Journal 4-21-12: Mission Accomplished

my sailboat in the slings being hauled

I am in Florida now, getting ready to head north again soon. The boat is hauled, and I'm visiting my relatives here before I head north. I am finally able to catch up on the webjournal, as well as 850 backlogged emails, and even rest up a few days.

But not at first, not till the boat was taken care of. So when I arrived, I stopped to touch base with family here and to grab the inflatable kayak I needed to get out to the boat. I had ent down to my brother here to use to replace the anchor light a second time. Then I head for the boat.

I go to the boatyard first, Green Cove Springs Marina, and see what options I have. There's space in storage. I can be hauled immediately, but I can't stop in the workyard. I expect I need to do a lot of basic maintainence on the boat even for storage. I could also raise the juy-rigged mast I sailed here with and leave, leave the county, or leave the state, and find a place I can anchor without being threatened by the authorities and unconstitutional laws. But I came to Green Cove Springs not just to be as near to Dad as possible in his last years, but to work on the boat at this specific boatyard, one of the last fair DIY boatyards left down here, legendary in the sailor's grapevine. I go back to the boat and look her over. Though she needs paint, she'd probably be fine to leave anchored for the summer and hauled next Fall. But I don't trust the law or the authorities in Florida. I am convinced they are corrupted at some level or many levels, and are determined to force my boat, specifically, and many others, generally, out of the state or into paid marinas and mooring fields, on whatever pretexts they can find, in direct violation of the spirit and letter of the constitution. Not that this ever stopped them before.

my sailboat at anchor

I never take risks, and at this point, can't spend the time to work on the boat or move it, or risk it being vandalized or siezed by the authorities on some pretext. I decide I have to put the boat in dry storage till I can get back in the Fall from Alaska, then I'll have all winter to yard it, launch and keep working on it as I head out of the state, and eventually, out of the country. I go back the next day to the yard as I said I would, and tell them I'll pull the week after next, and she says just tell her when. I walk around the boatyard, wondering how this will work for me, end up talking to another steel boat owner who just pulled. Strangely, as we talk, he realizes he's seen me play, in the keys, long ago, and has a CD. So I give him one of the new ones. It seems like a good sign.

It feels really good to be around boats and boat-folk again, even in the yard. This is a DIY yard full of cruisers from around the world. It is hard to find yards that let you work on your boat any more. They are trying to make it into the rich man's hobby and status symbol, rather than the way of life it is for a small number of people, relatively, but a strong and dedicated group, like indie musicians, or horse-people, or many other groups who choose a certain life. Some are rich, some are in between, and some are poor, but they all live on the water, sailors and motor launches, mostly live-aboard cruisers. I is good to be part of a group that I belong to, undeniably, though we are all different, often real individualists, still we have this common bond that is deep and strong. Then I get back to the boat and get to work. I start by scrubbing the boat, as I have done so many times before.

chipping rust off the decks

I have to chip off the rust, punching holes in the weak spots so I can fill them with epoxy before I paint. I wonder if I can save the decks. I wonder if next Fall, I should just do a tempoary fix, just seal the decks with epoxy and maybe even a layer of plywood, and cruise. The steel is so strong, and in places where the boat wasn't damaged by other boats, the metal is still perfect, but an inch away it is rusted through where something gouged deep and then over the years, without time to make a real repair, it slowly ate through. Or I could cut the decks away and replace them, like I replaced the bottom of the boat. I think of ways I could change it even, though it is more work. There is so much that is good still in the boat, and it it tough, it survived where literally dozens of other sank or went ashore. I built it right.

But so much has gone wrong, from the start I had setbacks and problems caused by other people, from the guy who stole the catalyst for my epoxy paint so I couldn't paint the decks right in the first place, all the people who abused my trust, and ones who's irresponsiblity and inabilty damaged my boat, and the authorities and their backers who have targeted boats and people like me to "get rid of", a movement I've experienced from the decades ago in the Keys to right now.

Then I think maybe I should start over, just to leave behind the anger and disgust, the frustration and bad experiences, the hate. Start over with a new boat, in a new place. It is my knowledge that matters, and my love and respect for the sea, the deep affinity I feel for it whenever I return to it. As always, though my mind reels, I just keep working. I have a job to do and I am getting it done.

