our passions for, say, a vessel. Or, maybe better put, it informs our passions.

Just as the parts of a vessel must work together to fulfill its purpose… just as it must be fit to face the waters it sails… just as its accommodations must accommodate its crew… so must it conform to its place within its owners’ life.

Here’s a subtle difference… I propose vs. I purpose. Americans tend to the former, British to the latter. In the case of adding a vessel to one’s lifestyle, I prefer purpose. It’s intentional, rather than hypothetical. Hypotheses have their honored place, but sooner or later, they’d better resolve… options winnowed to purpose followed by action.

And once in action, be persistant! More stubborn than mules!!

For adding a vessel into one’s life is no small affair, whether by one’s own hand or by simple acquisition. The success of the venture hinges on how well dream and reality comport. As in any other endeavor, the better matched our hopes and expectations with our actual wants and needs, the better the prospect of success. 

Wrecks of dreams on the bedrock of realities litter the boatyards and backwaters of the world.

Not enough dream; what’s the point?

Not enough reality: no dream comes true.

So here’s my advice, taken in order…

Know thyself. 

Seek balance. 

Dream as you purpose to live. 

Go fall in love.

Persist.

Realize your dream.

[Note: Thanks to David Reece for the (facetious?) moniker; Obi-Wan Squareboti!]

Duetude: Rowing in Tandem

 

The Owl and the Pussycat sailed to sea
in a beautiful, pea-green boat...

Image from the MirrorOnline

If you want to go fast, go alone. 

If you want to go far, go together.

-- African saying

Duetude: Rowing in Tandem

There are a few things in modern life, undertaken by couples, which require sustained, closely coordinated physical effort. Dancing, and folding large tarps come to mind.

And then there's rowing.

To row a boat together - each with a pair of oars - well... first there are the thousand or so strokes of bickering.

Our cockpit is on the small side, so we can bump if we're a little out of sync. You know. Scratch a nose. Adjust a cushion. Look at the birds.

Both of us are facing aft, and I'm usually at the aft, mid-ship oars (they're longer and I'm bigger). My job is to look over my shoulder as I begin to pull, matching Anke's stroke, and thereafter maintain a steady rhythm. Oh... and if a little bit of oar steering is needed, I favor the correct oar, and maybe even call out RIGHT OAR! or LEFT OAR! in a voice loud enough to hear.

You'd think that's simple enough. It is but it ain't. Takes a while to get each of those down, and a while longer to get 'em in combinations.

Anke, at the forward oars, is continuous power. Her job is to watch out for any quirks in my cadence and avoid collision with my shoulders. She too needs to be steady on the oars, to keep all four moving free. She's got to respond to steering commands promptly, and occasionally shout out some of her own if I've drifted off somewhere.

You'd think that sounds simple enough. It is but it ain't.

But the bickering dies down after a day or two, and the magic sets in...

The magic of moving our vessel... gliding across calm water or working our way into a headwind. The magic of passing through vast and wild land- and seascapes. The magic of our bodies working together in sync, muscles aglow and warm with the effort.

We pull together as one. Our hearts beat as one. We face the work and dangers as one. We savor the pleasures as one, not least those of our own company.

Duetude.

Happy Valentine's!

Subjectivividy: Row / Sail Around Chichagof

 

Our route, minus squiggly bits

Is it not better to applaud
and embrace the ever-changing seas,
not a longing dream stranded
on an eroding shore?

For the relentless tides shape
the coastlines: changing the world,
leaving their imperfect marks on time.

-- from The Perfect Myth by kategorical_poet

Subjectivividy: Row / Sail Around Chichagof

Circumnavigation was incidental.

We were aiming for the outer coast. Outer Chich, as it is locally known... the (west) side of Chichagof Island exposed to the Gulf of Alaska. Big water. A half a million square miles big. One and a half million square kilometers. Wind and wave each have plenty of room to develop power. 

So we Inside Passagemakers plan to head outside in a small vessel. And not just small, but new to us, and encumbered with every oddball idea we've collected over an oddball career. 

