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.

The last few weeks have been filled with a smattering of life. I think that many small pieces of busyness take up more room in my life than just a few large ones. Like round melons (Yes, there are square melons) in a square box, there's just so much wasted space between them. We've been to the beach twice (for a church retreat and a tidepool-exploring field trip), the doctor's office, the recording studio, and the mechanic's. We've spent time with a couple of new babies, helped plan a birthday party and a baby shower, and scrounged haphazard meals from our increasingly filthy kitchen. Today is shaping up to be relatively relaxing, and I am snatching time at the computer this morning to share the first installment of our latest boating fun. (Sorry there's so much to read; it was a busy day. Pictures to follow)

We left Thursday after work for the drive up to Port Townsend, slept aboard (the first time for the girls--what fun!), and woke early Friday morning ready to re-rig the boat and be on our way. Stepping the mast went quite smoothly. It had been windy the evening before and we had wondered if we would have to postpone the work, but Friday was beautiful and the mast went up without a hitch. Just before the riggers, Ben and Ira, slid the mast into place, Ira called, "Anybody have a coin?" According to sailing superstition, it's very bad luck to step your mast without a coin underneath. Some people choose rare coins or one from a specific year. We offered the masters of sailing tradition the penny I had in my pocket.


By the time the rig was up and tuned, it was too late to leave, so we ran a few errands in town and puttered around on LiLo. (Some of my musician friends have joked about tuning the rig to a certain note. It turns out that there are some similarities to tuning a stringed instrument. With the purchase of any new rig, Port Townsend Rigging offers a free rig adjustment anytime in the first year because, just like the extra tuning needed after putting new strings on a guitar, the new wire stretches just a bit and makes early tuning necessary. )

Just before bed, we decided to check out the waste holding tank system so we didn't have any unpleasant surprises while underway. We had wondered if the system had deteriorated over the last few years without use. We turned the valves once and the answer came dribbling out onto the cabin floor. It was almost midnight before we had everything cleaned up, very glad to still be in port. After a few trips to West Marine the next morning (our new friend, Laura, was surprised to see us again...and again), we were finally good to go...so to speak.

As we motored out of the marina, the girls and I went up on the bow. The sun was out and the wind felt fresh on our faces. Up and around Marrowstone Island we rode the waves until we turned to face the wind and all came back to the cockpit. Meira went below and curled up in her quarterberth. Hannah pulled out a book and settled in for the ride. Bryan and I stayed above, enjoying the beautiful...what was that?

Before I could move to help, Bryan yanked off the companionway steps, opened the engine compartment, and aimed the fire extinguisher. We were all relieved to find that sometimes where there's smoke...there's just smoke. But now, with the engine compartment airing and the boat drifting backward through the shipping lanes, our priority became steering. Without forward momentum, a boat's rudder is useless. There were no cargo ships in sight, but we knew we needed to get a sail up--and quickly. Our rig included new halyards, the ropes that pull up the sails, but not the splices necessary to attach the halyards to the sails. Bryan grabbed his life jacket and climbed up on the cabin top. I stayed in the cockpit and relayed messages and materials up and down from Hannah in the cabin to Bryan on the deck above her head. She handed up sail twine, needles and strange metal implements (no not that thingy, the other one!) and Bryan stitched them together in record time. My relief as the mainsail went up was short-lived when the sail slides stuck about halfway up the mast. With no time to diagnose this newest glitch, we acted out an instant replay. Again the sail twine, needles and shackles passed from hand to hand. Again the careful stitching on the foredeck and--ahhhhhh--up went the jib.

Now we could steer, even if we could make no progress in our desired direction, and, with the boat a bit steadier, we stretched out in the cockpit with binoculars. The official diagnosis was, "something sticking out of the side of the sail track." Bryan sent the halyard aloft with just one sail slide attached to jam it back in place. After a brief moment of panic when we realized we were hoisting our main halyard with no way to retrieve it, Bryan hooked it on our telescoping boat hook, pulled it back to the deck and tied a line on the end. This time, his plan succeeded. He pulled down hard and the sail slide shot to the top of the mast. Soon we had the mainsail up and Bryan traded his life jacket for a toolbox. One replaced spark plug later and we were on our way again.


A bit more warily now, we motored south toward Kingston. But after only a few minutes, the engine sputtered, misfired and died. This time, the temperature gauge read dangerously high, so we hoisted the sails again and began to beat against the wind. We sailed through twilight into the evening, not knowing whether to bless or curse our GPS with its horribly accurate ground speed indicator. I sat at the tiller in 3 wool sweaters and a jacket, squinting through the salty film misting my contact lenses and did the math. Nine more nautical miles at 2.5 knots...would we make it in by midnight? I didn't even want to think of what we'd do when we got there since we'd never been to this particular harbor in the daytime, much less at night. Several hours later, we decided it was worth chancing the engine again. Our hope was that the raw water intake for the cooling system had been temporarily fouled with sea detritus (is it flotsam or jetsam--I can never remember the difference?) and that now that the engine was cool, it would behave.

