I’m sitting at a gimbaled table in the main saloon preparing my message for the message in a bottle we’re going to deploy at sunset tonight. Who knows how long it will take to get to land, or if it even will. The bottles we’re using are all green glass, varieties collected from French folks on the islands we’ve been visiting. I have one called Muscadet. Speaking of French things, we had brie for afternoon snack with wheat thins. Quite delicious.
I finally got around to getting some sailcloth from Wayne’s World and I want to start on my belt and book cover design soon. I’ll probably have some left over for something else, though I’m not sure what.
I was talking to one of my shipmates today during our Neuston tow, a rare 30 minutes of down time, and we started discussing moods on the ship. It’s incredible how quickly moods change from good to bad, and how often these changes occur. It’s difficult because you always have to be on your a-game, even when you don’t feel up to it. Routine becomes important in keeping sanity.
I find myself whistling often and immediately upon the first note coming out of my mouth I shut it and switch over to humming. Whistling, you see, is not allowed on a ship, for it invites wind, unfriendly winds. I was gently reminded of this superstition once, and now I follow it as well.
With our messages ready to go
throwing our bottles into the Pacific
the GPS coordinates when we threw them
My bunk in 16th Street. I had this space in addition to a drawer and a shelf in a cupboard
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