Day Three-Mystery Bay back to Port Townsend

Following Sunburst out the tricky entrance. "They haven't run aground yet..."

These are not rocks, just lazy seals

Look! Big Navy ship. Stay 500 Yards away!

Meira's playing while...

...Hannah makes a new friend.

Day Two-Bainbridge Island to Port Townsend

Meira and LiLo dancing in the waves

Relaxing with a book after 2 long days on the water

The girls both REALLY enjoyed the Port Townsend Marine Science Center

Two Views from Fort Worden State Park

Yeah, I was pretty tired!

Back to the boat and off to Mystery Bay for the night...

Day One-Olympia to Bainbridge Island

I give up. All you want to see is pictures anyway. So here's the cheater photo-journalist version of our trip. Leave a comment if you want clarification. Or just leave a comment anyway.

On our way to the boat after Fourth of July celebrations

12 knots through the Tacoma Narrows!

Meira, the fashion goddess

Not staged, just taken to make work friends jealous

Who can resist a taffy and fudge shop? Not us!

15 precious days

I'm leaving tomorrow for a whirlwind trip to eastern Oregon to attend the memorial service of a fifteen-day old baby. A dear friend of mine and her husband of only a year suffered this unimaginable loss this week and I couldn't not go to offer my love and support. My wonderful husband has agreed to drive the 10 hours in 2 days so that I can come back in time for the baby shower of another dear friend (the kind you really want to attend, not that other obligatory kind). I really do have great pictures from our San Juan trip and promise to share belated stories, but today, this feels a bit more present. I've been so conscious this week, as I've read the updates chronicling the last downward spiral of the baby, that my friend will never get to make throw-together breakfasts with her daughter. She'll not get to be pestered into insanity by 20,000 questions, or curl up to read Narnia for the first time with her. Never go camping with the cousins and pick roasted marshmallow out of sandy hair. Never sit around the dinner table eating corn on the cob. Never sing, or dance or pray together. All these things and more I've done with my dear girlies in these last 15 days, poignant days, her precious baby's lifetime.

I owe you a story

I'm finally done pulling together pictures from our latest sailing trip for a My Publisher book (oh, how I love online scrapbooking) and I thought maybe I should fill you in as well. Last Christmas, flush with new-boat feelings, we gave our parents a certificate for a 3 day trip aboard. And yes...we heard all the jokes about a 3 hour tour. With Bryan's grandpa so ill this year, we're not sure when his mom will be able to redeem her trip, but we took my parents out over Memorial Day weekend. We all took off early on Friday afternoon to beat the rush out of town. Perhaps we thought that 3 days together on the boat wouldn't be enough "family closeness" so we piled into Mom and Dad's van and drove to Olympia.

We've heard many sailors say that guests come to your boat for a taste of life aboard, so you should try to keep your plans as normal as possible. So we started our trip, as usual, with a trip to the grocery store. And after a stop for late-night Chinese food, we made up all possible bunks and do-si-doed our way around the cabin and into bed.

"Do you smell that too?" is an awful way to be awakened, but the smell itself was even worse and it had awakened our guests first in the middle of the night. They, being new to boating, didn't know to be alarmed and slept-ish the rest of the night with lotioned hands tucked firmly under noses.

A bit of inspection and the tightening of a few ring clamps later, the leaky holding tank was mollified and we were off to the farmer's market. The Olympia Farmer's Market is just a few steps across the parking lot from our marina and a perfect place to pick up some breakfast and people watch. And it was Meira's birthday, so there were presents to open and a stop at the toy store to spend birthday money. It was maybe 11:30 when we finally pulled out of our slip and breathed a sigh of relief. We're on our way!