By now the girls had cuddled up in their quarterberths and had fallen asleep to the motor's roar. I'm sure we ate dinner at some point, but my memory has blurred the last few hours of the evening into a miasma of wind and spray and squinting for land in the darkness.

We hadn't been out at night before, but all the books we'd read said that it's never completely dark on the water. And sure enough, as we sailed through the Puget Sound, the skyline of each city wore a halo: Everett off the starboard side, Edmonds toward 11 o'clock, Seattle just a thin haze of light far ahead. Then finally, around the last point, we spotted the ferry terminal of Kingston. We followed the directions from our cruising guide, and the harbor unfolded just as described. Past the ferry terminal, around the red flashing light (but not too close to the point with its unlit rocks), behind the breakwater and down the long guest dock to a port-tie slip. We'd made it!

Now we settled the boat for the night and took a short walk to find the marina's fee box. As we crawled into bed, we noticed water on the floor. Was the head leaking again? What hadn't we replaced? I cleaned it up, slid into the V berth and fell asleep.

The stuffing box (which allows the propeller to pass through the hull without letting in the ocean as well) leaked all night. Bryan finally got up around 5 am, to see if the bilge pump was depleting the batteries. Relieved they both still measured in the green, he finally got a few hours of sleep. More awake the next morning, we compared notes. With head-slapping clarity, we recognized the "leak from the head" as a rookie mistake. Through the wind and spray of the previous night, we never once thought to check the direction of the bow vent. Sure enough, it had been open to the weather all evening. We'd been baptized in salt water, but come out dry.

Welcome to the World!

The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord make his face shine upon you.
And give you peace,
And give you peace,
And give you peace forever.

The Lord be gracious to you.
The Lord turn his face toward you.
And give you peace,
And give you peace,
And give you peace forever.

This was one of my favorite lullabies to sing when the girls were tiny (I still sing it to them sometimes). I think my sleep-deprived brain clung to the comfort and repetition of this ancient blessing. But even now that I am getting more than 4 hours of sleep at night, it remains a favorite.

It was my great pleasure to pull it out again last night as I sang it to my newest nephew. Abram Steven was born yesterday afternoon, and as soon as Mama and baby (not to mention Daddy, my big brother) were up to visitors after the birth, Abram was surrounded by the blessing of all four grandparents and several aunts and uncles. Today, we'll go back again to introduce the cousins, but nothing compares to those first moments of holding a brand new life, all squinchy-eyed and brimful of mystery and potential.

LiLo Update

I warned you that there would be stories of boat maintenance. Well, we have begun.

Two weekends back, Bryan and I traveled to Port Townsend to finalize the paperwork on the new boat. Immediately upon becoming official owners of LiLo, we plunged into the work of rebuilding our rig. The standing rigging that supports the mast had done its job well, but for plenty long enough. We talked about waiting a year or so to have it re-rigged, but concluded that while she was in Port Townsend (aka NW Boating Mecca) we should just get it over with.

Ira, one of the riggers from Port Townsend Rigging, arrived on LiLo just a few minutes after we did and immediately began prepping the boat to have the mast removed. We were a bit surprised at the recommendation to have the rig tuned before we took it off, but once we understood that all measurements for the new rig would be taken from these (now accurately tensioned) stays, we were grateful for the professional help. (I know. Some think boat ownership is a sign we need more professional help.)

The actual mast removal was so smooth and easy, I missed taking a picture.




The boom-truck driver (known to us only by his shop nickname "The Paralyzer"...ask me for the story another time) did a great job and Ira--now joined by Ben--rolled our mast away to the rigging shop. Only then did Bryan and I realize...we had no idea where to find the shop.

The Port Townsend Boat Haven is several city blocks of boat repair bliss. Everywhere you turn you find marine-related industry. Mechanics, riggers, sign carvers, brokers-yes, even a brewery. And lines of boats on stands, some looking as if they were putting down roots, some with bright new blue tarps and busy owners. We wandered through the labyrinth and finally spotted a familiar-looking (if disturbingly horizontal) mast.

Lisa, our guru for all things rigging, walked us through the myriad choices for modern rigging and Ben showed us around the shop. We even got a demonstration of the new swaging machine that connects the steel cable to end fittings by squashing the fitting so tightly around the cable the metal almost fuses. It is way cooler than I make it sound. I found it fascinating, if a bit boggling, to listen to the explanations from these skilled craftsmen/women. It's a good thing the steep learning curve we took on along with the new boat is an enjoyable challenge to both of us. There will be plenty of opportunities to plod upward, but the boating community is a welcoming one and we have met many knowledgeable guides willing to give us a hand up along the way.

Next, we were off to West Marine to consider options for new mast wiring. We didn't know when we would have another opportunity to replace the light fixtures on the mast, so we consulted with several employees and left to get measurements and a good night's sleep.

