Now that headline ought to entertain Heather. She picks on badly written headlines in her blog. Otherwise everything my daughters have been writing in their blogs makes me cry.

I love cats, my mother loved cats, and so on back to when cat's stopped eating us and made us pet them and feed them from stinky tins instead.

I have had many cats in my life, Toonsie and Desi are driving me crazy at present, all the others live somewhere in the depths of my soul. The knowing silence of a cat has helped me find my own innermost thoughts. The well timed nuzzle to my chin or wet nose in the ear has pulled me from the depths of despair countless times.

The breath like day old fish shoved into my nose while I am about to fall asleep,waking my senses to the rattling purr of a feline in need of petting. So many times that I dare not count. I miss, George, Boots and Rebel as they helped define my adolescence. I miss Heathcliff because he simply insists that I do.  He was the last remaining heir of my mothers love. 

So many cats visited us from Maine through Connecticut from George (again) through Nog just last Sunday.  It tests my dwindling mind to recall all the names and descriptions, but my wife and daughters knew them all and loved them fully. That is my enduring image of those sweet friends, in the arms of my lifes loves.

Those who like so many kitties remain mostly silent. My failing ears attend for a purr, hiss or growl. But no fish tin breath please.

Since my last entry, I spent a weekend in Key Largo to dive two deep wrecks and complete my Wreck Diving Specialty. Sean Butler a friend from work was my buddy for the weekend.   It did not go exactly as planned, we got a late start but made up time on the road. It turns out Key Largo is not so far-go, only 3 1/2 hours.

 

The sea was angry that day... (just kidding)

But the wind was blowing 15 to 25 and the seas out at the first wreck, "Spiegel Grove" were 5 to 7 feet and rising.  The boat was not going to make another trip out there for us. So the alternative plan was a reef dive close to shore. The prospect of rough seas and shallow waters on an inshore reef did not hold great appeal so Sean and I decided to look for somewhere else to dive.

 

What we found was comic-bizzare.  A small lagoon with an underwater hotel, called Jules Undersea Lodge, The lagoon is a bit like a large salty mud puddle.  The deepest spot we found is 26 feet.  We swam around, and peered into a small Sealab. Finally we came upon the Hotel and made a visit into the "Lobby" a wet dock underneeth, poking our heads up like James Bonds and breathing the musty/mildew scented air. I actually enjoyed the dive. I guess I am always looking for a unique experiences in diving, and this was surely one of those.

 

We had planned a night dive, that also got scrubbed, so we dove into a bucketful of rum at the hotel bar that night instead.

 

On Sunday we were able to get out to dive the Spiegel Grove. She is 90 feet to the bow, and 130 to the sand. The boat dropped us off at the bow. We had nearly 100 foot visibility and a light current running. In a very unusually perfect first descent on this wreck we were able to drift the entire 511 foot length. Popping up off the stern after an amazing 30 minutes to meet up with our boat. 

 

I will finish off my two remaining dives for the Wreck Specialty this Thursday. Playing hookey with the boss' permission. Diving on the Capt. Dan out of Pompano Beach.  I hope to have tales of  interesting wreck penetration dives to relate to you soon.

 

This week I was traveling. Houston for 3 days, finishing up in New Orleans on Friday. Houston was crowded, dusty and socially uninspiring.  I closed a little new business and identified an important opportunity, so it was worthwhile.

 

New Orleans, is showing signs of a comeback.  With such a long way to go.  One of the things I have always loved about the Big Easy is the general attitude of the people. Their soft melodic accent disarms me and charms me into believing that things are going to be alright.  In no other city would an elderly woman selling shuttle tickets even think of saying to me, "You got plenty of time Baby, dat bus'll be back if you miss it."

 

The city is currently under the seige of the polically ambitious. There seem to be more characters than ever running for Mayor and Councilman-at-Large.  All promising to do so much better then those that came before them.

 

I saw an overturned boat with "Nagin is a Racist" scribed in red spray-paint.

 

I didn't see any signs inidicating that he was running for re-election. I can't blame him if he wants to just go hide, or drink his capacity of Hurricanes on Bourbon Street, where hurricanes belong in New Orleans.

 

But it turns out Nagin and the Lt. Governor have now ended up in a runoff election, because so many candidates split the vote.

 

I headed home Friday night. Picked up a book called Peace is the Way by Deepak Chopra. This seems to be a new theme in my life. This book is a training manual for becoming a Peacemaker.  That would be a nice upgrade of profession, even partime. Especially if the minium wage is world peace.

 

"Come on, get on the peace train..."

Caitlin! She whipped up a Short-short story in five minutes before class, and knocked out a five poem set in about half an hour.  The Poems won 1st place and the short-short won 2nd place in her school competition.  They were then sent on to a Countywide competition.  The Short-short story won a First place, the Poems won a Second.  One of her poems, called Father, Mother, Sisters brough a lump to my throat.

 

She has made me think about poetry again, it has been a while.  I started one in my Drafts area. "Love's Reflection"

We are six in our family core. For a time we were all living together. There we were able to converse and embrace each other through the convenience of local presence. But we did not do so as much as we perhaps should have. What we did do was overhear each other as we made our separate ways through existence.

 

When we lived under one roof, any big issue for one of us would effect us all. If one of us had a bad day, or a tragedy among close friends we all became a family about it. Sometimes this helped, more often not, but it reminded us we were a family in any case. Sometimes that feels crowded, other times deserted but never forgotten.

 

My wife and youngest live with me in Florida, but the other 3 are far to our North and each on their own.  We share occasional ( I mean not very often) phone calls. Send B-Day presents and nearly always observe Holidays with some from of salute to each other. But I miss the closeness. When I think about this, I need to be careful not to drift into melancholy.