But we sighed too soon. About 5 minutes out, while still in the middle of the channel, the engine quit. This time, we knew we had fuel (as opposed to last time, when we discovered--not 30 seconds after checking--just how far down the dipstick/fuel gauge means "empty." That time, also in the middle of the Olympia channel, required some tricky sailing and a frantic refill from the spare fuel tank.) So we pulled open the engine compartment and pumped the priming bulb in hopes of a simple solution. And it worked! For about a minute. And then the engine died again. So we pumped the bulb again and fired up the engine again and everything was good again...for about a minute. We repeated this process (to the accompaniment of an ongoing trouble-shooting conversation between Dad and Bryan) about 20 times until we made it to the turn in the channel and could put up the sails. It seemed unlikely that we would get back to our slip safely with such a fluky engine, so we decided to settle in and enjoy the adventure. ("We told you we'd show you what a real sailing trip is like!")

We sailed for an hour or two in the fading wind, but after tacking back and forth in front of the Dofflemeyer Point lighthouse for 45 minutes or so, we decided we needed another option. We'd planned on Jarrell Cove for the first night. The marina there has fuel and a pump-out, both very important items. But it was going to be at least 2 hours of motoring and by this point, we were pretty sure we had a dead fuel pump. Dad and Bryan agreed to take turns manually pumping the gas into the engine and steering and we all voted to go for it.

The trip went surprisingly well; we caught a current and got up to the cove in less than 2 hours. It was noisy, of course, with the engine compartment open and tedious for the pumper standing over the hot engine. But Mom and Dad were determined to have a good time, so we all relaxed a bit.

Jarrell Cove is beautiful, shady and green...and popular. But we found a mooring buoy and managed to catch it on the first try even with all the heckling spectators. The evening more than made up for our difficult day. We barbecued hot dogs, following a family tradition of dropping the lid handle overboard (see the picture for our temporary fix), and had birthday cupcakes. There was bubble making...and the inevitable bubble soap spill. We all enjoyed seeing a sleek runabout pull up to the dock and, with a bit of sleight of hand, convert into a cozy cabin cruiser. And just at sunset, someone stepped out onto their bow and played "Taps" to end the day.

The next morning, we moved to a spot on the dock and ate breakfast while we watched a heron reclaim our buoy. After a short walk on shore, we were ready to take off. At some point during the evening, the guys had decided to try replacing the fuel filter. We hadn't thought it could possibly be clogged up yet, but then we remembered running the fuel tank down to the dregs. And we just happened to have an extra filter on board from the time Bryan dropped a piece of the filtering system overboard and had to buy a new one. The frustration of that day was redeemed by saving us today!

A quick stop for fuel, and we were off again, engine putting smoothly this time. We let it run just long enough to prove its reliability and then we put up the sails. We heard later that it rained almost all weekend back home, but we couldn't have ordered better weather. We had just enough wind to sail comfortably to Joemma Beach and my parents loved taking turns at the helm, especially Dad, who did 4 years in the Navy during Vietnam.

We arrived at the beach at a very low tide and Dad tossed the girls into the dinghy and rowed over for tide pool exploring. Eventually, Bryan and I joined them while Mom relaxed in the cockpit and watched the birds (later determined to be Purple Martins) in the nesting boxes on the pier. Hannah and Meira wangled their way into borrowed fishing poles and quickly caught (and released) several small fish.

We converged back on the boat, wet and sandy, to evening feeding time. The birds sang love songs and flew figure eights around the marina. The air smelled sweet as I zested limes and diced peppers for a Thai chicken dinner. Thousands of tiny, silver herring danced around the docks, shattering the top of their world, flipping into ours and back again. And Mom and Dad saw why we love sailing so much. This kind of day is more than worth all the problem solving and hard work. This too, is a real sailing trip.

I'm off to another one...I'll be back with more stories!

I Need a Ghost Writer!

The last month has been so full of postable events, I haven't taken the time to post them. So I'm taking the liberty of copycatting my friend Carri and telling you about all the things I didn't write about. (It's the highest form of flattery, right?)

