Evanston: return to the land
Evanston: return to the land
Evening.
I am sitting in our living room in front of the fireplace, which is lit, listening to the soundtrack of OUT OF AFRICA, which you may know has meaning for me, a glass of Laphroaig at hand.
The contrast between the take off of my flight from San Diego yesterday morning and the landing in Chicago yesterday afternoon was dramatic: palm trees to bare trees; sunshine to overcast and raw drizzle; and a 40ºF drop in temperature to near freezing.
I reached the condo about 4:00 p.m., grabbed a handful of trail mix after a foodless flight and walked to my polling place a couple of blocks away to vote. That Illinois would not go to Barack Obama was never in doubt, but I felt strongly enough about various interests behind the candidates to vote anyway.
I’m on the record about my former mooring in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands. My opinion that that is as good a place to keep a boat as any in the world has not changed; but a 3 ½ hour flight commute from San Diego to Chicago is much less an ordeal than the day and a half from Chicago to Opua.
Being on GANNET this time I had three goals: paint her deck; sail her offshore and set the asymmetrical on the bow sprit; and solve the problem of living in her limited space.
I accomplished all three. Further refinements will come; but there is no doubt that I can live on GANNET, and that she can complete a westward trade wind circumnavigation. However, that is not the way I want to go. Another route is starting to evolve.
While oiling the interior wood on Monday I scraped my head against the overhead. This is not unusual. However I later noticed a bloody smear on the white paint, and when I looked in the mirror saw a horror film trail of dried blood running down my forehead. I’m glad I found it before I went ashore and frightened people.
An email yesterday caused me to reread the “On Becoming an Old Sailor” article. Odd when I am now older and half blind.
My sciatica has not bothered me for several years, though during my first days living aboard GANNET my back was stiff and painful until I found the correct angle for the Sportaseat at Central.
I woke last night and was startled to find what seemed to be a hand beside me. I reached out and touched it and realized it was Carol’s. I had forgotten where I was and thought I was still alone on GANNET.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012