Loving People, Living Poetry

2/23
Work has been going really well. The leather work has been a great project. I have been sewing pieces of leather to protect certain parts of the rigging. All the leather has to be cut to fit, which at times is challenging because some of the pieces are fairly intricate. Maggie, the ship’s incumbent purser and goddess of all things office, has written a nice technical but easy to understand description of exactly what it is I am working on here. That’s also where I lifted the pictures from.

Last Tuesday, February 19th, marked exactly one year since I stepped of the plane in the Dominica jungle and boarded the Picton Castle. It’s hard to believe it’s already been a full year since I left to become a sailor. And after this year I can look back and see all the skills, friends and relationships I have developed, all in the process of becoming a proper sailor – a process in which I am still very much at the beginning.

I really feel unfairly fortunate in life. I don’t know how else to describe it. I am in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, working at a craft that I am deeply passionate about in sailing, with little hiccups of writing work, about which my passion is of equal depth. On top of this, I have this month received packages, letters, and phone calls from some of the best friends a person could have; friends who are amazing, who reaffirm my belief in God’s existence. There is no justice.

Last night we had a little party in the Dory Shop, sitting around the wood stove, drinking wine, laughing, listening to music, and just being generally happy. My friend, Finn, put it best:
“We’re a bunch of sailors in this old wooden dory shop that hangs out over the ocean, crowded around a fire barrel, listening to gypsy punk, dancing around—man, we’re gypsies!”
It was one of those moments I get every now and again where I realize I am living out poetry:

Sea Fever

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

That’s probably my favorite sea-faring poem, by the way. Also, the gypsy punk I mentioned is a reference to my new favorite band, Gogol Bordello, and gypsy punk is the only way to describe it. It's life changing. Check them out, and thank you Chad for turning me on to them. Gogol Bordello. Look them up on YouTube.
Anyhow, enough gushing. Life is good in Lunenburg. Loving people and living poetry.

Work, Curling, Futility

2/3
Holy cow, I can’t believe it’s already February. Unbelievable.
Actually, what’s more unbelievable is the fact that I am continually surprised by the passing of time, and the progression of the calendar. I’m like the baby that giggles every time you pull your hands away from your face and sing, “peek-a-boo!”
I won’t be surprised if, when I peel up the next page on the calendar and March is revealed, I roll on the floor in a sublime seizure of giddy surprise.
Then my shipmates will put a wooden spoon in my mouth, and I will have to change pants. This cycle will repeat itself 31 days later. Time is truly our greatest enemy.

Fun has been in no short supply around here. We go curling nearly every Friday, and some of us are getting halfway decent at it. (Maggie and Shackle in particular)
I am getting halfway embarrassing at it. For every good shot I make, I seem to counteract it by bailing out on the ice and sending my stone off into a forsaken wilderness of furrowed brows and snickering.
One thing is for sure: curling is far easier without an excess of beer. But try suggesting that to one of the seasoned veterans and you’re met with a cold look and an ended conversation. Apparently, curling without beer is like trying to have a football game in which neither team fields a defense (something the Chiefs have been doing for years now, and even if this did happen their offense would still probably be forced to punt. Poo.)
We’ve also been participating in the weekly Pub Stumper’s trivia night at the Grand Banker, Lunenburg’s official pub of the Picton Castle (not really but it seems so). The Picton Castle trivia team, Three Sheets to the Wind, is in a commanding lead thus far in league play, buttressed by a dominating performance last night.

I’ve also been on a reading and writing tear as of late. I’ve checked about 1000 books out of the local library since I’ve been here. I’ve also just finished a play I’ve been writing for a friend who is an actor in a Los Angeles based theatre company. Now that I’m out of school, I’ve found that I have to be much more deliberate about nurturing the mind, but also that I take greater pleasure in it as well.

Work has been going along nicely. We’ve been overhauling all the blocks and bits of wire, varnishing spars and deckboxes, rewiring the ship’s electrical system, overhauling the ship’s plumbing, and basically giving her a good, thorough once-over. Leather-working, wire-brushing, corro-sealing, slushing, worming, parceling, serving, tarring, greasing, painting, scraping, sanding, grinding, rust-busting, and then, at five, clean-up for supper.

My ship’s work is interrupted at times by my efforts to get my AB-Sail certification, which is an important step in the licensing process. Collecting sea time, having it evaluated, background checks, and an exam are all a part of the process. There are a few more hoops mariners of today must jump through, but it’s not so bad, and easily worth the small hassle.

Next week promises more of the same for us here in the LBG: working, curling, dominating at trivia, and staying warm.