I didn't tell you about finishing school for the summer and teaching another bread-baking class. Nor did I mention the visit to a friend at Doernbecher Children's Hospital (which necessitated a tram ride!) or the girls' piano recitals (yes, two recitals since my mom and I both claim them as students).

I neglected to mention taking swimming lessons with Bryan. We both took lessons as kids, but couldn't ever get the rhythms of stroking and breathing down at the same time. And we figured that even though the point of a boat is to make swimming unnecessary, it might be a good idea to be a little better than we were. We're, well, a little better.

I especially didn't tell you about taking my parents out on the boat over Memorial Day weekend (though I reserve the right to tell that story at a later date...it's a good one).


Then there was the weekend I spent subbing for some friends who run a Bed and Breakfast. I loved hosting the guests and cooking elaborate breakfasts with fresh ingredients (mmm...ginger scones with lemon curd, bacon arugula quiche and hazelnut waffles with rhubarb compote...mmm). And I really didn't mind dealing with the recalcitrant goats and their incompetent fence. The laughter was payment enough.

And there has been dinner with friends and time spent with family along with VBS for the girls and some major spring cleaning/purging ("Would I want this on an extended boat trip? Do I really need it in the meantime? These have been very helpful questions).

But now we are in the last throes of vacation prep. The girls and I are taking the train to Redmond, WA for a visit with their cousins (and my delightful brother- and sister-in-law) and then Bryan is coming up later in the week for a couple of days of work on the boat before he joins us for the Fourth of July (he hopes to get the water system clean and functional and install the new table that is currently in pieces all over our dining room). Then we're taking off on the boat for 2 weeks in the San Juan Islands. Got all that? I wish I did.

I'm making multiple lists--of groceries and local pump-out stations, of places to go and things to see. We went to the library today to stock up; both the girls are reading faster than I can keep up. I've put my newspaper, mail and CSA membership on hold. This weekend will be full of leading worship at church, a birthday party for Grandpa, grocery shopping, laundry and more list-making. And Bryan is working interminable hours thanks to fourth-quarter rush. I guess if we ever get to do this cruising thing for real, this will seem like small potatoes. But it's enough for today.

It's possible that you'll hear from me again before I go, but if not, at least now you'll know why.

Overheard just before I panicked...

"Hannah, come and watch this. It might be a disaster!"

Cow-napping

You've heard of cow-tipping. Well today I was involved in more nefarious bovine affairs. We went to the dairy farm as usual and, as usual, fell into an adventure. This little calf was born just after lunch and immediately after his arrival, another cow claimed him. This would normally be a bit of a problem, but not today. Since the new calf is a boy, the farm is planning to sell him. And they have some customers who have been wanting to buy a cow and calf pair. But the real mama is a great milker, too good to sell. So when this other cow decided to take over, Chrissie decided to help. And we arrived just in time to aid and abet. Chrissie led the new mama up the hill and we followed, encouraging the baby, so new to this walking-thing, and running interference against the (only mildly offended) real mama. Then the other 2 cows and several goats decided to come over and investigate the disturbance in the farmyard. I'm glad all the animals are VERY tame.

We finally got this oddly blended new family separated from the others to give them a chance to bond (and for baby to figure out that milk doesn't emit from his mama's kneecaps). They'll be going to their new home tomorrow; we are so glad we showed up in time to be a part of this unusual day on the farm.

A Busy Weekend

On Thursday, thanks to a hot tip from my mother-in-law, the girls and I hit the most popular joint in town: the Bob's Red Mill Grand Opening. We made it in time to join a long line of grain fanatics for a tour of their new milling and packaging plant. Then we took advantage of the free pancake breakfast and stopped by the retail store to pick up some flour for today's adventures (cue mysterious foreshadowing music...oh, who am I fooling. How mysterious can flour be?)
Here are my little bakers ready for the tour in the requisite hairnets and safety eyegear.


