Bob has been working a lot on other peoples’ boats, lately. This is good, in that it brings in money, which turns out to be important, but bad, because it slows up work on Trio. But we’re getting there, slowly but surely, and we both still believe that some day, some very hazy far-off day within the next year we hope, we will get Trio in the water and be on our way to further amusing adventures.
Right now, though, Bob is happily cutting
(with his new pipe cutter) 20’ aluminum pipes into smaller sections, in order to build a bow railing (goes around the front and sides of the boat—keeps the people unexpectedly out of the water) on an old Navy launch, which is the smaller boat that zips the important people to and from the big warship so that they can avoid unnecessary contact with the enlisted people.Bob also spent a couple of months this fall resurrecting the twin engines
(1968 327 Chevys) on an Elco, a wooden fishing-cruising boat built in 1938. From what I understand, if this old boat could still handle it, structurally, these engines could put it up on plane at around 30 knots, which is fast for any boat. Sailboats, for instance, like Trio and Kalliope, go 8-10 knots at the fastest. Notice I didn’t say “if you’re lucky.” If you’re lucky, in my opinion, the anchor is down and the boat is lying perfectly still in a pretty little harbor on a warm, sunny day.
I finished another book, and sent it off two months ago to three publishers. Have met so far with a resounding silence, so just today came to the conclusion that it is not what they want. It was a formula novel, an experiment in art for money’s sake, so I’m not taking it too personally. Not that I would have spent three months of my precious life writing it if I’d thought it wouldn’t sell, but as I said, I’m not taking it personally.
On a happier note, I have come to nearly the end of so-far successful testing in order to donate a kidney to a friend. Which I say not so you’ll think I’m wonderful or cool, but because it’s a big part of my life, these days. I also say it because, if you’re healthy, kidney donation enables you to give to someone in a way that substantially changes their life, for the better, and, since the human body functions pretty much the same whether it has one kidney or two, will not substantially change yours. If mine changes, I’ll let you know.
Kalliope has not sold yet, though she’s had
lots of interest. The trouble is that the people who are interested in her are from, literally, all over the world, and it takes time for them to arrange to get here. We listed her for sale in August, and it was three months later until anyone actually in the market for a sailboat got to see her, and two sets of them came within a day of each other. The first people were from some southern Gulf state which shall remain nameless; they were dumb and bigoted and the woman kept trying to lecture me into being dumb and bigoted too, while I tried to show her how nice the galley is on Kalliope. Maybe the only thing that saved us both was that shortly before I met them, I’d taken a huge swig of a drink that I thought was a cola, but turned out to be a Manhattan left over from the night before.
The next day a German trio came to see her—30-something son, Dad, and Dad’s girlfriend (think Ingrid Bergman- slim, lovely, and very European). They were very impressed with Kalliope, and I think if she had two separate berths, they would have bought her on the spot. But after a while, the sale of the boat (what boat?) faded in importance, and we simply enjoyed each other’s company for the next few days, as they had repairs they wanted made to their motor home and Bob was happy to make them. We got to practice our German, they got to practice their English, and we all agreed that the $3 wine from Wal-Mart is not bad at all. Heide (Ingrid) and I walked on the beach, and drew pictures in the sand for each other when language and charades failed us. One late afternoon at the boatyard, Heide brought out a little folding table, covered it with a pretty batik cloth, and she and I sat and drank coffee and ate pie, while we observed the amusing antics of the three men running around working on the motor home in the waning daylight, speaking to each other in their quick weird mix of German, English, professional Mechanic and amateur Mechanic.
What else? The days are shorter, working outside is chillier. I can’t escape to the beach to swim and luxuriate in the sun once a week, like I did all summer, but I do walk there almost every day. It’s a good thing to do, and if you live by the beach, and love the ocean as much as I do, it’s the only thing to do. Go be there. It’s free, it’s wonderful, and every day is different.
It’s not an easy time for us, but it’s not a bad time either. It’s a time when we don’t let ourselves be still for even an hour, during daylight. Things take long enough as it is, and if you don’t keep plugging away at them, you’ll start to go backwards. At least that’s the feeling.
It occurred to me yesterday that, in the past when I was unhappy I would mentally squirm around, thinking what is wrong? what can I change? Now when I am unhappy, I just keep working. I live with it. Even co-exist with it peacefully. Whether that’s because we’ve painted ourselves into this corner, and there is no way out other than to work it out, or because I am older and wiser, or because (and I do think this is the reason) we’re actually, (given the circumstances!) doing what we want to do. And in that, we’re lucky.
No comments:
Post a Comment