While the real struggle is within me, every day as I work and work, this black pit of negative emotions and thoughts yawns behneath me. I struggle to keep a lid on the seething anger at the people and system that did this to me and my boat. I struggle even as I write this not to boil over and rant. But the story seems so crazy, a monument of injustice, institutionalized wrongs, irresposibility and denial at every level, and then I, the victim, end up harrassed and cast as the villian, or as some irresponsible derelict, part of the state's whole bigoted campaign against live-aboard boaters, and gypsies in general, and the long-running cultural war against anyone who strays from or opposes the status quo.

Winnie the Pooh, boat watchman

I sigh, and try not to rant. In perspective, as always, I have learned it is better to be sad at their ignorance, that makes them such easy tools for evil, or easy to be manipulated into believing the stereotypes they are fed, the lies and propaganda. I find most people to be good hearted, even in extremes of ignorance. Yet often they are taught and pursuaded to go against their better natures, to be derogatory, to think it is ok to persecute others, to hate. This is an old story, and an old struggle, one we are far from winning. Even these days when we seem to be losing ground, as America becomes less tolerant and more extreme, more dangerously righteous and close-minded, more ignorant, prejudiced, and bigoted.

Realistically, I did everything right, anchored my boats right, have always been responsible, and as far as true maritime law, kept my boat safe and sound. I've anchored them and left them for decades while I was gone and they have been fine, except for the damage caused by others. My boats, and my life, were wrecked by people who didn't anchor their's right. They were wrecked by the City of Stuart, with their get rich quick mooring field scheme, which included an unconstitutional law outlawing anchoring out and requiring people to use their mooring field, a law that would be finally struck down by the Supreme Court. In the hurricane, all the boats in their scam of a mooring field broke loose to drag down on mine. My boats were wrecked by a State that has promoted and profited from encouraging unrealistic development on the waterfront, in denial of the basic laws of nature, that hurricanes will come. Which gets us to bigger and longer-term issues, conflicts pitting developers and waterfront property owners, and their pawns in local and state government, against the live-aboard and general anchored-out boating crowd. And the same developers and authorities encouraging a culture of denial in general, in the people and institutions, till the hurricane hoits, or the oil well blows up, or the nuclear power plant melts down, or another massacre occurs, and then they try to hide the truecosts and distract the people with the latest pop-faux news story so the truth is forgotten by a bewildered and oblivious populace. Not to mention the long history of corruption at all levels, that indicates that "justice" and "law" are relative concepts, and not to be trusted.

Dueodde at anchor, new chain

And I haven't even started yet. My big problem is I have too many real reasons to rant, and it all seems insane, except it is real, too real, what has happened to me. And generally, all the sailing crowd knows and has followed this long persecution to deny us anchorage, deny us a place to come ashore, and the long string of court cases involving these troubled waters and the people who live on them, mostly due to the unbridled greed of developers, waterfront property owners, and their corrupt allies in government, and their control of the powers of the state for their own profit, against the rights of the citizens. There has been too many unconstitutional laws passed, and enforced for years till they were challenged and struck down in the courts. An unfortunate flaw in our system of laws. When one law is struck down, they try a new one. In this case, a state law empowering local sherriffs to declare any boat derelict and sieze it, with no specifc reasons needed, and vague "indications" that "might lead" to potential problems" as justification. A bogus law if I ever saw one. There's a case in court right now about a town or county that siezed and destroyed someone's housebarge, from a marina slip, based on a law that is probably unconstitutional. I heard a rumor in the boatyard that Georgia is passing a law making it illegal to llive aboard a boat. And where is the motivation and money behind this endless pogrum against boatpeople? I'll even allow that some people believe they are working in the best interests of the people, using "economic development" as a justification to persecute and deny people their rights, in a misguided and ignorant view of what this country is, and that this is a republic, and the rights of the individual citizen come first, not the profits of the few, which often coincidentally include themselves, or even "economic development" or "progress". And I'll be the first to state that there are bad apples in the boat crowd, as in any crowd, the irresponsible and the incapable, but they threaten other boaters more than anyone else. And it is a principle of this republic that guilt is proved and penalties envoked against individuals, not the groups they are part of. And that you cannot convict people for the possibility something might lead to an offense.

And to add insult to injury, those who ruined my life got bailed out by the government, by Fema, Florida's annual bailout fund, by governement bail-outs of insurance companies. While I did everything right, anchored my boat right, and got my life destroyed by those who didn't, then was responsible and raised my sunken boat with my own time, money, and effort, without running crying for a bailout from someone, and never hearing a word of responsibility from those who were responsible for wrecking my boats. I don't even get a cup of coffee, and they walk off laughing to cash this year's checks.