Last night, the girls sang at Chapters, a local coffee shop/bookstore with their choir, the Young Friends Singers. Its always a bit of a crazy venue, especially on First Friday when friends and strangers are apt to walk by just outside the window. The kids worked hard to sing well and squelch any staring and waving impulses. All the grandparents showed up and my parents took the girls home with them for the night, with serendipitous timing given today's adventures...


Then today (dah, dah, duh), out at the farm where we get milk and eggs, I taught my first bread-baking class.


I say my first because my farmers want me to teach one on a regular basis. Chrissie likes the connection to the customers. Koorosh just wants to eat the leftovers. She said, "How about every couple of months?" He, eying the pile of bread, said, "We'll see how long it takes me to get through this bread and then schedule them accordingly."I don't know about that; I baked 21 loaves of bread yesterday and today. I'm not going to do that too often. But the students seemed to really enjoy it and I was able to answer most of their questions. I hope I demystified the process just a bit. Fresh bread really is just so wonderful. This is what was left after we sent everyone home with a loaf of their own. What abundance!

Oh and the goats? They're just cute and I wanted a record of my James Herriot moment from last month. Did I ever tell you about the time I helped deliver quintuplet baby goats?

A Grand Night Out

Tonight I went to the Dave Brubeck concert at the Schnitz. I don't often go to live concerts, so it took a bit of convincing to get me to this one, but I'm oh-so-very glad I went. From the opening set (ahhh "Stormy Weather" Brubeck style) all the way to the jaw-dropping rendition of "Take Five" at the end, I never stopped grinning. I didn't know how the band could come back for an encore after a night like that, but they topped off the evening and cleverly avoided a second encore with a wry performance of Brahms Lullaby.

You can bet my grandkids will hear about this one. That's how good it was.

But I would never have enjoyed it this much without the company. I tagged along with Mauri, Howard, and Nate; three dear friends and fellow music lovers. Sitting with them, toe-tapping and laughing in all the same places, analyzing and marveling together--that was as good as the music. And then Brandon and Korie, dear friends themselves, tracked us down across the concert hall (Korie said she would recognize my laughter anywhere) and added their smiles to our grinning group. Good music. Good friends. I'm blessed.

(See Sherry's site for a picture. If she hasn't posted it yet, she probably will)

Ignore this if you want

Hey friends,
I'm not usually too political, but this is a ballot measure I'd love to get a chance to vote on. And the oneballot people are making it easy to sign the petition. So if you like the idea of this open primary system (very similar to to the one being contested in WA), here's a chance to get it on the ballot in November. If you don't like the idea, don't read this post. There's my pitch. I'll never bother you again.

Unconventional Passover

Tonight I lost the toss and drove out to pick up fried chicken for a lazy Friday dinner. On the way, I caught a glimpse of the full moon and it snatched my breath away. How can this night--the night we remember the death of our Lord--be this heavy, dripping with such beauty?

When I got home, the girls had cleared the table and were waiting for dinner. So we ate. It was late and we were all hungry, and the chicken was so greasy and crispy and good.

But after we ate, I took a biscuit, and broke it and said "This is his body, broken for you." And I passed the fragments to Hannah, to Bryan and Meira. And I poured a glass of juice (apple-cranberry, I think) and we talked (in between nibbles of french fries) about what a new covenant means in our lives today. And we each sipped some juice.

And there, with a take-out boxes on the table and failings in our hearts, God met us.

Fall From Grace

There's a disaster in the kitchen. No I'm not talking about the piles of dirty dishes, although they might qualify us for FEMA relief; we've gotten good at ignoring those.

No, this new catastrophe struck this afternoon when one of the girls, helpful as always, failed to transfer the new sourdough starter from counter to fridge smoothly. Her cry of alarm was followed by the sound of breaking crockery and then ominous silence. Sure enough, when I came to look, there on the floor were pieces of my favorite pottery dish--a gift from my husband and a macaroni and cheese tradition--glued together with strings of sticky, stretchy starter. I salvaged some clean starter off the biggest pot shard. I'm pretty sure I can save it. Then I scraped the rest off the floor and, along with the rest of the broken pieces, threw it away. I tried not to let her see me cry.

