Opua: a gannet at sunset
Opua: a gannet at sunset
I have had reason of late to consider the nature of happiness.
Many things make me happy. Regular readers of this journal will know some of them: books, music, sailing across oceans, Carol, writing, the flight of a bird, changing light on water, a drink on deck at sunset.
Here on my mooring that drink on deck is often accompanied by a gannet or two or three hunting. A gannet at sunset is happiness. But not tonight. The sky has been lowering and heavy all day. No sunset. No gannet. No drink on deck, either, for that matter. A glass of wine is beside me in the cabin.
I wonder why there are no gannets this evening. Do they know that the flat light will make it impossible for them to see fish beneath the surface of the water? Are they huddled somewhere--perhaps on Bird Rock--disgruntled and hungry?
Gannetless I am still reasonably content. The cabin interior is painted, except for the head, which I will do tomorrow if the predicted rain does not prevent my opening the hatches at least part of the time.
I grew tired of prep work and painted the main bulkheads yesterday and the rest today.
The total surface area is small. I’ve used less than half a liter of paint so far. But it is broken up and fiddly.
Rain this morning forced me to close the hatches, and by the time I was finished, paint fumes were making me feel slightly ill.
Fortunately I was able to open the boat up again just after noon. The paint is now dry. I think most of the fumes have dissipated. And the cabin looks much better.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010