42 years on a sailboat in a toga

42 years old.  Does this mean I will come to further understand the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything?  Well, it does mean that I got not only a cool wallet with a Sailor Jerry design but also a new pair of Sennheiser pro headphones.  At work, my desk was decked out, Joseph brought breakfast, and my boss brought cake.  I even got a tiny gag pistol that drops a little banner that says "bang" when you pull the trigger, totally inappropriate workplace entertainment.  Yet nothing seemed simple all day.  I was pummeled and shuffled.  Luckily, I had my best present last:  leaving work behind, and enjoying some of the best wind I've ever had on Lake Union.

The Betsy D braves the melee

Toga night at the Duck Dodge.  Us flabby men looked ridiculous, especially with me in a very loose "Bacchanial" tie, while the women didn't stick with white bedsheets and were sometimes quite shiny.  Gomez, joining Zanne, Dan, and me for his first Dodge, stayed in his civvies.  Fact is, since I'm always the one to go foreward to unfoul the jib and get it over the lifeline, the toga got in the way and was quickly stowed.  Gomez added a bit of CWB-ness to the cruise, but he wasn't the only one:  The dear Betsy D and couple Blanchard Juniors were out in the fresh breeze, too...not in the race, just out for fun.

Lake Union Wooden Boat Festival 2012

The Lavengro says, "Welcome back."

Day One, Saturday, 6/30:  My Happy Place.  It all feels comfortable and familiar.  Eldon walks around and officiates as always, and Aislinn gives me a big hug as I check in.  As Pirate Lou starts making the rounds, it's as much about saying "Good to see you again" with the coffee drinkers aboard the Orion as it is about hooking kids for story time.  I'm convinced by Dan the man that the One Reel relationship may not be so bad.  If it means not only more people knowing about (and donating to) the CWB but also a possible vision for the 4th of July that completely encircles Lake Union, how can one argue?  Even the boats are old friends:  Adventuress is the biggest, Opus is the cutest, and Silva Bans is the one I want to commandeer.  At noon, I maintain my rep for being first patron at the beer garden, the manager from Jillian's grinning and saying, "Back again so soon?"

A few islands short of Heaven (Logan's weekend)

Friday.  I am reasonably flush when, after a week's administrative delay, the IRS has given me my annual refund.  At work, as Super Bowl weekend approached, we have had a "tailgate" potluck, each cubicle serving snack food, crock pot BBQ meatballs, homemade chili, and so on.  The sports-minded are wearing jerseys; I declare my Hawaiian shirt as "the official jersey of the competitive cocktail drinker."  When I get off, I drive north to pay rent and come home along the shore of Lake Washington.  There has been no wind all day, but now there are little whitecaps yet no boats taking advantage.  The seed of an urge begins to sprout.

The Dog & Pony:  land of wonder

I'm fidgety, in no mood to give in to the television.  So I head to our local, the Dog and Pony.  Alone and intending to stay that way, I take over one of the big, comfy black leather chairs in the corner.  I have the last pint of my precious Old Rasputin before the keg's out and move on to Silver City Scotch Ale.  The noise of conversation mingles with music streaming from Pandora, every fifth song seeming to be Led Zeppelin (no complaints).  I tune it all out and head to the waters off Cartagena, Spain, where the crew of the Carpanta in Pérez-Reverte's The Nautical Chart is finally on the water searching for the lost wreck of a Jesuit ship.  My barmaid, Erin, notices my contented grin when she brings my nachos (hold the jalapeños).  I tell her that this is almost Heaven--oversized chair, beer, nautical fiction, and no worries.  If only the ocean was just out of the window.  Once the third pint is drained I head home, pour the Sailor Jerry, and watch a movie that is less a musical than a philosophical treatise:  Paint Your Wagon.  To pick one random quote from the epitome of rugged nonconformity, Ben Rumson, "God made the mountains/God made the sky/God made the people/God knows why..."

Fresh!

First it was a lovely breakfast at Luna Park Cafe with everyone from home and service from Sweetpea, Queen of Seattle Rockabilly and our good friend.  Then it was a quick trip to Byrnie Utz Hats to replace my unraveling (and too small) brown Greek fisherman's cap.  Finally, I got dropped off at the Center for Wooden Boats.  Martin had invited everyone who was maintenance crew for the Betsy D to come down for her first voyage of 2011 after weathering the winter and getting painted.  We had time.  We moved boats around.  We rigged our boat--sails, snotters, spars. Eventually, the Sail Now! Shore School even took a break, and we got a chance to get into the boat house and make coffee.

Toe Rails

Toe rail:  a very low wood or metal strip that runs around the edge of the deck of a boat between the bow and the stern.

I arrived at the Center well short of 10:00, which is when it technically "opens" on a weekend.  I was the first to run the communal, much-storied coffee pot.  Yet Martin was already at work on the Betsy D.  We had already sanded.  Now it was time to paint.  First we had to mask off, so it was foot after foot of blue tape, for which I would like to offer thanks to the inventor as it makes so much more obvious where one has applied white paint and where one has not.  Martin showed me how to get marine paint the proper consistency, then we got on the gloves and got busy.  For me, painting was very relaxed, focused activity, and Martin was able to very calmly coach this newbie on how to make more out of less paint and smooth the whole thing out.  We did toe rails, we did gunwales, and we did hatches.  The weather held.  Then I used this homemade device that spins the paintbrush in the thinner to get it clean.  In spite of this clever technology, my pants still got splattered.

...coming back over the horizon

 

It's the nature of being "on the account:"  The pirate will go from ship to ship, wherever there's room, work and a captain worth sailing under.  Blue Lou has been from thecuriousman.com to Tribe to MySpace to Facebook.  Now he's actually gonna try a real blog.  Why?

Yesterday, something happened that felt significant.  For several years, I have volunteered at the Center for Wooden Boats.  I have gone from wandering the docks and manning the jib on Sunday Public Sails to passing SailNow! training and becoming "Pirate Lou," the guy in costume who tells tales of Blackbeard and scares small children.  Last July at the annual Festival, I tore an anterior cruciate ligament, because a 40-year-old loaded with pistols and blades thought he could take a shortcut across the docks...and was very wrong.  I was absent from the Center for several months, which felt like, well, not having rum.  I hate not having rum.