I hate the sadness of broken things. Replacing them brings none of the usual delight in something new, just a sense of waste and loss. And I know things are just things, but this one had such memories and such cute little handles.

I'm resisting the urge to rush out and replace it; you can't mend broken memories, just make new ones. Besides, I don't just want any old pot, I want that one. Or barring that possibility, I want one that comes with its own story and redeems this sadness. I'll wait for a serendipitous crockery.

I need your help

Last weekend I helped lead the NFC women's retreat at Twin Rocks Friends Camp. It was a lot of fun, but by the time I got back, I had started to feel sick. I spent most of last week moving from bed to couch and back again. Any time I tried to accomplish something, I ended up horizontal again after just a few minutes. So I was less excited than I had expected when I got a package from King Arthur Flour. A few weeks ago, KAF came to town. I went to the bread-baking classes they offered and gladly jumped through the hoops attached to the gift cards they passed out at the end of the day to order a few things I'd been drooling over from their catalog. I got some specialty flour and yeast and a couple of flavorings. But the big treat was a 250 year old sourdough starter.

Turns out, this was the perfect time for it to come. I had just enough energy to feed it before I adjourned to the couch to re-read all the neglected sourdough information in my favorite baking cookbooks. It needed several feedings of flour and water to expand and refresh its rising power, but by the next day, it was ready to be mixed into a batch of dough. After a night of rising on the front porch (I really will clean out my fridge when I get to feeling better) and a morning of rising out in the garage, I baked up my very first loaves of sourdough.

Oh, but they were delicious. But to make more, you have to keep the starter alive. This means feeding the starter at least once a week and using the excess in bread or pancakes or crumpets or any of the myriad other tasty sourdough options. I've divided it in two and converted one half into a stiff starter (they are supposed to be slightly less sour and last longer between feedings). In the next few weeks, I plan to dry some as an emergency backup and share some of the fresh starter with anyone who wants some—anybody? anybody? The girls are already addicted to sourdough pancakes and I'm looking forward to experimenting with new bread recipes. If this sounds like a lot of work, you're right. I'm sure once I work it into my schedule, it won't take up as much space in my brain. But right now, it feels like a new pet.

So I need your help. I think if I name the pile of goop—the only thing in my refrigerator I am trying to keep growing—I'll be more likely to remember to feed it. Any suggestions?

Season Finale

There has been a mid-season hiatus on the show "LiLo and Her Inexperienced New Owners" due to a writer's strike. But now, thanks to a renegotiation of the contract (more caffeine was a serious sticking point) we are back with the rest of the winter move to Olympia. If you haven't been following this family dramedy, check out the first episode here.


After awakening to more bilge pump noises, we were off to locate stuffing for our stuffing box. But first, breakfast! We found a creperie up the street, sat in the tiny dining room (seating for 4) and shared delectable breakfast confections. Then we walked up the main street to the local hardware store, but they didn't have a marine supply section. We explained our problem to the owner and were rewarded with a personal how-to guide. We knew we had found an true expert when he began his advice with the words, "You take a pair of undershorts..."

We traded sailing stories for a few minutes before returning to the boat. The plan had been to leave first thing in the morning to make the best use of the tides, but since that was no longer an option, we decided to relax and enjoy the beautiful head winds anyway. After the last episode, we were a bit jumpy about odd engine noises, so we made good use of the time from Kingston to Blake Island (a scheduled pit stop for leg-stretching) by tracking down what made the engine rattle every time we stood on the second companionway step. (A bit of sandpaper, properly applied, should do the trick.)


