There is, shockingly, working wireless on the brig today and therefore, as I have, also shockingly, been given a whole day off, you're all being treated to an update.
The only difficulty at this point is that everything of relevance to my life now relates to tall ship sailing and tall ship sailors -- who, as it has already been pointed out by someone famous and witty (Twain, perhaps?), are the loveliest of persons, but atrociously prone to jargon*. This makes everything I now want to talk about just about unintelligible to practically everyone. So I'll try to do it right and not leave you all thinking me either a) mad or b) one baggy short of a wrinkle.
Sailing aplenty has occurred, as have multitudinous Ed Programs, docksides, and midnight adventures. After joining the vessel in Crescent City, I resettled myself aboard for the long haul (Although I am, for the moment, living in the main hold -- normally reserved for the more transient crew members) and got back into the rhythm of life on the drink. It is, in a word, fulfilling.
Apart from being more fun than a barrel of monkey's fists, it's deeply satisfying in ways I can barely explain. Working tirelessly, keeping the vessel I love in shape for the sake of astounding all the small minds who cross her decks, collapsing into bed after stand-down with my muscles ready to drop from my bones with weariness, feeling the sun I've absorbed into my skin making my pillow glow, eating heartily and singing loudly -- being filled with so much gratitude that it makes me swell with happiness every minute of every day.
These are the ingredients of a perfect life.
After a three day diversion to Eureka to pick up on any school groups we missed due to the aforementioned snafu, we're back in Crescent City -- reunited with the Hawaiian Chieftain (our companion vessel) and taking the extra day before the weekend madness to tackle various maintenance projects. Monday sees us on our way to Coos Bay, OR and beyond up the Columbia river, but in the meantime, we're doing a substantial amount of Battle Sails through Saturday and Sunday. This means exhaustion aplenty, so expect very little from me until next week at least. I figured I should just let you all know that I'm still alive, covered in pine tar, and loving every minute of it.
Fair winds and following seas...
*Although apparently, there is help.
Showing posts with label tall ships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tall ships. Show all posts
Friday, May 2, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Farewell and Adieu To You, Spanish Ladies
Well, not precisely.
I mean, I'm fairly sure there are at least two Spanish ladies reading this, but I'm not just saying farewell and adieu to them, obviously. It's more to do with the fact that I'm actually going sailing -- at long bloody last -- and so I thought it would be appropriate to quote something nautical, which makes this a reference to the popular sailor's tune and not, in fact, a literal valediction.
Good. Glad we got that little misunderstanding cleared up. Now for the explaining which is actually necessary and not just a load of blather.
I set forth at an ungodly hour last Thursday morning for Eureka, CA -- fully expecting to meet my beloved Lady Washington at the dock upon my arrival. However, due to some unerring 6th sense, I thought it might be wise to get in touch with a CouchSurfing host prior to leaving -- just in case. This proved wiser than I could possibly imagine, as I was informed via press releases later that afternoon that Lady had been delayed 24 hours due to bad weather. No worries, as I was going to stay with my hosts, Joyce and Darrell, for a night anyway.
Unfortunately, the next day, in spite of assurances from the Office that we'd be seeing t'gallants by 4pm, another press release emerged saying there'd been further bad weather off the South end of the Humboldt Bay bar. Seeing no other option but to sit tight and wait it out, I gratefully accepted the offer of another night in Eureka.
By Saturday morning, Lady had made another attempt at crossing the bar, only to be turned back yet again. In order to stay on schedule, the Office decided to cancel all events and ed programs in Eureka and head straight for Crescent City when the weather cleared. There was no suggested ETA. Fortunately, about this time, I recalled the fact that an old friend was attending university in the area and rang her up. She was more than delighted to whisk me away for the weekend, and so we spent a few days cavorting in Arcata.
Although the time was pleasantly passed, it did offer a terrifying glimpse into collegiate living for the moderately impoverished. And while the impoverishment wasn't really a problem, the cause of it was. All funds acquired in the area seem to be spent directly on either drugs or alcohol, which, I'm sure you can imagine, leads to a gaping hole in place of anything resembling a) intelligent conversation or b) anything else decent or worthwhile. I began to grow restless, resenting the time I could've spent at home in the warmth of Ojai and yearning for the rough and tumble of the sea in equal measure.
Monday afternoon I received an update saying that the brig was finally underway with an estimated ETA of four days. Joyce and Darrell had gone above and beyond the call of duty as hosts, offering me a place to stay for the rest of the week -- as well as a ride up to Crescent City (An hour and half north, for reference) as soon as Lady was docked.