Is it just a coincidence that the sub-prime mortage fraud started here in Florida too, a state founded on fraud and cons and government sanctioned and supported irresponsibility, denial of reality, the reality of hurricanes, building on the beach in the path of an innevitable disaster and expecting to be bailed out year after year, while people like me who are responsible and do it right end up hounded and harrassed.? It is a cathedral of wrongs, and I sweat with rage more than the work, hate Florida and Floridians and the Florida goverment and it's corrupt, fascist officials and businesses. This is the greatest struggle for me. Not to rant, not to give in to anger, or grief that the world is as is is, that people can be so sadly ignorant or simply evil.

And as expected eventually the Fish and Wildlife guy comes by to act belligerent and threaten me, give me untimatums where he'll throw the book at me, make it the worst day of my life… He is a fool who doesn't know anything about me, especially about the worst days of my life. Or who I am, and what I have done, really, to do just what he wants. I am so stressed out myself, and upset about what has happened to me, though it isn’t his fault, and I try to reach through it all and find his good side, but it is hard, and seldom possible in the situation. Another trial. He can only act belligerant and threaten and go away, a sad stereotype himself, though I try to think kindly of him, as I do of all the poor, ignorant people I meet, who just can’t see through the illusion and their own preconceptions and prejudices and understand. He's probably not personally corrupt, though he may be, but the hand of corruption is moving him, with a mandate to get my boat gone, from the state to the local developers or the elks club that want to race full speed on a runway through the anchored boats, which is unsafe and illegal to begin with. He threatens to make friday the 13th "the worst day of my life", while I can only think how ridiculous he is, and what a dishonor to the very principle and tradition of the law, as he finally goes away, having done nothing exc ept delay the work for an hour at least. I don't care what he does, as I never have, though I have done my best to comply with their demands, it has made little difference in my plans, since I have had little choice, and have working as hard and fast as I can to deal with everything, including my boat. It is only cosmic justice that he picks the 13th. I'll be gone, I'm scheduled to pull the boat the 12th.

chipping rust

chipping rust

I chip the rust, section by section, patch the holes with epoxy, and paint it with primer. Then I have to wait while it cures to be topcoated. I get the generator running and cut away rusty metal coaming I can't save, get them out of my way. Sometimes I can cut with the grinder, sometimes it’s just the hacksaw. Then I do another section. I chip, patch, and prime. I have to time it right to get paint done before it rains. Then I do it again, till everything is chipped and patched and primed. I paint the wooden hatchcovers. I loose one day to a gale, but I am dancing, and everything is accounted for, I am certain.

Finally I start on the topcoat, over two days I get it done, and the boat is bright white, for now. While it cures I use black paint on the rails. I use the last of the black paint and a board I brought aboard to paint a new name board, "Dueodde", so the boats name is there for the world for the first time in a long time.

I use the hacksaw to cut away the remains of the ruined bow pulpit. I did such a beautiful job bending that into shape once. Now all that I leave is the top rail to help support the mast. Before I cut it away, when the gale was pushing in, just before I struggled to shore in the kayak, I climbed out to stand up on the top rail of the pupit, as the boat heaved and plunged beneath me, as I have done so many time, to feel that force of nature, the wind and wave, and remember other days, and places, and storms, and why I am here.

snake on the sterndeck

snake on the sterndeck

snake on the sterndeck

I arrive one morning and find a snake curled on the stern deck, a water moccassin I expect. I head him off from my stuff and put it away so he can't curl up in it, and without direct threats, it is poisonous after all, head him off from moving forward. I get moving and start the generator which drives it back into the water and away, I hope, rather than into some place in the boat through one of the stern thru-hulls. But I feel at peace, not threatened or threatening, at peace with nature, even a viper.

Another day I am hanging off the side of the boat painting a spot and a manatee swimms up to nibble at the boat exactly below me, a foot away from my head. I have an overwhelming feeling that nature welcomes me, accepts me, even loves me, as the authorities do not. I feel like it is another sign, another reminder that this is my home, and this is why I am on the boat, to be where I belong, a part of nature, not the culture of death and destruction on shore. Later I swim to clean off and feel this great affinity to the sea within me, to nature, and I feel better about the boat, and know that I can live with it, or get another boat, and it will be good, and the sea, and nature, are there for me, to ease my traumatized heart, mind, and soul, and the negative feelings ease, and I feel better.