We got more than the usual cargo of advice. Yagottas and Yacants and Yashouldnts and Yamusts. We're gonna love it. We're gonna die. There's no shelter. There's shelter everywhere. It's all foul bottom. It's good holding anywhere you'll want to be.The usual, in other words, but this time at full volume. 

A general rule of thumb is to prefer those experienced mariners who report positively. 

Nay-sayers - even those with experience - are typically reporting the negative experiences consequent to poor choices. Careless anchoring, poor choice of shelter, machoing out the blows... these all lead to a pessimistic view. Those who have good experiences are typically applying both knowledge and prudence. If these can ride out the storm, it ain't braggin'. If they find holding, it's there. If they find shelter, it's there. If they read advanced notice of trouble, it's there to read.

Still, we approached the trip with caution and not a little trepidation

*****

Passage from Tenakee to Kalinen Bay, jump off point to the outer coast, involved a lot of rowing.

But our third day, in Peril Straits, a forecast of 'light winds' turned suddenly nasty. Five foot chop and gusts to 30kts of wind caught us mid-strait. This was our first stiff wind and way more than we'd bargained on! But MUSTELID took it well. With her whipstaff (vertical tiller) fixed a smidge to port, we could steer to s'brd by sheeting the main and raced across to shelter under a patch of sail.

Away in the distance, a humpback whale - longer than our hull and maybe 20x the mass - was coursing more or less toward us. But so long as we both maintained course and speed, it would pass easily behind us.

A few, absorbing gusts later and I looked again to find it now on a collision course! Not much time, and no room to maneuver on the face of the waves, I stomped the hull and called to Anke, below, to make noise.

That whale surged close, breathing slow and easy all the while, before it suddenly realized we were there, gulped air and emergency dived. I could have touched it with an oar. Anke saw its back, point blank, eclipse the sky. It's quick action saved us from being t-boned!

It would prove to be the closest call of the whole trip!

*****

From Kalinen, we faced a NW passage along 14nm of foul bottom shoreline, girded by breakers over jagged rock teeth. Wind was predicted S15 with 7ft seas, which would allow us to adjust distance off as needed, despite the rock 'n' roll. The concern was SW wind (prevailing direction along there)... we weren't sure we could close reach in the slosh of sea... if not, that coast would be a gradual lee shore.

As it happened, following a wild start the wind dropped to nothing. We rowed. And rowed. And rowed. All the time rising and falling to W seas from the Gulf and watching them burst against the shoreward rocks, close at hand.

Finally, we found the S wind, blowing hard, and made for Peele's Passage.

Peele was a paragon of the many Prohibition era smugglers supplying hootch to hundreds of outer coast miners. He knew this rock strewn passage well, and ditched pursuing law enforcement in its narrow, weed-wracked confines.

Our first look at it, we come screaming in under dark of a squall. We close-hugged a windward rock, ensuring we could make the sharp turn in. As we rounded, we were alarmed by the roar of several sharp, black fangs of rock that seemed to surge toward us!

Quickly became clear... those were no rocks. Sea lions, startled as we were!

*****

Crazed and Crazy

Once through Peele's we entered an island wonderland. 

I don't love the word 'awesome' (overused), but it's hard to think of a better. 'Terrific', maybe, in it's archaic sense of ability to inspire fear and respect? In any case, words fail.

Stretching from Slocum Arm in the south (Peehle's snakes along it) to Lisianski Strait in the north, outer Chich packs thousands of miles of coastline into a raven's flight of 30nm.

Approaching from the sea, solitaries and spray lines of rock must first be negotiated. Then fans of myriad tiny islands surrounding larger anchor islands. Then the perforated main body of Chichigof itself. All separated and connected by a labyrinth of weedy, bereefed passages. Shoals and deeps. Mountain, cliff and moor. Sheer rock and climax forest. And populated by fish, fowl, land and sea mammals running the local gamut.

Pretty much all of Southeast Alaska in a nutshell!

We drifted. We rowed. We sailed. We poked and prodded and scrabbled and scrooged. Feasted on its bounties, nourishing body and soul. And tucked away like the gem it is, White Sulfur Hotsprings let us look out on the open Gulf from the luxury of hot water! OMFG!! (Can I say that??)

We moved about in a daze - sometimes a literal daze of fog - overwhelmed by the beauties of the place.