Yesterday, I arrived home and found an update waiting for me with the glorious news that Lady was in a day early, crew exhausted from an epic transit, but all in one piece and waiting for me to join her. After crashing out at 7 last night, I've awoken rested and ready to go. All that remains is to repack my bags and make the drive, and then I can finally start regrowing my callouses and strengthening my limbs and singing my heart out. So I'd best get on with that.
For the next two months, internet acquisition depends entirely upon which port we happen to be in and how many unsuspecting homeowners in the area have left their wireless unprotected. I will, however, do my best to keep this updated.
In the meantime: Enjoy yourselves, you crazy diamonds.
I mean, I'm fairly sure there are at least two Spanish ladies reading this, but I'm not just saying farewell and adieu to them, obviously. It's more to do with the fact that I'm actually going sailing -- at long bloody last -- and so I thought it would be appropriate to quote something nautical, which makes this a reference to the popular sailor's tune and not, in fact, a literal valediction.
Good. Glad we got that little misunderstanding cleared up. Now for the explaining which is actually necessary and not just a load of blather.
I set forth at an ungodly hour last Thursday morning for Eureka, CA -- fully expecting to meet my beloved Lady Washington at the dock upon my arrival. However, due to some unerring 6th sense, I thought it might be wise to get in touch with a CouchSurfing host prior to leaving -- just in case. This proved wiser than I could possibly imagine, as I was informed via press releases later that afternoon that Lady had been delayed 24 hours due to bad weather. No worries, as I was going to stay with my hosts, Joyce and Darrell, for a night anyway.
Unfortunately, the next day, in spite of assurances from the Office that we'd be seeing t'gallants by 4pm, another press release emerged saying there'd been further bad weather off the South end of the Humboldt Bay bar. Seeing no other option but to sit tight and wait it out, I gratefully accepted the offer of another night in Eureka.
By Saturday morning, Lady had made another attempt at crossing the bar, only to be turned back yet again. In order to stay on schedule, the Office decided to cancel all events and ed programs in Eureka and head straight for Crescent City when the weather cleared. There was no suggested ETA. Fortunately, about this time, I recalled the fact that an old friend was attending university in the area and rang her up. She was more than delighted to whisk me away for the weekend, and so we spent a few days cavorting in Arcata.
Although the time was pleasantly passed, it did offer a terrifying glimpse into collegiate living for the moderately impoverished. And while the impoverishment wasn't really a problem, the cause of it was. All funds acquired in the area seem to be spent directly on either drugs or alcohol, which, I'm sure you can imagine, leads to a gaping hole in place of anything resembling a) intelligent conversation or b) anything else decent or worthwhile. I began to grow restless, resenting the time I could've spent at home in the warmth of Ojai and yearning for the rough and tumble of the sea in equal measure.
Monday afternoon I received an update saying that the brig was finally underway with an estimated ETA of four days. Joyce and Darrell had gone above and beyond the call of duty as hosts, offering me a place to stay for the rest of the week -- as well as a ride up to Crescent City (An hour and half north, for reference) as soon as Lady was docked.
Yesterday, I arrived home and found an update waiting for me with the glorious news that Lady was in a day early, crew exhausted from an epic transit, but all in one piece and waiting for me to join her. After crashing out at 7 last night, I've awoken rested and ready to go. All that remains is to repack my bags and make the drive, and then I can finally start regrowing my callouses and strengthening my limbs and singing my heart out. So I'd best get on with that.
For the next two months, internet acquisition depends entirely upon which port we happen to be in and how many unsuspecting homeowners in the area have left their wireless unprotected. I will, however, do my best to keep this updated.
In the meantime: Enjoy yourselves, you crazy diamonds.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Beyond The Grasp of Reason
It occurred to me this morning that it might be a good idea to update a little more frequently during my time in Salamanca, if only because I'm in the technologically advantageous position of having free, speedy internet for as long as I need it every afternoon. Actually, I've (more or less) been in this position for the last couple of months, and yet it seems that my initial blogging vitality of last August (A staggering 11 posts) has gotten lost somewhere along the way.
This is fair for neither me nor you, because it leads to vast tracts of senseless rambling about whatever happens to be closest to the surface of my mental soup at the time. The normal upshot is that I get a headache from spending too much time in front of the monitor, and you have to sift through deranged jabbering about prehistoric alligators -- which most likely gives you a headache as well. Entonces, I'll try to make this a little less painful in the coming weeks for all parties involved. So, to recap, or precap, as the case may be...