We pulled into Blake Island a couple of hours before dusk (someday we really will spend some daylight hours on this island!) and chatted with the sailors who stepped up to take our dock lines. They had just come over from Vashon Island for the night and were horrified to hear that we were planning to continue on down to Gig Harbor that evening. "But you'll be out at night!" they chorused. Old hands now after our one night's experience, we responded with confidence. "Night sailing is beautiful!"

And it was. All the way down Colvos Passage to the west of Vashon Island, we had smooth...umm...motoring and relatively calm weather. There is a well-lit marker system of navigation markers throughout the Puget Sound, and this area is no exception. It is always fun to be the first to spot the next light. We followed the old sailors mnemonic "red right returning," and slipped between each set of red and green, grateful to be that much closer to port.

We were grateful too, for our GPS. Although the trip would have been quite possible without its aid, we found it especially helpful as we neared the entrance to Gig Harbor. The perimeter of the harbor describes a rough triangle with a barely navigable opening at the tip of one point. Factor in a sand bar and low tide, and you have a bit of a tricky entrance. We had been in and out of Gig Harbor twice in the daylight or we would probably not have attempted it at night, but all went smoothly. We kept a close eye on the depth sounder (Nissa drew just 2', so we felt enormous with 4'6''), tried to spot the small lighthouse past the bright fishing vessel lights, and...whew...we were in.

Hmmmm. Now which of these marinas has guest moorage available? Our cruising guide said to look for white dunce caps on the pilings and, when we spotted them, we pulled in close to check things out. I hopped off and walked up the ramp to see if we were in the right place while Bryan tied us off. At the top of the ramp, there was a code-locked gate and I'll admit to a bit of apprehension when it clanged shut behind me. But I quickly found the fee box--and the code for the gate on the marina paperwork--and we were set for the night.

Well, all of us except Bryan, that is. He didn't want to spend another night listening to the leaky stuffing box and sloshing bilge pump, so it was time to put the morning's advice to the test. I read "Carry On, Mr. Bowditch" to the girls, all the while, silently rooting for Bryan (the apparent underdog) in his battle to keep the ocean on the proper side of our keel. Armed only with a box knife and a pair of clean underwear ("Why the clean ones? We don't have laundry capabilities!"), and trying to keep his hollering to a minimum (this is a "family" boat), he dove up to his waist in the engine compartment and rummaged in the dark for a bit, emerging victorious.

Then he climbed out onto the bow and, with no small amount of banging about, rigged a pulley system with the spinaker halyard to lift the dinghy up onto the bow--the marina information had been very strict about charges for extra feet of dock space. (If you care, we would advise trying this trick in the daylight your first time.)


The next morning, the fact that we were no longer leaking was not enough to keep us from our now-traditional daily West Marine run. After breakfast (I ran up the hill for coffee and pastries from the local coffee/pottery shop), we took our time deciding on the right fuel filter for our system, hoping that would help the engine run a bit more smoothly. We picked up lunch at the supermarket deli and the girls and I sat in the park to eat while Bryan (he ate too, but faster) went down to the boat...and promptly back to West Marine for a heavy-duty magnetic tool retriever. Unfortunately, the mounting bracket for the fuel filter wasn't magnetic. I hope it is biodegradable in salt water.

Back again for another fuel filter--of course, the one in the water was the last in stock--and then back to the boat to install the substitute we hoped would suffice. But the day was lovely and the town delightful, so it wasn't too burdensome to spend a bit more time at the dock. There are always interesting boats to examine and dogs to pet in a marina. Soon enough, it was time to unplug and stow the shore power cord, untie the lines and pull away into the Tacoma Narrows. We knew from experience that we couldn't be careless about the currents in this area (ask me about that story another time...it's funny now) and we hit them just right this time. Without the dinghy dragging behind us, we made 7-8 knots through most of the channel, under the new Tacoma bridge span and out the other side.