But autumn was approaching, and with it equinoctial gales and storms rolling off the Gulf. On the first day of September, we rounded Three Knob Rock and turned toward inland waters.

*****

Sunset over Icy Strait

Icy Strait looks simple. Should be simple. Ain't simple.

Forecast winds blow mostly E or W. Water rushes in and out the E end... that's a fact. After that, it's complicated. Deep troughs are separated by relatively shallow ridges... water rises, turns and rushes. Waters collide in rips and ridges. Eddies back and fill. Point Adolphus puts a kink in the whole works, throwing water from one side of the strait to t'other.

Over the years, we've figured out jigsaw pieces of the puzzle. Maybe put a corner together.

Going E from Adolphus, for instance, if you follow the S shore (where all the good shelter is), you soon run into a W setting current. A strong one. Always. Goes like this:

• Outgoing tide, headed W to the sea, is on the nose.
• Incoming tide, headed E from the sea, is on the nose.

Wait, WHAT?? Well, incoming water is thrown NW by Adolphus, setting up a huge back-eddy that curls and back-fills alongshore, headed W.

Best bet is to push E at low slack, hoping to forge across the eastbound river of water, into the eye before the back-eddy sets up full throttle.

And that's just one challenge!

But the vistas! Wide waters aligned with sunrise and sunset. Towering, glaciated mountains and Glacier Bay to the NW, with lesser but no less beautiful mountains lining the shores. Deep sounds, inlets and estuaries to either hand.

With all this open water view we realize that we're surrounded by whales in flight, breaching for reasons they have never shared with us.

They say when pigs can fly, meaning never. But whales do fly. Go figure.

*****

Chilkoot Mountains

So we pull into Swanson Harbor at the cross-roads of Icy, Lynn and Chatham Straits. It's now late September and well past time to return to Tenakee before winter comes down hard.

But. But. But. But. 

But we're having such a great time! The temps are milder than usual for the season, and we're feeling in command of our vessel. Having family up there in Haines gives us a pretext. If we're there for a birthday on the 1st of October, we can take the next window S.

Now Lynn Canal is a full on fjiord let into mainland, North America. The wind comes down, as a friend says, with his Long Boots on! We've sailed it often, but even in bigger vessels, we prefer to keep our time there to the summer months. It would be... y'know... ill advised to head into the Lion's jaws this late in the year.

So rather than turn our bow south for home, we head north.

It's a humbling run at any time of year. The Chilkat and Chilkoot mountain ranges ramp up and up as we sail north, their peaks shredding the clouds. But as October approached, snow fell high and beautiful, clothing the naked rock with a mantle of white.

Birch turned autumn golds and reds are at first now and then. Soon they crowd the alluvial fans spreading at the outflows of valleys yet buried in ice. Flats along the way are limned with grasses turned sere and electric. Birds are flocking and on the wing, heading for winter grounds. 

We had more wind in six days of actual transit, coming and going, than we had all the rest of the trip combined! Water heaping up with 'well marked streaks' between bouts of scud blowing off the cresting waves. 

Sailing in such felt much more under control, however, knowing our boat and having advanced our small craft sailing skills considerably over the summer. A little cotton mouth here, shaky legs there, and speedy runs up and back.

At one point, we were running south with a fair wind and last end of tide. Wind and sea had both been picking up, but a large lee lay close ahead. But then three short, steep, tall waves overtook us, one after the other. If they arose with a fair tide, we'd better get out of that before it turned foul! We had at hand a cove with a tricky tidal entrance, but low slack is the perfect time. So we rounded into a sudden, flat calm and rowed, easy as you please, with the new incoming tide into one of the best harbors in the world.

Slept like babes.

*****

Back in Swanson in mid-October, it was only a matter of waiting for a window to head for home. It's still the cross-roads of three cranky stretches of water, and Swanson itself is a geographical wonder... wind might be 15 gusting to 25kts higher than the surrounding areas at any given time.

But in due time, a window came. After all this, the homeward leg was uneventful, to our great relief. We rowed and sailed in lighter winds for the very most part.

Turning that last corner into Tenakee inlet aroused mixed feelings. 