Things that have transpired since I last attempted to hack out something coherent in the Annals of Me:
1. Expectoration.
A veritable Everest of tissues and a lot of enthusiastic hemming and hawking. A large theme (logically) following the situation outlined in my last installemnt, which has been lovingly referred to as "The Snot Post" by members of my immediate family. It should be noted that, although I established this blog to assure them I have not been eaten by sloths or other slow-moving predators whilst on my many and varied travels, I understand that you may not all want to hear about the gory details of my health and safety. In short: I solemnly promise to stop writing about my sinuses (Or any other bodily functions) after this. Really.
2. Multilingualism.
15 days of eating, breathing, hearing, and speaking Spanish have finally taken their toll -- in a good way. Although I'm still frustratingly incapable of speaking eloquently, I'm at least speaking frequently. This is a Good Thing. Yesterday, with much mangling of syntax, I managed to completely lose track of time talking to one of my housemates, Paula, for at least 5 hours. I find that I've become accustomed to the sound of the Spanish lisp, and have far less trouble understanding people than I did when I first arrived. We discussed family members and travel and global citizenry and the varied glories of the "raving mad, but exceedingly happy" lifestyle of which we are both devotees. Wanting to practice her conversational English, she asked me to tell her about San Fransisco. I obliged as much as I could, given that most of what I know about it has to do with the aquatic side of things, in English -- which made it rather difficult.
Reason being, it had been 5 days since a word of the language had passed my lips, which could be considered a feat by some considering the staggering amounts of American students here who insist on speaking it. All the time. Which rather defeats the purpose of coming here to learn another language, no?
They also seem to have brought with them -- in the same way tarantulas may be found in imported bunches of bananas -- their love of beer pong. I don't think I need to say anything else.
However, on the whole, my classmates have been a charming and intelligent bunch. A slew of South Koreans, one Greek, two Brazillians, a three-woman New Zeland contingent, a smattering of Brits, the rare Canadian, two Italians, and one of whatever it is I've turned into. I've given up trying to figure it out. The other night a few of us went out for dinner, and I arrived back home filled with pleasant surprise at the realization that we had spent an enjoyable evening entirely in another language. The human brain is an astonishing thing.
3. Mail.
I got a letter! Well, a card. But still! Thrilling! I have also requested to be reunited with my beloved sandals which are, I hope, headed my way via the nefarious passageways of the international postal system this very moment. My feet are singing joyous hymns of praise in their little cotton socks.
4. Chopping.
I cut off my Turk's Head yesterday. For those readers who are not of the tall ship sailing variety, and therefore find this sentence alarming, allow me to explain. A Turk's Head (Also frequently referred to as Nantucket Sailor's Bracelets on that other coast) is a decorative knot of myriad uses, commonly worn by tall ship sailors wherever tall ship sailors can attach them -- which is mostly everywhere. Instead of being tied on, their are built around a cylindrical base, in this case a wrist/ankle/waist etc, and left there. It is often possible to tell the saltiness of any given sailor by the shade of his or her Turk's Head, as the tar of the seine twine tends to wear away over time. Therefore, if the fellow next to you with the blackened left wrist starts casting off lifts for no apparent reason, do not follow suit.
This particular Turk's Head had been on my wrist since late June. As with anything one wears for such an extended period of time, it had simply become a part of me in much the same way that tall ship sailing became a part of me -- stealthily, but firmly. Unfortunately, for some reason, it started to turn my skin an odd colour which was not the normal colour of tar being transferred to skin. As there's no handy clasp, (It seems impossible for one to distance oneself from the siren song of the sea so easily...) I was forced to take a knife to it. If there had been any other option I would've gladly pursued it, but it was not to be. I feel strangely incomplete now, but thoughtfully brought a nip of twine in case of just such an emergency and so, as soon as I'm dermatalogically stable, I'll have a new one.
5. The Booking High.
This last point is arguably the most important, simply because it contains the very essence of what I love (And occasionally hate) about my life at present. Traveling alone allows one the ultimate freedom of deciding all the who's, what's, when's, and where's without necessarily needing to explain the why's. Generally a simple "Because I can" is sufficient. This always leaves me feeling a little giddy when I decide to actually cement the next step of the journey (most recently, I booked myself a flight to Rome, so my thoughts are already skimming ahead to the future of February 5th, when I will move on once more), and leads to much twiddling of fingers and tapping of toes and cavorting and grinning and other signs of ill-contained glee and excitement.
