06:30. It’s still dark out there. There is fresh snow on the mountains. An e-mail from Jill tells me she has arrived safely in France. So the setting this morning is cold, dark and lonely. The heater is on in the boat. Tomorrow is the last day of summer. The intense heat of two weeks ago is already forgotten. We’ve had no earthquakes or hurricanes here and I’m sure there are many who would trade places with me. So, no complaining, just explaining.
A week later, I’m taking a day off. I’m totally exhausted and have taken to the decadence of sleeping in until mid-morning, like normal people. I go back for a nap after brunch and sleep again despite the sounds of a busy marina all around me. I’m missing Jill, and Jack and have plenty of chores here on the boat to accomplish. Mornings now bring a blast of cold air descending from the glacier. Winter seems to be advancing aggressively. Through the efforts of a friend I’ve been reconnected with a lost friend who bought my last boat, ‘Pax.’ That cheers me immensely and there will be a reunion in the weeks ahead.
The world staggers under the aftermath of various disasters, both natural and man-made.Friends on their boat in Saint Lucia managed to survive the path of wrath of bumper to bumper Caribbean hurricanes and have sent out an appeal for Dominica. This island is an agriculture-based economy and it has lost both 90% of it’s infrastructure and housing as well as it’s crops. It is not getting much notice. The rest of the Caribbean is in dire straits and the gringo tourist haunts will surely receive prime attention. Southern Mexico has been devastated with two major earthquakes. Resourceful and energetic, the country will look after itself although nations like Japan have provided rescue assistance crews without notice or fanfare. In contrast there is a marauding global low named Trump which meanders erratically on the planet trying to foment disaster and dread, including nuclear war. How I ache to hear the nation say, “Donald, you’re fired!” Every newscast is loaded with fresh accounts about millions of refuges whom nobody wants to help. The planet swarms with human tragedy, the dark news of which we use as entertainment. And sorry Donny Boy, it is REAL news.
I live in a very nice place where there is not really much to worry about. It is an area where one missing baby whale is a headline story. We tend to forget that here we are all a privileged few. I can’t imagine trading places with any of the millions who cannot take even the next meal for granted, let alone clean water, ready medical support or even walking to school without being shot at. Thanksgiving in Canada is here and it is not about any sale at the mall. As I proof-read this blog I blanched to read my words now in the wake of events in Las Vegas. While I browsed various news stories online I tripped over an ad for the current film “The Hitman’s Bodyguard.’ The abuse of weapons is an ongoing theme of entertainment. There’s something very seriously wrong with our culture and it is not all those guns out there. They’re just a symptom of a grave illness. I’m glad I have a boat.
It has been quite a year. There has plenty to write about. At the moment we’re hove-to and speculating what the next adventure will be. As usual, old ‘Seafire’ is tugging at her lines, ready to head out. In a few more weeks, when the winter wind is howling in the rigging and the rain is driving horizontally, it’ll be time to move on southward, like the birds.
“…only then did he understand that a man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.” …from ‘Love In the Time Of Cholera’ Gabriel Garcia Marquez