We felt the pull of that next horizon strong within us. Despite generous helpings of friends and family along the way, we'd mostly been just the two of us, delighting in our duetude. We had faced much together. Leaned on one another with an intensity not called from us since our early days on the water. To immerse ourselves in a community, even for a season, is to trade something we value for something invaluable.

To me, this closeness to one another throughout the trip was the most vivid aspect of our whole, luminous venture.

Subjectively speaking.

MUSTELID

Surrender

 

Photo from Everplans

Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together.

– Paul Simon

Surrender n: The act of giving one’s self over to another.

– One among many meanings

Surrender

The act of giving one’s self over to another…

In the context of love, surrender is a mutual act of intramission based on trust. Of willing entanglement. Of choosing to turn toward as a way of being. Of letting go of the power of individuality for the greater power of loving partnership.

Surrender is also associated with a unilateral act of submission absent trust. Of unwilling engulfment. Of being forced to turn toward. Of yielding the power of individuality to conquest by a greater power.

The word is powerful and passionate in either sense.

Perhaps because the same word blares at full volume both meanings - will ye and nill ye - surrender is so difficult? 

By the time we find love, so many of us have surrendered in situations and relationships that have left us battered and scarred. We raise the walls and close the gates. We don armor and raise the sword by reflex. The gauntlet becomes as familiar as the backs of our own hands. The glaive becomes our hand.

But to surrender to one another… is there anything so sweet? To dismantle the walls and fling open the gates. To remove with love, patience and care each layer of defense. To win trust. 

To emerge together, hand in hand, to face the world?

*****

Surrender has a shipboard context, too, one which pervades the spectrum.

The ship surrenders itself to the sea. Um. Sort of. Certainly the sea has the first and last word in every discussion.

All aboard surrender themselves to the needs of the ship… as goes the ship, so goes its occupants.

The captain surrenders to a leadership role… one in which power is most definitely not unbridled or lacking in obligations. 

The crew surrenders their independence to the captain’s decision and command… ours is not to question why (at least in the crunch).

All more or less. Consent is nowadays much in vogue, but the heirarchy (sea, ship, captain, crew) doesn’t promote mutuality. Yet neither is it set in stone.

On a happy ship, we look to working with the sea  and not against it. We look to our vessels’ trappings and trim. We aspire to Cptn. Bligh’s ability, but eschew his HR. We jump to with a will when called to duty.

We surrender and sail on.

NOTE: We find that it’s good to recall that the role of Captain is just that; a role. We can and do trade off. Good for learning and a counter to hubris!

Love Among Mortals

Photo by Silke Schmidtchen

You think you have time.

-- From Buddha's Little Instruction Book by Jack Kornfield

Love Among Mortals

Facing Death is transformative.

Somewhere, in the back of our minds, we all know - in a general kind of way - that we are mortal. But then a moment comes when we look Death in the eye and know it for ourselves... for our Beloved... and that knowledge becomes both specific and immediate.

For me, such a moment marks the very beginning of our One Precious Life. 

As sailors in a wild and wooly place, Anke and I live with perhaps a closer view of Death than many. We often sail near the edge, and far from any hope of help should we fail dangerous.

This last autumn, we had a wild passage, where Death was grinning over our shoulders right along, breathing down our necks. It started with a small thing - a jammed block. So many deadly outcomes are the end of a series of small steps inching, then leaping toward disaster. We were able to manage our issues and all was, in the end, well.

But it was another reminder that - even in the mundane day to day - Death can come for us.

And now Plague walks all the lands of the world.

A time of pandemic binds us all in a moment of the awareness of our mortality. The last century has brought humanity a growing understanding of disease in its causes and cures. Yet we remain stubbornly mortal, and a tiny molecular machine - devoid of hope or malice - reminds us collectively of that fact.

For some, inevitable Death sucks all meaning from Life. For others - count me among them - Death is that dark background against which all life is luminous. It's proximity reminds us to live. NOW.

And what is the one thing worthwhile? That one thing to pursue with all the resource of our One Precious Life?

If you ask me, it's Love.

Power? Pffffft. Fame? Sic transit. Stuff? Can be useful but can also own us and weigh us down. Wealth? You know what it can't buy. 