I'll elaborate on this theme when I next find time to write because:
a) We're straying dangerously close to prehistoric alligator territory.
b) This is more than long enough already.
c) Rome is just the tip of the iceberg.
This is fair for neither me nor you, because it leads to vast tracts of senseless rambling about whatever happens to be closest to the surface of my mental soup at the time. The normal upshot is that I get a headache from spending too much time in front of the monitor, and you have to sift through deranged jabbering about prehistoric alligators -- which most likely gives you a headache as well. Entonces, I'll try to make this a little less painful in the coming weeks for all parties involved. So, to recap, or precap, as the case may be...
Things that have transpired since I last attempted to hack out something coherent in the Annals of Me:
1. Expectoration.
A veritable Everest of tissues and a lot of enthusiastic hemming and hawking. A large theme (logically) following the situation outlined in my last installemnt, which has been lovingly referred to as "The Snot Post" by members of my immediate family. It should be noted that, although I established this blog to assure them I have not been eaten by sloths or other slow-moving predators whilst on my many and varied travels, I understand that you may not all want to hear about the gory details of my health and safety. In short: I solemnly promise to stop writing about my sinuses (Or any other bodily functions) after this. Really.
2. Multilingualism.
15 days of eating, breathing, hearing, and speaking Spanish have finally taken their toll -- in a good way. Although I'm still frustratingly incapable of speaking eloquently, I'm at least speaking frequently. This is a Good Thing. Yesterday, with much mangling of syntax, I managed to completely lose track of time talking to one of my housemates, Paula, for at least 5 hours. I find that I've become accustomed to the sound of the Spanish lisp, and have far less trouble understanding people than I did when I first arrived. We discussed family members and travel and global citizenry and the varied glories of the "raving mad, but exceedingly happy" lifestyle of which we are both devotees. Wanting to practice her conversational English, she asked me to tell her about San Fransisco. I obliged as much as I could, given that most of what I know about it has to do with the aquatic side of things, in English -- which made it rather difficult.
Reason being, it had been 5 days since a word of the language had passed my lips, which could be considered a feat by some considering the staggering amounts of American students here who insist on speaking it. All the time. Which rather defeats the purpose of coming here to learn another language, no?
They also seem to have brought with them -- in the same way tarantulas may be found in imported bunches of bananas -- their love of beer pong. I don't think I need to say anything else.
However, on the whole, my classmates have been a charming and intelligent bunch. A slew of South Koreans, one Greek, two Brazillians, a three-woman New Zeland contingent, a smattering of Brits, the rare Canadian, two Italians, and one of whatever it is I've turned into. I've given up trying to figure it out. The other night a few of us went out for dinner, and I arrived back home filled with pleasant surprise at the realization that we had spent an enjoyable evening entirely in another language. The human brain is an astonishing thing.
3. Mail.
I got a letter! Well, a card. But still! Thrilling! I have also requested to be reunited with my beloved sandals which are, I hope, headed my way via the nefarious passageways of the international postal system this very moment. My feet are singing joyous hymns of praise in their little cotton socks.
4. Chopping.
I cut off my Turk's Head yesterday. For those readers who are not of the tall ship sailing variety, and therefore find this sentence alarming, allow me to explain. A Turk's Head (Also frequently referred to as Nantucket Sailor's Bracelets on that other coast) is a decorative knot of myriad uses, commonly worn by tall ship sailors wherever tall ship sailors can attach them -- which is mostly everywhere. Instead of being tied on, their are built around a cylindrical base, in this case a wrist/ankle/waist etc, and left there. It is often possible to tell the saltiness of any given sailor by the shade of his or her Turk's Head, as the tar of the seine twine tends to wear away over time. Therefore, if the fellow next to you with the blackened left wrist starts casting off lifts for no apparent reason, do not follow suit.
This particular Turk's Head had been on my wrist since late June. As with anything one wears for such an extended period of time, it had simply become a part of me in much the same way that tall ship sailing became a part of me -- stealthily, but firmly. Unfortunately, for some reason, it started to turn my skin an odd colour which was not the normal colour of tar being transferred to skin. As there's no handy clasp, (It seems impossible for one to distance oneself from the siren song of the sea so easily...) I was forced to take a knife to it. If there had been any other option I would've gladly pursued it, but it was not to be. I feel strangely incomplete now, but thoughtfully brought a nip of twine in case of just such an emergency and so, as soon as I'm dermatalogically stable, I'll have a new one.