We settled in for another long day, but the familiar waters and the sun overhead did much to boost the morale of the crew. Bryan had just curled up in the starboard quarterberth for a little nap when I heard a "sploosh" just off the side of the boat. I looked, expecting to see a seal--we had seen one or two every day--although they usually are too timid to approach this close. Another "sploosh" and another and...was that a dorsal fin? Hoping whatever it was would stick around long enough to be identified, I called to Bryan. "Come up quick!" Soon we were seeing fins cresting on both sides of the boat. Bryan and the girls grabbed the camera and went up to the bow where the view was best. I cut back the engine, but the pod had been attracted to our speed and fell away until I sped up again. Now Bryan took the tiller and I joined the girls on the foredeck. We clutched the bow pulpit and leaned over to see the black-and-white flashes of (we think) Dall Porpoises dancing through the bow wake. We had seen these playful animals once before on a wildlife viewing cruise out of Resurrection Bay in Alaska, but here, they were so unexpected, so close. All exhaustion gone, we squealed and danced at this breathtaking gift of the sea.



The energy boost lasted even after our visitors faded away. We had been facing the wind head-on for most of the trip, but now, as we turned toward Nisqually Reach, we would have a good chance of favorable winds. And we needed the wind. With all the marinas at Gig Harbor, one would think there would be a fuel dock. But no, there's no fuel to be had without toting a gas tank up the hill to a filling station and back. We thought we had enough to get us to the fuel dock at Zittel's Marina or Boston Harbor, but a quick call to each and some rough calculation made our situation clear. If we didn't put up the sails, we had a pretty good chance of running out of fuel before we could make it to either fuel dock. But if we sailed (in the quickly dying wind) we would not make it in before they closed for the night. (This would probably be a good time to point out that our gas gauge is a bamboo stick marked, helpfully, "Full," "1/2," and "Empty." And our gas tank, well, it's an old beer keg. The inspector said it looked sound enough, but it lies on its side under the cockpit and we're not familiar enough with our capacity and usage yet to know if an inch of gas on the end of the "gauge" means "Sure, you can make it!" or "Just a tiny puddle in the curve of the tank.")


But sailing into the sunset is the stuff of which dreams are made, right? And then the moon came up, and we sailed along its path to the accompaniment of soft music and good company. If we hadn't been so tired, it would have been unbearably enchanting. However, even after pulling out our big Genoa to replace our smaller headsail, we were still only making 1/2 a knot and, despite the vacant waters, we didn't relish the idea of spending the entire night tacking sinuously across a shipping channel.

So we took a deep breath, noted our exact fuel level...and fired up the engine. My stomach tensed as I sat in the cockpit, willing the boat ahead in the water. This was by no means the most dire situation of the trip, but after all we'd been through, I was a bit tired of problem-solving--tired, period. When we'd gone about halfway to the nearest safe harbor, Bryan checked the fuel level again. We were both relieved to see that it had hardly budged. Another 30 minutes found us putting in to the quiet mooring field at Boston Harbor. Once again, we were grateful for previous daytime experience as we navigated past numerous boats at anchor against the glare of the marina lights. The guest dock was full, so we turned back to find a clear spot to anchor among these hibernating vessels, impatient to have LiLo in her own slip for the winter.


Morning dawned foggy, and Bryan launched the dinghy off the bow and loaded the gas tank and the two youngest sailors. They disappeared into the mist only a few yards away, but by the time they had returned, the fog was giving way to another gorgeous day. After a few more minutes paddling about in the dinghy, we motored the last few knots to Olympia.


But before we could pull into our slip, we needed to find a pump-out station for...well, obvious reasons. With everything else that had gone wrong on this trip, it shouldn't have been a surprise when the nearest pump was broken. So we pulled around to Swantown Marina in East Bay, took care of business and, FINALLY, pulled back into West Bay and into our slip at Fiddlehead Marina.