We think we have time... let's assume we don't, and start living. Start loving.

Happy Valentines Day, all ye Young Lovers! 

(And that includes you, my fellow Elder Farts!)

COVID-19: Circle the Wagons

Important, but is it happening in time?
Treatment capacity lines seem optimistic, to me...
assumes healthcare is exceeded vs overwhelmed.

James gave the huffle of a snail in danger,

And nobody heard him at all.

-- A. A. Milne

COVID-19: Circling the Wagons

For those of you who don't know it, I've been huffling since the run up to Y2K about TEOTWAWKI - The End Of The World As We Know It.

Now I believe we're watching it unfold.

The basic factors are these

• A fragile, Global Industrial Economy (GIE)... our tightly coupled, deeply indebted Complex Adaptive System (CAS).
  
• A vast, overshot, human population which depends on a functional GIE for its livelihood.
• Exponential spread of COVID-19 pandemic which will almost certainly overwhelm the healthcare system.
• Failed containment and failing mitigation measures.
• Exponential growth of associated problems.

Exponential growth of anything catches humans by surprise in almost every case. Windows of opportunity for meaningful action / preparation are snapping closed at a rate that's difficult for human beings to grasp intuitively.

NOTE: See here (~4 min vid... visceral impact of exponential growth) and here (~9min vid... exponential spread of COVID-19 vs flattening) to get a taste of the challenge.

David Korowicz lays out the general issues in his paper Trade-off (77 pages for the very interested) and specifically, pandemic based analysis in Catastrophic Shocks in Complex Socio-Economic Systems: A Pandemic Perspective (10 pages for the interested). Both are challenging reading, but, I believe, provide a foundation for viewing current events.

CAS's - such as the human body - have a range of stability. Within that range, they can be astoundingly resilient. But if events drive them beyond that range, a tipping point is reached and the whole system settles into a new equilibrium.

In the human body, an infection can lead to the loss of a critical function (breathing, say), and in a rapid cascade it collapses (and without rapid, correct intervention, dies). In a just-in-time economy, supply-chain interruptions block down-chain production and can rapidly paralyze the economy. In finance, disturbing the mountain of debt can bring currencies and institutions crashing down.

All of these are underway. [Or, for a less detailed and challenging glimpse of the problem, try this article.]

This is my long-winded way of saying that this is both serious and moving faster than we imagine.


 My Urgent Advice...

>>>  Get together with those you most love RIGHT NOW. Stay together for the duration.

>>>  Get together provisions RIGHT NOW (food, water, essential medicines, cooking/heating fuel) for a minimum of two weeks (CDC advice). Longer is better.

>>>  Make an isolation / infected plan and put it into action RIGHT NOW.

>>>  Don't panic, but GET MOVING.


Whether I'm right or wrong about larger consequences... even if the GIE manages to function beyond the crisis... even if your area has no known cases...  whether you are riding this out or hunkering down for trouble...

Containment and mitigation measures are shutting down travel and contact for unspecified periods. If flattening the curve is successful (our best chance), lockdowns will be in place for months, not weeks.

I say again, windows of opportunity are snapping closed.

Fair winds, health and happiness to all of us,

Dave and Anke




P.S. Here's some good advice from a guy who's been there.

The Subject of Love

Love is friendship afire.
-- Paraphrased from many Lovers

Give yourself to love if love is what you're after.
-- Kate Wolf

My love for you doesn't begin with me.

The Subject of Love

Growing up in the days of father knows best, one heard much of love's object. The object of desire. The objectification of women. The objectification of men. Of the world and all who dwell within it.

We were putting a man on the moon. Fusing hydrogen. Discovering the joy of plastic. A TV in every house and a car in every garage. Conquering nature.

Objectivity was a virtue; subjectivity an embarrassment.

She's a redhead or blonde. He drives a jag. She's svelte or sturdy. He's a hunk or reliable. She'll shine at parties. He'll go far. Good mother. Good father.

So many of those relationships based on objective virtues - whatever they may be - seem formal. Going shopping, dressed up in cinematic trappings of swelling music, clever banter and soft lighting... hiding what's missing. I think there was love there at its best, but only of a sorts. I believe we have a better chance today. At least we're talking.