5. The Booking High.
This last point is arguably the most important, simply because it contains the very essence of what I love (And occasionally hate) about my life at present. Traveling alone allows one the ultimate freedom of deciding all the who's, what's, when's, and where's without necessarily needing to explain the why's. Generally a simple "Because I can" is sufficient. This always leaves me feeling a little giddy when I decide to actually cement the next step of the journey (most recently, I booked myself a flight to Rome, so my thoughts are already skimming ahead to the future of February 5th, when I will move on once more), and leads to much twiddling of fingers and tapping of toes and cavorting and grinning and other signs of ill-contained glee and excitement.
I'll elaborate on this theme when I next find time to write because:
a) We're straying dangerously close to prehistoric alligator territory.
b) This is more than long enough already.
c) Rome is just the tip of the iceberg.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Oh Alright...
So, a little clarification -- since my last entry was really a brief cop-out to avoid writing something legitimately blog-like...
I started my newest European adventure in Paris, where I frolicked in literary and linguistic glee for 10 days before boarding a very speedy train for Avignon in the south. For two weeks I have enjoyed excellent company in the tiny hamlet of Villars, wining and dining in delicious Provencale style whilst enjoying a book a day and plucking grapes straight off the vine. We've had reds and golds beyond belief, snow where before there has been none, sunshine that would put the tropics to shame, cold so sharp it gives you a brain freeze, bare branches like twisted limbs in the soil, and enough rain to float Noah and his ark six times over. I came in Autumn and will be leaving in the depths of Winter. I came free and will leave freer. So free that I don't care whether or not "freer" is a word.
This week we took a trip to see one of my mum's best childhood friends in the mountainous region three hours east of Villars. Rain dogged our steps, but it was still a view that took my breath away. A cluster of 3 houses halfway up one half of a sweeping valley. One side a spray of geometric convergence where four vineyards ran down to the edge of a sluggish river on the ravine floor. The opposite mountains frosted in pines and shaggy green foliage, an occasional spire of granite. Fog drifting in and out of the steep peaks, rain curtaining across the empty spaces.
I walked through streets too narrow to be called streets, down Medieval staircases and across Roman bridges straddling the wilderness, scampered up gorges running swollen with the rain, getting soaked to the bone, only to come home to a warm fire and a double loft bed full of charming feline companions. We drove back this morning, pausing to spend a riveting 10 minutes watching lorries on the highway, munching mediocre smoked salmon sandwiches, made it back in time for a torrential downpour. Now huddled in the warm and dry, I half-heartedly pack for my Saturday morning flight.
Back home they're tearing out the inner heartstrings of Theater 150, bringing good wishes over to the new space -- which frankly needs all the energy it can get to dispel those mortuary vibes. I'm filled with a petulant sort of sadness, frustrated that I can't be there for what I know will be a heartbreaking and, ultimately, very beautiful day of hard work. "Why now?" part of me wants to complain. "Why change everything the minute I'm gone?" But that's a silly position to take. I send them love and support and can rest assured that Kim will be saving a piece of the stage for me to cling to until my dying day.
Far-reaching news that has little to do with the present, but is nonetheless bloody exciting: My dates are more or less set for next summer's sailing adventure, and it looks like I'll be offshore for a good two months at least -- possibly three. And what better time to hit the ocean blue? Moving from Spring to Summer, Ed Programs giving way to Battles and Adventure Sails, the Portland Rose Festival, Victoria Tall Ships Festival in Canada, and Tall Ships Tacoma 2008 giving me time to see all my shipmates currently aboard other vessels -- not to mention shore-bound sailors in Washington and Oregon. Perhaps even a few friends from home currently in the Northern climes for collegiate reasons. I'm thrilled to finally be spending more than a few weeks on Lady at one time, and from what I've heard the paid crew already signed up are going to be fantastic. Evil Ryan and Rob will be Master and Mate respectively, Tara, Molly, Elmo, Tommy, and a host of other well-known summer faces (They hire us for our looks, you know) will be setting a high standard of working and playing hard so we can't tell the difference. I can't stand to think of it as four months away, but at the same time I know time's going to fly as I continue traveling.
Next up, a month outside Cambridge with my godmother and her charming brood, working to fund my adventures in New Year. Standing by for lots of rain and miserable weather to be tempered with lovely company and a thoroughly enjoyable Christmas. I'll be stationary for a while here, so I'd say now is the time to send any correspondence to my home address (727 s. La Luna Ave. Ojai, CA 93023) where it can make its way to my open arms. For the latest batch of postcard and letter recipients, the French postal system has just shut down entirely due to workers' strikes, which may lead to the delay or (God Forbid) loss of your airmail goodies. I can only hope they arrive safely, because I enjoy writing to you all -- but more importantly, because stamps are bloody expensive.