Finally, I am ready to raise the great hurricane anchor and all the chain, cleaning and leaving it to dry on the foredeck, packing it below decks, two days before pull date. I've worn my fingernails away on the rope and chain, worked muscles that haven't been called on for a long time, bruised and gouged myself, but I am there, I am ready. All that is left is the move to the boatyard, and it’s not that far and have a day to do it.

Despite all my hard feelings about Florida, I still meet good people here, too, as I do everywhere. I enjoy talking with them in the park and on the pier, and some have great stories too. Some are duped by the system, painfully ignorant or misled, others are just trying to live the best they can in the world they have little say over, some know more of what is going on. Most people are kind, regular human beings. It is so strange, as I spend these couple weeks living out of the van, I am asked many times, or ot is assumed, I am "homeless", though I am not. I actually have to try and think of a response.. which is that I am a gypsy, I choose to live on the road, and am perfectly at home, and have everything I need. I am even a responsible, tax-paying citizen, just like them. Perhaps I am "houseless", but I have a "home", in the van, on the boat. Just a "home" outside the status quo. "The homeless" have no choice, lost the life they knew, a "home", that is a house, and their relaible place in the status quo, through illness, accident, loss of a job, and possibly their own irresponsibility or incompetence. It happens. And there is no help for them. Though some few become gypsies, learn the skills that make one at home on the road, like gypsies throughout history, most are lost without a home, without a house. They are often ending up, or starting out, destitue, out of work, might have mental illness or addictions or both, and are on the streets because of cuts in funding for support. And often they too have good hearts, even good attitudes and a sense of humor, despite what they have been through. I have met good people everywhere, and I love people, despite all the wrongs they do, very few are really evil, the majority have good hearts, though many are sadly led astray. Like placing me in this stereotype box, and being confused that I don't fit, don't need help, and in fact, don't need or want to change. Even more, I see myself as their equal, an American citizen, responsible, competent, law-abiding, and perfectly within my rights.. despite the fact I have been persecuted most of my life, often for being a gypsy. I ponder what it is that makes people, especially authorities mistrust and persecute us, for centuries. Is it the fear of the outsider, or the outside group, an instinctual sense of threat, yet there is also a innate impulse of hospitality as well, and of compassion and the desire to aid someone in need. I think in terms of the animal, man, and th traits that helped the species, like welcoming lone starngers, able to contribute fresh genes to avoid inbreeding, bring new genetic traits and personal knowledge, strengthening the group. Yet another group could be a threat, and even an individual could be a scout for a group that is a threat. Prejudice can be so deep and real, yet also so vague and hard to fathom to it's source.

the sailboat Destination

I met another sailor, Steve, on a famous boat, the "Direction". Ends up being a small world, used to anchor in Key West. Though we were in different places, we knew people in common. And he has heard about me. The one who took Hughie to Belize. He offers to help me around to the boatyard, since I don't expect the outboard to run. I say it is ojk, though I might take him up on it. But I am prepared to drift with the tide and kedge over, because it really is not very far, a mile maybe, or a little more. So I mount the outboard, rig up tank, mix fuel, and try to start it. No luck. It might even be worse if it starts and then I end up part way and it dies in an awkward spot. As I am pulling, suddenly steve shows up in his Kayak and tells me to give it up, pull my anchors while he goes and gets his boat. As I am pulling loose he comes up, and we raft together and he takes me over to the yard where I tie up to a mooring. It is a stressful ride as thew wind picks up as were are leaving. But we make it, and keep swapping stories as we go there and back. It is great to be moving on the water. I'm able to give him a ride a few miles out of town to pick up his mail. Then I am off to the boatyard.

I spend the rest of the day packing up and offloading the boat, waiting for the midnight tide. I don't realize I will be able to load and unload once the boat is in drystorage, so I what I have to before. I wait till the wind and tide is right, after midnight, to move from the mooring ball to the dock through the other moored boats. Eventually, I am more or less lined up in the gap to reach the docks. It is a bit of a trick, which is why I wait for night when there is no boat traffic coming from the boatyard or the dingy dock. I have lots of nylon anchor line. I simply run a rather long length of it out from the mooring ball to the dock with the kayak and tie it off there, and quickly haul myself back to the boat and cast off the mooring ball. I had led the long rope through the bit on the fordeck and a stern cleat, but with a good haul, I can slowly slip the boat along, slipping between the boats to the dock, tie off there, and return to gather up and disconnect the longline.