Then we still had to walk to the car rental company (after days out in the elements, the weather away from the water was surprisingly warm), rent a car (without a reservation--not a good plan), and figure out how to get car, car seats, and children all to the same space...legally (here's a hint--it requires ice cream). After a quick stop at our new favorite teriyaki restaurant and another to fill out some paperwork at the marina, we were free to head up the Olympic peninsula for Port Townsend to retrieve the car we'd left behind...was it really just Saturday?

Back in Olympia, we gladly crawled into our beds on the boat for one more night (Olympia to Hillsboro is only about double Bryan's normal commute, so we took him straight to work on our way home the next morning). I remember saying, "We're going to tell our friends about our trip, and all the things that went wrong, and they will never understand how much fun we had." It's true, we did have fun. Even the girls claimed to have enjoyed "the whole thing!" But I think more than the fun we had, we enjoyed the satisfaction of discovering all sorts of new things about our boat and ourselves and the knowledge that this hard work was just the beginning of many more adventures together as a family.


Stay tuned...according to my calendar, sailing season is only weeks away!

Day of Reckoning

Of the 88 library books currently scattered about our house, 39 are due tomorrow.

Anecdote Overload

for Sherry, who says I should post these before I throw away all the grocery lists and scraps of paper on which they're written.

At the library:
"Maybe I will work here when I grow up. There are lots of things I want to do. But I don't want to be an astronaut anymore." Here you must lean in to hear the whisper..."Because of SPACE TRASH!"

One sister to another:
"We're pirates in a submarine looking for treasure. One of my crews died so I needed a new crew. You be my new crew. Try not to die."

Second sister's response:
"Don't suck your fingers, captain."

Why I homeschool:
With paroxysms of excitement..."Now I'm going to tell you the part that I'm all jittery about in my math"

Random quote of the year award:
"I'm having a wedding because the queen died. But Brownie, my dog, still has her memory...because I told her to. Brownie's a girl. She's sitting in my sewing box, which is open." (okaaaay)

Interchange while writing letters together:
Announced with confidence..."I'm like a printer!"
Encouraging response..."Yes, like a printer, only slower."
Confidence not diminished in the least..."Yes, like a printer only slow and...and kind of broken."

Overheard from a small waffle eater: "I'm beautiful...but sticky!"

Extra points if you can guess who's who.

I love the man with a broken heart

Bryan's Grandpa is in the hospital again. They didn't think he would make it through yesterday afternoon and as his day nurse left, she said "I'll see you tomorrow if you're still here." Not the most professional way to break the bad news. But he's still with us today, eating and joking with the nurses. (We said, "Get better so you can chase the pretty nurses." He said, "I've got roller skates under the bed.")

So now we are waiting. We've been here before, barely more than a year ago with Grandma when we all expected her to get better and she didn't. We've been here before with Grandpa too (I think the ICU needs to issue him a frequent-patient punch card) when we all expected him not to get better and he did. So I don't know what to expect, but I still need to do many of my normal-life things. Somehow the dirty dishes don't seem compelling today as I jump every time the phone rings and compulsively check my e-mail for responses from the first round of cancellations--excuse me for a minute...nope, none in the last 30 seconds.

It seems odd that I am taking the time to blog now...when I have ignored writing for almost a month, but I was too busy with good stuff to stop. Now, I want to stay too busy to stop; I don't know what I would do with my thoughts if I took the time to think them. I do know that I gravitate to my community when in crisis. I spent most of the evening with Bryan's family and some of mine, either on the phone or in person and I felt more settled than I do now. But there's not enough of a reason to drop everything and cocoon together, so we are all trying to carry our normal burdens separately while we wait.

I haven't finished the story of our last boat trip--in fact, I think the boat was filling with water when I last left off...don't you people wonder what happened? And we've had lots of fun over the holidays and my recent birthday that I want to take the time to record. But not today. Maybe I'll get the dishes done; I may not have time later. But maybe I'll just give myself permission to let today be for staying warm and close to people who care. Thanks for caring.

A Merry Christmas Gift

I thought he was kidding when he said he was going to give me the sun, moon, and stars.