“Well, they say that the piggie went ‘whee,’
“When they chopped it off, decisively,
“I look down and count nine,
“But I’m feeling just fine,”
Said my Dad, the new toe-amputee.
It was just a small infection that got out of control and landed him in the hospital. He’ll be out in a couple of days, and then he can figure out how to dance using nine toes instead of ten.
“Wow, your guest room is really bizarre,”
Said our friends, who had come from afar.
Just a tarp on the grass,
For this lad and this lass,
But they saw every bright falling star.
In the Pacific Northwest in summer, you can throw a sleeping bag on the grass and sleep outside. It’s heavenly during the Perseid meteor shower, when the stars are falling in streaks of yellow and white and blue across the sky … that’s what we did for two nights with our friends, Will and Tina.
We went into that boating store, “West,”
For a brand new flag halyard, the best.
We replaced it — OK!
But the very same day
‘Twas the main halyard broke: Who’d have guessed?
“I’m so glad it’s your problem, not mine,”
Said our Freedom friends, sipping their wine.
But those friends don’t know Lee,
Who, with Simplicity,
Kindly fixed it — we sailed back, just fine.
He went up using spitwads and tape,
But no halyard! We watched, mouths agape.
It’s a bird! It’s a plane!
Superman’s on our main!
No, it’s Spiderman! See? There’s no cape.
A little note of explanation for our non-boating friends…the flag halyard is a loooong piece of string that you use to hang pennants from the mast. On our way to the Freedom Rendezvous with our friend Jacqui’s Freedom 30, we replaced it ($20), because it looked old and rotten. Twenty minutes later, the main halyard, which is the big beefy one used to hoist the mainsail ($200), broke instead. Since there was no backup or safety line, we had to deliver the news to Jacqui that a crane would be needed to re-reeve her halyard ($150/hour). Then Lee and Kathleen magically appeared in the harbor aboard their C&C, Simplicity. Not only did Lee free-climb the 44-foot mast at anchor, he also cooked omelettes for us for breakfast.
Images below: Meps, motoring north, has plenty of spare cycles to clown for the camera. Lee sets up his climbing gear for the ascent. Barry watches Lee from below (hope he doesn’t drop anything!). The masts of Piper and Simplicity at anchor in Port Ludlow, with Lee at the top. Success! Barry shows the bicycle chain weight that Lee fed down from the top of the mast. Out sailing again, with Barry grinding the winch. Crewmember Will takes the helm of the 30-foot sailboat.
Here in sunny Nebraska, this morn
There’s a steer who is feeling forlorn,
He looks up and says, “Moo!”
Which means, “Hi, how are you?
I like grass, pleeeeeease don’t make me eat corn.”
Driving through CAFO country is enough to turn anyone vegetarian…
When the skies opened forth with such power,
I was drowned like a rat. So I glower
At my husband, who’s dry,
And who says, smug and sly,
“I towel off when I go take a shower.”
It rained so hard the other day, I nearly drowned getting back to Flutterby — even with a fortuitous ride across the boatyard from Ted. I should have just gotten into my birthday suit and stood on the foredeck with a bottle of shampoo.
“Sham Poo? No way! Give me the real thing, or nothing.”
When I painted the name on the side,
Philip’s comments were terribly snide.
“All your curves are a fright!”
“Get a stick, do it right!”
Now I’m feeling all shame and no pride.
We could have had the name applied professionally in vinyl for a few hundred bucks. The only reason I painted it freehand was to fulfill a sense of “artistic pride.”
We found in our mailbox a letter–
Inside, a surprise! Even better!
A tiny flat boy,
To bring us much joy.
‘Twas Stanley, the Airmail Jet-Setter.
Stay tuned for more photos and stories of Stanley’s visit to Beaufort and environs. He was an excellent boat guest.
Americans are not very common in Havana. And we’ve certainly never been there. So what are the chances of two guys running into each other at Hemingway Marina and figuring out that they both know Meps ‘n’ Barry?
These two strangers, on Hemingway’s dock,
Had a chat, and it caused them a shock.
“Where ya from?” “From K.C.”
“You?” “Seattle, for me.”
But they both know some nuts here at Bock.
Here in Beaufort-by-the-Sea, life is not all about seafood. Pictures and stories from the “first annual” Backstreet Pub “Meatloaf-Off” will be coming soon, along with tips from the winners on how to make great meatloaf.
The best meatloaves arrived on a mission,
Hoping some folks might fail by attrition,
For their fine chefs, you see,
Were all hoping to be
Named the “First” in the first competition.
The chances of finding a favorite Seattle friend living in Morehead City were so miniscule, we thought that Hell would freeze over first. We caught up with Kevin in December — he’d been living here for 3 years, and Flutterby’s been here for 2 years. On February 13th, when he came out to see the boat for the first time, Hell froze over, as evidenced by the photo below.
From Seattle, friend Kevin is witty,
But we’d got out of touch, what a pity.
But then Hell did freeze over,
For this fine Irish Rover,
Has been living in wee Morehead City.
Left: Meps and Kevin, Right: There was no snow when Kevin arrived at the boat. After dinner, here he is (on the far side) cleaning off his truck.