 

Then I hit the Blogs. Suddenly I get a glimpse of the individuals that I love each so much.  It is like overhearing a conversation that I may have heard when we lived together. Not a communication directed at me, but simply a snapshot of my children's minds, and hearts and even sometimes their souls.

 

Sometime silly and superfluous, often purposeful and heartening, once in a while deeply stirring bringing me to tears. 

 

I heart my daughters blogs. I heart every thing about them.

Caitlin's boyfriend implied that Sailboats were not fast enough for him. So the two sat there watching TV instead of joining me. Much more his speed I think. 

 

The wind was blowing 10 knots base and gusting to 15. The sky was gray with low heavy clouds. I decided to go ahead by myself to try my hand at single handing in moderate weather.  As if to fulfill fate's purpose several things happened to make it more interesting. 

 

As I made the turn out of the canals into the Indian River a ski boat towed in three swimmers, who were flopping around in the canal with their Ski-tube.  I reached to the deepest corners of my mind for the right of way rules that apply, Sailboat under sail and power in a restricted waterway with gusty winds, vs. swimmers.

 

I tried to slow down all I could to give them time to clear, but they took turns swimming toward and away from their dock. Finally I slowed the motor down too much and it stalled.The wind began to push me toward the opposite dock with it's Jet-Ski Boat up in the cradle where I could hit it nice and clean.

 

I pushed the rudder hard over and yanked a couple of times at the sputtering outboard. It barked to life just in time to pull me off the oncoming dock. I slid past the swimmers with a smile and a nod, forgiving them for what they didn't even know they had just done. As I headed for the channel I pulled a few more arm lengths on the halyard and hoisted the sail to the second reef point. The wind was blowing quite hard, and I let out the main sheet just enough to keep way on, and as much as I normally love to shut off the noicemaker and enjoy sailing, I did not feel as confident to do so that day. So I power sailed out of the channel before shutting down the outboard.

 

The Mainsail jammed at the first reef point, and we were doing nearly 5 knots with the motor still dragging in the water. I decided to trim it to the reef, and sail that way.  I even used the autopilot quite effectively while sheeting in the reef all I could. 

 

The boat is not setup very well for reefed down sailing, and I was fighting the helm once I took her back from the "Iron Mike". After about 10 minutes of blasting along on a close reach I decided to come about and head her back to the barn.  The wind was rattlking the old Mainsail pretty hard, gustinig to 20+ I am guessing.  I tried to turn up to tack through the wind, and the boat stalled just before going into Irons, and fell back off on a Stbd tack.  I had to fall off onto a reach and pick up speed past  5 knots in order to get enough way on to tack.  This was a new problem to me.  I love new problems so it was fun to figure this one out.  Eventually I made the turn and headed back with the wind broad on the Port beam. The gusts were getting quite boisterous now, and we were surfing down the choppy waves doing 6.5  Knots from time to time.

 

When I was just outside the Channel I started the motor, spun the boat 'round into the Wind and dropped the mainsail. Which just stayed there in the tracks as if the Halyard was tight. But it wasn't the line holding the sail it was the wind and it was driving use right into the southern post at the entrance of the Channel.

 

I extended the tiller and monkeyfooted my way forward to pull down the mainsail by the fistful.  Suddnely I felt the wind disappear. At first I thought "Oh, that's good!" but then it occurred to me the wind was coming around the other side of the sail, "Oh, Shit !" I dropped down into the companionway just as the boom SLAMMED across. It brushed my shoulders as I dropped. and I slammed my elbow on some hard bit of boat.

 

Never losing a beat I popped back into the helm and steered the boat down the channel past breaching Dolphins. I eased off what was left of the sail as far as it would go and we slid in pretty as a postcard photo.

 

When I was tying up I saw a 3 foot Alligator with it's head and tail out of the water right off our bulkhead. Another reason not to get knocked overboard by a boom.

 

Next time I may be more insistant about having some companions go with me on a blustery day. In the worst case at least they can tell the cops where to drag for the body. In the best case another set of hands can make all the difference.  I am losing some of my passion for singlehanding.

This weekend has been a lazy one. Watched the movie "Sideways" finally.  So many people have recommended this movie. It was a nice story, well done, but I can't get onboard the big fan train here.

 

I have a suspicion that this movie's success is in part due to people stting down to dinner and having a conversation about the wine they are drinking. Inevitably this is followed by uncomfortable silence as people search for a related subject. Someone thinks, "Oh wine!" then, "Have you seen that movie Sideways...?" and so on. Inferential marketing takes off like a brush fire.

 

This morning I did a few little repairs and such around the house.  Then I went down to the boat. I slid open the hatch and in so doing lifted the skin clean off the knuckle of my left index finger. More blood than pain, so typical of every time I touch that boat.  I have thought of renaming the Blue Puffin, to the Gurka Blade.

 

In the British-Gurkha Army Regiment they had a big curved knife blade with a deadly reputation surrounded in such mystique that if someone asked to see it they were only allowed to if they would accept a slicing to bathe the blade in fresh blood before it returned to the sheathe.

 

There is an alternative with Blue Puffin. The Wind Gods seem to require some breakage, indescriminate to the source of the sacrifice. Just as long as something breaks, bleeds or drops into the drink.

 

Caitlin's boyfriend is dropping by.  He seems to be a bit apprehensive about me. What's that about, I'm nice enough. WELL, I AM !

 

OK, I can be a bit overbearing at times I guess.  Anyway I have invited him and Caitlin for a sail.  It is blustery and we shoud have a good go. I'm glad I got the bleeding done early so we do not necessarily have to break anything else today.  Stay tuned...