Stay jolly. The Christmas Season is nigh!
Lucy
P.S. A Happy Turkey-Munching Day to all readers to whom such a holiday is applicable.
I started my newest European adventure in Paris, where I frolicked in literary and linguistic glee for 10 days before boarding a very speedy train for Avignon in the south. For two weeks I have enjoyed excellent company in the tiny hamlet of Villars, wining and dining in delicious Provencale style whilst enjoying a book a day and plucking grapes straight off the vine. We've had reds and golds beyond belief, snow where before there has been none, sunshine that would put the tropics to shame, cold so sharp it gives you a brain freeze, bare branches like twisted limbs in the soil, and enough rain to float Noah and his ark six times over. I came in Autumn and will be leaving in the depths of Winter. I came free and will leave freer. So free that I don't care whether or not "freer" is a word.
This week we took a trip to see one of my mum's best childhood friends in the mountainous region three hours east of Villars. Rain dogged our steps, but it was still a view that took my breath away. A cluster of 3 houses halfway up one half of a sweeping valley. One side a spray of geometric convergence where four vineyards ran down to the edge of a sluggish river on the ravine floor. The opposite mountains frosted in pines and shaggy green foliage, an occasional spire of granite. Fog drifting in and out of the steep peaks, rain curtaining across the empty spaces.
I walked through streets too narrow to be called streets, down Medieval staircases and across Roman bridges straddling the wilderness, scampered up gorges running swollen with the rain, getting soaked to the bone, only to come home to a warm fire and a double loft bed full of charming feline companions. We drove back this morning, pausing to spend a riveting 10 minutes watching lorries on the highway, munching mediocre smoked salmon sandwiches, made it back in time for a torrential downpour. Now huddled in the warm and dry, I half-heartedly pack for my Saturday morning flight.
Back home they're tearing out the inner heartstrings of Theater 150, bringing good wishes over to the new space -- which frankly needs all the energy it can get to dispel those mortuary vibes. I'm filled with a petulant sort of sadness, frustrated that I can't be there for what I know will be a heartbreaking and, ultimately, very beautiful day of hard work. "Why now?" part of me wants to complain. "Why change everything the minute I'm gone?" But that's a silly position to take. I send them love and support and can rest assured that Kim will be saving a piece of the stage for me to cling to until my dying day.
Far-reaching news that has little to do with the present, but is nonetheless bloody exciting: My dates are more or less set for next summer's sailing adventure, and it looks like I'll be offshore for a good two months at least -- possibly three. And what better time to hit the ocean blue? Moving from Spring to Summer, Ed Programs giving way to Battles and Adventure Sails, the Portland Rose Festival, Victoria Tall Ships Festival in Canada, and Tall Ships Tacoma 2008 giving me time to see all my shipmates currently aboard other vessels -- not to mention shore-bound sailors in Washington and Oregon. Perhaps even a few friends from home currently in the Northern climes for collegiate reasons. I'm thrilled to finally be spending more than a few weeks on Lady at one time, and from what I've heard the paid crew already signed up are going to be fantastic. Evil Ryan and Rob will be Master and Mate respectively, Tara, Molly, Elmo, Tommy, and a host of other well-known summer faces (They hire us for our looks, you know) will be setting a high standard of working and playing hard so we can't tell the difference. I can't stand to think of it as four months away, but at the same time I know time's going to fly as I continue traveling.
Next up, a month outside Cambridge with my godmother and her charming brood, working to fund my adventures in New Year. Standing by for lots of rain and miserable weather to be tempered with lovely company and a thoroughly enjoyable Christmas. I'll be stationary for a while here, so I'd say now is the time to send any correspondence to my home address (727 s. La Luna Ave. Ojai, CA 93023) where it can make its way to my open arms. For the latest batch of postcard and letter recipients, the French postal system has just shut down entirely due to workers' strikes, which may lead to the delay or (God Forbid) loss of your airmail goodies. I can only hope they arrive safely, because I enjoy writing to you all -- but more importantly, because stamps are bloody expensive.
Stay jolly. The Christmas Season is nigh!
Lucy
P.S. A Happy Turkey-Munching Day to all readers to whom such a holiday is applicable.
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