Back at the boat, I was surprised to hear voices hailing us across the water. Who could know us here? It turned out to be one of the helpful West Marine employees who, along with her husband, had recently arrived from a (unexpectedly extended) passage from Hawaii. They ended up stranded in the NW due to their late arrival and repairs that extended their stay beyond the safe weather window for heading south. We gladly invited them aboard for a look around, feeling a bit strange to be the people with a bigger boat for once. Nissa is 21 feet, so we are used to being the runt. Their blue-water cruiser is 27 feet, so 32-foot LiLo seemed spacious to their eyes. They offered the legendary cruiser's greeting "How about a drink?" and we accepted, following them through the boatyard, past their boat "on the hard" to the brewery where outdoor heaters and live music along with cheap peanuts and good beer (or so I hear) set the stage for a delightful evening of story swapping. We had been almost too busy to be excited on this red-letter day, but it was exhilarating to experience some of the instant camaraderie and companionship we have read so much about. I skipped on the way back "home" for the night. "I feel like a real boat owner now!"


Saturday was full of problem-solving as we fished the old cables out of the mast and pulled in new ones in the gusty winds (up to 30 mph--we measured on our windmeter). We were grateful for grandparents who kept the girls warm and dry at home. We made an impromptu trip to the local marine exchange store and spent far too long poking through piles of curiosities (I got excited anytime I recognized a piece of gear) and chatting with the proprietress who regaled us with stories of her adventures aboard a 29-foot Islander, just a few feet smaller than LiLo. ("If you come to take me off this boat," she told the Coast Guard that stormy night, "come armed!") She congratulated us on our purchase, saying she had made a call trying to buy LiLo soon after we had and suggesting many modifications to the basic Islander design she described as "bulletproof." "If I didn't have 9 boats already (!), I'd be jealous. But you'll have so much fun and she'll always be good to you." Her words followed us like a blessing as we blew back across the boatyard to finish our work.




















Sunday, we met the previous owners, Derrell and Lynn, to retrieve the dinghy, the FOUR spare engines, and all the other assorted gear they had collected over the years. Now we were really glad not to have the girls along as there would have been absolutely no room for them in the cab of the truck. As for the bed of the truck...take a look.


But Derrell and Lynn passed on more than just sailing books and gear (including a kitty life jacket. I'm sure Avin will LOVE that...I'll try to get pictures). We are the thankful recipients of their stories and wisdom, and their gracious, full release of LiLo into our care is a blessing beyond telling. We all agree we have found an unbelievable match. We are overwhelmed with LiLo's abundance and Derrell and Lynn have affirmed that the joy we've expressed has tempered their bittersweet choice to let go. (They'll hate that I've published their picture, but it's too good not to share.)


After a final, rather miserable, stop at LiLo's former slip to remove the last bumpers, we returned to Port Townsend, dropped off the dinghy (Lil' Lo) and headed for home.

We're going again this weekend, all of us this time, to re-step the mast and bring LiLo down to her new slip in Olympia. Yes, out in the Puget Sound in a boat with no heater...in October. But you knew we were crazy already. So stick around...there'll be more stories.

Maybe she'll make a good boat cat

She likes to sleep in small spaces...

First Day of School

We started school last Monday and I took a few first-day pictures of the girls (and one of the whole class and teacher). Enjoy!

Blended Worship

A while back, I promised you some of my thoughts on worship. Well, here are a few of them, carefully edited to fit into the space dictated by Fruit of the Vine (a devotional guide published by Barclay Press). This is one of the devotionals I wrote for them over the summer. I may be posting some more of my writing for them here over the next few weeks, so if you use this devotional guide regularly, consider this your spoiler warning.

My church community is beautifully intergenerational, with people from many different backgrounds. Our worship leaders reflect this diversity. With all the different musical styles and selections, many call our format “blended worship.”

But what if “blended worship” was more than just singing different kinds of music? What if our church body made it a priority to blend the worship we work at together on Sundays into our personal worship? If the ways we practice together are such important elements of worship—and I believe they are—how can we help each other practice them all week long? And what if we found ways to mingle the worship of our days into our meetings?

Some ideas may depend on our worship leaders to orchestrate, but we can make many of these connections on our own. As a participant, I can find ways to extend helpful worship practices into my weekly habits. Perhaps the Scripture reading and the music speak to my spirit. Maybe I would read Scripture in the pattern of Lectio Divina or use songs from Sunday's worship service during the week as intentional practices to draw me into God's presence.

Blending my daily worship into corporate gatherings seems more difficult. Many of my personal practices don't transfer well to Sunday morning's patterns. But as I consider how I find space for worship in my daily life, how I sense God's presence as I enjoy nature with him and the way my heart beats more closely with his as I pray with a friend, I begin to see ways these experiences relate to—and breathe new life into—the typical elements of our corporate worship gatherings.

God, help me turn my fragmented life into seamless praise of you.

My New Wallpaper