But we're not so very far down the road from all that.

A more subtle form of object love: many come to believe that love originates in the lover. That love must be earned. That one must be worthy before one can be truly loved.

But love is a reaction, I believe, to whom we love. It is the loved one who ignites us. It's personal.

We can open ourselves to love. Work to remove obstacles to it. Cultivate the ground for it. Even pursue it when it finds us. It can only find us through some special one who ignites love within us.

Myself, I'm no great reservoir of love, waiting to spill upon the worthy. On the contrary, I'm just this guy, see? On my own it's just a plod along the slow passage from cradle to grave.

But when the living subject of love comes into our lives - a particular person - we are kindled in love despite all objection. My god, we are set afire! We awaken and feel it in every burning ember of our souls. It is who they are - not what they are - that enflames us.

Subjective as hell. Subjective as heaven.





Happy Valentine's Day!

Heavy Weather

Count no one lucky until you know how they died.

-- Chinese Proverb


Heavy Weather

Chinese wisdom notwithstanding, I’ve always counted myself lucky in love. Very lucky.

Lately, my luck has been called into question.

Anke fell in love with a friend of ours and, for a while, we considered sailing forward as a crew of three. Extending WAYWARD to accommodate would have been the least of the changes to our lives, however, and our differing styles were hard to resolve. In the end, Anke and I are sailing forward as two, and our friend will remain a friend.

As you might imagine, a turn like this shakes the very foundations. While nothing changed in Anke’s feelings for me, everything changed. Came into question. Plans altered radically. For that time hours, days and nights of our seamless life divided and fell away. Emotions ran high.

I passionately believe that we’re not in control of love. It comes to us - or doesn’t - on its own terms. Can’t be forced. Can’t be denied. We can cultivate it or we can discourage it, and that’s about all.

I passionately believe that, if you truly love someone, it’s for who they are. Not who or how you might wish them to be. Not for what they can be for you. But for themselves… for the fire which they - as they are - alight within you. We sail with them as best we can, out of love, whatever the course.

Love is a gift, and I passionately believe that a gift has no strings. One should never abide abuse, but there is a world of challenge where harm nor pain was ever intended. If there are strings, the impulse is to pull or cut them… and that seems to me neither gift nor love.

So, with love all around, we made it through as a couple. I believe we would have made it through as three, had that been our path. Come hell or high water.

Lucky in love.



*****

PS. Thanks to all of you who wrote with support and good wishes. We both appreciate you so much!

Leaning on Love

Lovers in Old City
by Vitogoni

Lean on me

When you're not strong

And I'll be your friend

I'll help you carry on

For it won't be long

Till I'm gonna need

somebody to lean on.

-- Lean on Me by Bill Withers

Leaning on Love

One time, we got into some bad water. Under the belt, this time, rather than the keel.

We were visiting Anke's family in Germany in our early years together. Family had work or school, weekdays, so we took to bikes and toured far and wide. October in the Old Country. Camping and eating cold (fires are frowned upon).

In one beautiful stretch near the Swiss border, we'd gone through our water. We were in a Naturschutzgebiet; a nature preserve, and for once, no civic water supply. But we were following a small, pristine looking river upstream, that ran through woodlands. Our map showed it originated in hills within the preserve, exiting its boundries at a point well downstream.

Anke was parched, and decided to drink.

I hemmed and hawed a bit... Germany is settled pretty much cheek on jowl. This preserve, while locally a big deal, looked to my Alaskan eyes like a stonethrow in each direction.

But what's good for my goose... I took a few sips, and it was wonderful.

Next morning, we continued upstream, thinking we might take a look to see what produced so much water from such a small watershed (can you see it coming?). We rounded the shoulder of a hill. The river should have, too, heading up a small valley. Instead it went the other way, toward the boundary of the preserve, and we soon found ourselves pedaling among cows and sheep. You know... upstream cows and sheep.

D'oh!

We monitored our bowels all day, while slowly cycling higher in elevation. No problems... must have dodged that bullet! At the end of the day, we had a long coast down to the Rhein, with the Alps towering above us in full, evening roses and blues... alpenglow in all its glory.

