Homeward Bound

We have finally reached the decision to return North...via sailboat, not plane....so many mixed emotions.  However, this is the right choice.  The Vindhler will be making quite a few ocean passages...and we have been having great fun getting her ready to taste the salt in her sails once more.  New England air is so different from the South... and finally visiting New York City again will be a highlight...our old stomping ground.  Not to mention seeing wooden spars rather than cigarette speeders.

Blake, ever the inventor, made a great super megaphone for class...lots of shenanigans when it arrived on board!  Combined with the favorite game, cover your brother in stuffed animals, a great time if you have earplugs!

The cats, ensconced in new netting around the boat, are doing their very best to have some shore leave before our departure.  Our boys are fidgety too...if only the safety nets could contain them once in awhile!  No chance of that, however..so off I run.

Pen Shells and Purpose

Well, as most of you suspected, I was bound to hit another wall.  A spiky coquina one to be exact.  Coquina (tiny pieces of rock, coral, and shell) being the building material of choice here in St. Augustine for over five hundred years!  A combination of factors swirled about causing a tornado of emotions which spun me headlong into my collision.

It is still up for debate, by any sane individual, if you can stop what is coming for you!

Although the wall I hit may have been figurative, the conversations that have followed have been very real.  Thanks to all of you who have been such willing listeners!

We are discussing an early return to New England, but, hesitate at every turn.  To have come so far and not make the Bahamas passage would be a bitter pill.  Realistically, we would have to sell the boat to help us get re-established.

On the one hand, I am done with living in a bottle...conservative, judgmental retirees and kid-haters rampant at the marina...missing family and friends horribly...physically tired of the constant work (Mom's, think camping for six months in one tent with husband and two children)... John Edward working long doubles...no car...no couch...dormlike showers...an oven that reminds me of my childhood shake-and-bake...typical two year old tantrums and nine year old sassiness that I can't close the door on...

HOWEVER...the magical moments continue even as I become disenchanted.  Like a symbol of hope and beauty, Blake and Dante returned from the beach with their father covered in sand and smiles and holding a pen shell a foot long.  The shell, now a permanent sculpture on the boat, serves as a reminder of this journey's primary purpose...to slow down and cherish each other.

Moonlight Music

We so enjoyed having some new neighbors that broke out of the usual mold...excellent musicians on their journey with joy and good will.  What a change from the bitter sourpuss whose only noises were complaints and criticism!

Their music made all of us in love with life...for the precious fleeting moments we are sharing.

We are enduring the heat surprisingly well...making each other laugh...and dreaming of August nights in Maine.

Peacocks and the Past Afoot

Besides the momentary excitement of the impressive NYFD prototype boat (fresh from the factory), that docked steps away from our vessel, peacocks and the past have been flooding my mind.

I took the boys to The Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park.  As we entered, we were greeted by traditional and white peacocks. Strange music filled the air (piped in from hidden speakers cloaked in the spanish moss canopy above).  We were transported in all but body to a mystical land.  Despite the incredible experience of drinking water from the same source they discovered over five hundred years ago, it was the Timucuan Indians who stirred my soul.  The living museum was a reminder that the ground we trod on had once been a peaceful community living in harmony with nature.  They were entirely slaughtered by the "brave Spanish explorers" who landed on their paradise and crushed them as they tried to rape all they could from the earth.  Blake and I had a memorable conversation with a young man whose genealogy dated back thousands of years to that fateful day when the white men landed.  After that, we both felt the peacocks eyes were gazing at us with both beauty and sadness.  I do believe that his generation will vindicate Native Americans by true remembrance of fact rather than rewritten history which glorifies so much wrongdoing.

O.K.  Let me climb down from my soapbox and speak now of my most elusive comrade...Monsieur Memory.  A dear friend from twenty years ago reached out to my sister on Facebook trying to contact me.  My first response...that was soooooo long ago.  I felt ancient.  Clearing away the mist of years past, I remembered those days of youth.  So much ahead.  So intent on following passions.  Trying to trace the path of my life.  Complicated ground.  Which led me full circle.  To the now, to the voyage of discovery, to a partial mid-life crisis out of which blooms creativity, clarity, and contentment.  There are few forces stronger than the soul of a mother in her forties!  Which of course leads to a Happy Mother's Day for all the Mom's out there and to the men who are men enough to mother in their own masculine way while loving the Mom's in their lives.  That's confusing but, you get the point.  That's all for now, folks.