Dueodde at the dock

Now I carefully, as I am alone, walk the boat slowly along the dock, which is old and crumbling out beyond the area near the yard, standing on the boat to both move and fend it off as I go, always keeping a line fast to windward so I can stop te boat if the wind gets between it and the dock and tries to peel it away and spin it around and away. Eventually I move it all the way to the dingy docks. I secure the boat there. I won't try getting by the docksand the other boats tied up and waiting to be lifted the next day without help. I take no risks. By then it is 4:30 am. So I go abck to the van in the boatyard parking lot and make dinner. Finally in the chill windy hour before dawn, I lay on the deck, not asleep, not awake, incredibly sore and tired, and relieved to have made it. Soon the dawn and then the sun comes, and the yard awakens to life. I get up, stiff and chill, and go make coffee.

I am actually very relaxed and content, feeling good, because I have made it. It is an odd feeling for me and I enjoy it. I tell the liftboss that I have no problems with waiting whatever the schedule says, I have no pressures, at least for a day. They plan to move the other boats first, so I have time, and I meet the other folk waiting to pull. A couple with a stell boat he built himself. Another guy who bought an old beautiful fiberglass boat, with lots of nice carved wood trim inside and out, who moves me around the dingy docks later, when there is lots of room.

Dueodde at the dock

The sun comes up and the day turns warm. I talk to boat people and I listen to their conversations. It is great to be there. Though it will cost me, I won't have to worry about the boat. And I have turned a corner, though the boat is going into storage, it will inevitable move to the yard, and to the water, and finally start cruising, after so many years. I can feel it there ahead, though this is but the first step on that road, and there is still a lot of work to do to get there. But I am good at getting things done, once I start, once I can start. There are decisions to be made, but that will all come later. For now I can relax, knowing this is in the bag, and I have some relief from some of the pressures that have been dogging me. I am safe from the injustice and politics of Florida till I am ready to leave the state.

I dream of a basic plan to repair the boat in the yard and in the water, and move north. Maybe I can stop in Jacksonville to play a bit. But with the Spring I'll move up the coast, continuing repairs and shaking it all down into cruising shape. I always left the boat and went straight to Virginia and stayed there to spend time with mom and work on the house, before I went west. Now I am free to explore the coast, from the waterfront cities like Savannah and Charleston, to waterfront festivals and smaller towns, and the beauty of the east coast that I never had a chance to cruise in. I'll find a new place to leave the boat, maybe in North Carolina, where I've heard there's a great music scene, which Steve of Direction says, too.

Dueodde at the dockDueodde at the dock

I wander the yard, and is a place full of dreams, every boat is someone's dream, and reality as we talk of places people have been. My boat is pulled in the afternoon and I follow it back, loading the collection of totes holding my baoting books and navigation gear into it there. I glance in the cases and see the library of a sailor. I take out Joshua Slocum's "Sailing alone around the World", one of the books that started it all, for me and many people. It still has my father's label on it, with his graduate school address. I rescue a chart kit of the bahamas a woman is about to throw away, the cover got ruined by mice, but it is good enough for me, and I remember when I cruised the bahamas as a kid with my dad, and had my first gig there. I walk by folks talking as I guy says what a great dinner you can get for $5 in Panama.

People look at my boat as it comes out, seeing the damage I've been telling folks about, and this boat that made it through where so many didn't, and my anchor, of course.

Dueodde at the dock

A man stops me and asks about my boat, and how did it get that name, "Dueodde"? Every boat has stories. I tell them how, when I got the boat, I carefully peeled off the layers of paint on the stern to find the original name, and gave it back to her. She was built in the Netherlands. The name is old norse, the name of the southernmost point on the island of Borneholme, the big island in the Baltic sea. They are from Denmark, and it is a famous name, the place, like Cape Hatteras here, and is in every weather report. The woman tried to teach me to pronounce it right, which is nothing like it is spelled, not "du-e-o-de", but "du-oi(l)-e".

I stay the night, once more, and then come to settle my bill in the morning, talk to the boatfolk a bit more, stop by the coffeeshop for expresso, and head for Gainesville. I take a slightly longer way back and drop off the metal I cut from the boat at a recycling plant, get $8.60 for it. As I drive west for Gainesville to visit my relatives again, my mind is flying far ahead, to when in another couple years, I'll return to the boat, all this transition and work behind me, ready to head out to sea and leave the country, head south for the islands, and eventually, South America, or Europe, or through the canal or around the horn, wherever the wind and the music takes me.