We stopped in a town and asked about a camping spot. A very nice woman offered for us to stay at her campground, which had just closed to paying customers for the off-season. Still had power and running water!

Well... it caught Anke that night. Both ends with me trying to position a blanket between.

Next morning, I was still feeling okay. Since there was power, I had an idea... how 'bout I cycle in and buy an immersion heater (a little, electric coil you dip in a cup or pot to heat it) and some soup packets?

Right. Good plan. But my German was still not much better than a monkey's, and Anke's English, while plenty for conversation, didn't cover an immersion heater. Took us a couple hours of charades and 20 questions and little drawings before she finally exclaimed, "Ach ja! Ein Tauchsieder!"

Right. Tauchsieder. Dip-Boiler. Not an easy word to pronounce. Took me another half hour to learn it.

So I'm feeling a little... fluid by now. I wobble into town, and, depending heavily on the kindness of strangers, locate a shop with a window full - I kid you not - of dip-boilers in all sizes. Turns out they're fairly common in Europe.

Well, I make it back before installing myself  on a throne (bathrooms luckily still open). We sip soup and mint tea for three days, which runs through us like a river, as it were.

There was more... The part about the scary man who initially led Anke to the campsite owner (me 'guarding' the bikes as Anke disappears into a dark alley with this rough looking guy as night comes on). The owner who let us stay on as long as we liked, drove down to offer blankets and home made apple schnapps (both declined, but with great appreciation... bless you, Frau Wolfgang, wherever you are!).

When it was more or less over, we dared our first venture through town on foot. Arm in arm, leaning each on the other,we scouted each next facility before leaving the last.

We remember this as one romantic interlude among the many.

It's something, facing a storm in the gathering dusk with safe harbor still ahead, to know one is not alone. To know that our strength and courage are aligned. To know that our fear and weakness will be heard and backed up. To reach for a hand in the darkness...

To lean on love.





*****

The little town where this all went down is called Stuehlingen ('shtool-eeng-gen [hard g like get]). It became a verb in our couple-speak; We steuhlingen our way through a difficult period with lots of love and alternating, mutual support.

Since writing this, we took in Casey, our new partner. As you might imagine, this required some deep adjustments for Anke and me. We stuelingened our way through them and kept our feet, sailing on closer than ever.

Happy Valentine's Day to you, too!

Fussin', Fightin' and Working It Out

Calvin and Susie
by Bill Watterson

Now we may fuss and we may fight,
But it ain't like that all the time.
I love her and she loves me...
  Oh my goodness!
    Oh my Gawd!
      Oh my Ruby Pearl!

-- From Ruby Pearl by the Hackensaw Boys


Fussin', Fightin' and Working It Out

Anke and I are quickly approaching that age where folks ask, what's your secret? Old couples most always answer, never go to sleep mad.

In fact, folks have asked us all along the way. Why? Because we live together pretty much round the clock (a very young friend thought both of our names was Davanke),  in itty bitty spaces and build / work on / sail boats. Any one of these can spell deep trouble for a relationship.

We do fuss and we do fight, but it ain't like that all the time.

It doesn't feel like a secret. We just like each other. Okay, we like each other a lot! The rest is easy. But we do have a toolkit.

When we fight, we don't fight hurtful; no blame or tearing down.
We work from good to gooder, and avoid right/wrong, too much/little, good/bad; no disappointment.
We work to get back to talking, rather than fighting;
We work to please both of us; Win-win rather than winner-loser, even for a single round.
We always try to remember we're loved; it never comes in question.

'I' statements help; 'When this happens I feel this or that', rather than 'you make me feel this or that'. 'I feel' this or that rather than 'you are or do this or that'. More accurate and feels better. Takes bite and blame out of expressing or hearing about strong emotions.

Okay, bear with me on this one. We call them false if-thens. They are of the form:

If you do, say, believe, think A, then you must believe, think B.

Sounds logical, right? Logical and outrageous! B is totally offensive and unacceptable! A fight ensues.

Most always wrong. The if-then connection is false - A does not imply B. Once that's sorted out, turns out there is no outrage, no offense. Almost always a perfectly acceptable something else that had nothing to do with that connection. No foul, no problem.

Go through enough rounds of offense taken/offense defused, and it becomes clear that those if-thens are suspect in the extreme.

The most untrue if-then of 'em all? If we fuss 'n fight, then we must not love each other. BS. Obviously.

Fussin' and fightin' don't seem inevitable. It feels like something we're growing out of. We learn that the other is never disappointed, that we have their esteem. We learn to give enough slack that connection is easy. We learn that the other always, always, always has our satisfaction and well being at heart. Always.

Oh, yeah. Never go to sleep mad. That old standby is good advice.But if for some reason you have to, table it and make a date to talk it out at the next opportunity.

So kiss and make up!




HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Duet Together

Photo by Dorothea Lange
See more of her work here

We hail from a time when,
If something gets broke, ya fix it.
Ya don't just throw it away.
-- An Elderly Couple's Secret to Long Love



Duet Together

Sad news percolates through the grapevine; another couple, once very much in love, has grown apart and split the sheets.

Now, we don't think of these as failed partnerships, and shy away from the judgement implicit in the word. There are as many reasons why couples part as for coming together. Rather, it's a time to support friends who are most often hurting, and helping, where we can, to facilitate their transition from love to simple amity.

 But there's a pretty common thread, running among these partings; often, the couple spent a great deal of their waking hours apart. Work and commute, domestic chores, hobbies and pastimes, social activities, social interactions, toob time... many of these are activities pursued separately. These take a toll on time and energy that might be invested in partnership. These run lovers along paths which can, and so often do diverge.

There are other possibilities.

Anke's about to head out to renew her passport – for about a week – while I stay at our winter care-taking gig. It occurs to me that, from 26 years, this will bring us up to total of one month apart. I hate it; she hates it. Gotta be done.

One of the most frequent questions we're asked about living aboard is, “Don't you need some time and space away from each other, now and then?” Answer, “Umm, no. Why?”
 
I suppose we do take time apart, in a sense.. We both like to read, and only sometimes in the same subjects. I write, she draws. She hits the hay earlier than I do, most days.

But this all takes place within reach of conversational tones. It's easy to share, and check in, and steal a kiss 'n' a hug. We're not walking in lockstep, but neither do we lose contact.

When we're home, we live close. Life onboard is ... well... intimate. The needful goes better with all hands, pulling together. The pleasures of the life are shared by all aboard. One is never further than voice can carry, and thoughts and laughter are easily shared.

When we work, we work together. Bad enough we have to work, now and then... but to work apart from each other?? Package deal or no deal. This can deliver a hit to our economic potential, of course. A job like care-taking pays the same, whether for one or two. Or working possibilities are limited to the overlap of our skills.

When we travel, we travel together. No separate vacations for us. Most of our travel is just moving around with the wind; travel without really leaving home. Travel overseas to see her family is an arduous and risky venture. If anything's gonna happen, we'll face it together.

If something gets broke, we fix it. We may fuss and we may fight, but it ain't like that all the time (line from Ruby Pearl by the Hackensaw Boys)! We work at this as hard as anybody, and with as much cause. We're not always fair or patient with one another, but we notice, and talk until we get there.

I'm not bragging here. These approaches won't work for everyone. This is a way that works for us, and we like it. I merely suspect they might avoid some of the growing apart that goes around.

That, and stay in touch with why you fell in love.

***





PS. What got me thinking about this was a task we've been tackling, together, these last few days. A generator is failing, and its 500lb replacement needs to be swapped in. This entails getting it out of storage, across a couple of separate docks, up a tidal ramp, across boardwalks and a gravelled path, through some woods and over stones and boulders, up two levels of powerhouse porches, through a narrow door and crowded machine room, then wire up its three phases and presto! I'll spare you the reverse trip for the old one.

The job entails chewing gum, baling wire and a whole lot of odds and ends. It's a little dangerous, and if we drop it, we've bought it. Alone it would be doable, but tedious. Together, it's doable, and yet another bonding experience, replete with laughter and copious opportunities for growth.

She is my 'buddy from work', and so much more.

Another day at the office!
Anke running the hoist.