And so I am here, catching up on the internet thanks to my relatives wifi and the week I am taking here to recover, and get important things done. I have arranged and booked my place on a cruise here in June to spread my father's ashes in the Bahamas. It defnes my schedule. I'll stay in DC till then, so I have seven weeks to wrap up everything there and be road read. I'll return from the cruise to leave for Montana and Seattle, and on to Alaska. I've let my friends know, and I'll have a couple weeks to look at property, possily even settle on one that looks like a possibility, though I have no expectations, I am also moving forward like it will work, because it may.

I catch up all the email, and catch up on this journal, and in so many ways, start to wrap up this entire period and move forward with my life again. Though of course, there is still a lot to do. I don't know what will happen with the house, but I expect my relatives will want to put it on the market and try to get a prime price. I can ask for an option to buy if the best offer is lower than mine, and see what happens. But I am moving forward with relocating out west, and buying land there. The only change is they may have to accept partial payment, as I'll have to start committing funds to other things, and so need to use some of what I would have given then to rennovate. Though I could pay them off in a year, or less if I do well this summer in Alaska.

I know I’ll be busy once I get back to 1213 so I try to take care of all these things here, order more pickup wire, even book my flight to Alaska if I can.

Dueodde at the dock

And life goes on. I run into a guy last night from Antigua, who says I should come down, and I say am will, though not this year, or next, but the year after. And he owns a recording studio, and knows the music scene. These are the connections I am looking for, and coincidentally, I find them, at a karaokee scene my relative brought me to.

It reminds me that despite my focus on finding another base out west, this second piece of land, and working on the music in Seattle, so much seems to point to me travelling the world next, and not spending much time here in the US. It seems I can do a lot more with the music other places. Recently I’ve gotten emails from Korea, China, and the UK. As I sit here, I find a map of Europe from my brother's trip a couple years ago, and open it to look at the lay of the land, and how I could cruise the Mediterranean. I know that one of the reasons I want the land is just as a place to leave things while I go away. I talk about my old vision of taking the dulcimer to all the places it is traditional. And the idea of touring from the boat slowly, returning to Seattle perhaps every year, to record and tour some of the US festivals, before I return to the boat yto cruise it to a new area and tour there, slowly going around the world. I have thought of just leaving everything and living aboard the boat for years, and not coming back at all. I have said as much, several times.

If anything is clear, it is that the only thing that really matters to me is getting back to the music, and the dulcimer, the road and the sea and the wild, and the life I have known. The life of intensity and depth, of routine extremes, and hard reality, and terrible beauty. A world of magic, call it spiritual ,mystic, psychic, or whatever words you like, I don't know what it is, only that is is, and is there for those who seek it, a different reality, where I have spent much of my life. And while I am glad I have done what I have done, out of duty, and for honor, and because I loved my parents, and did what I could for them in their last years, be there. But now that is done, and nothing can hold me back from returning to my world, that life. And do more with that life, travel farther, play the big festivals, use the internet to reach more people with what I have done. Continue telling the story as I live it, with this journal, this window on my world. Keep documenting it with all the footage I can take, and start trying to convert all tat I have documented in the past to some form of storytelling people can access. I've been having an ongoing conversation with one friend in Seattle on a writing collaboration, each writing a autobiographical stiry of the counter-culture from our perspectives, while the two books are complementary, since we've been friends the whole time, both following different paths, and crossing paths regularly. We discuss the evolution of storytelling, and the potentials for a new integrated multimedia multimedium "book", even as this webjournal could be considered a serialized, real time book, just like in the 1800's, or later. I remember Richard Halliburton. It is an old tradition, in fiction as well. But well, my life doesn't need fiction. Though who knows, perhaps I could try that as well, some day. For now, the simple truth is quite a story to tell. Even in these times when, by my standards, my life has been on hold. But I feel it beginning to gather strength again, begin to resurface, as I work on the boat, and roll down the road, and think of all I can do, once these great responsibilities are complete and I am free again. It is like watching the water in a tub of water, that has been draining slowly, finally begin to rotate and accellerate as the last water gathers and swirl down, and suddenly, soon, it will be gone. And I will look at the empty basin for a moment, this great job done, this time in my life passed, then turn away to face the road ahead.

Dueodde in the cradle

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