Auld Lang Syne

 Life happens while you're busy making plans. I think that is a John Lennon quote, but I'm not sure. It was one of David's favorites. And I was reminded of this today when my 90 year old friend stopped by for a cup of tea. We are all so busy making plans and doing, doing, doing, that the days just fly by and life happens.  It is the last day of 2022 and a time for looking back and envisioning the future. If I made new year resolutions(which I don't) I'd make one for visiting my friends more often, before life gets in the way. There is time for everything, a time to be born and a time to die, and the time in-between is for us to fill- we choose what we fill our time with.  I'm going to continue to write, I do love making stories come to life but more importantly I'm going to visit friends more often.  

The past can teach us a great deal. There is a saying that we should learn from our past or we will be condemned to making the same mistakes over again. And yet people continue to make the same mistakes over and over. The war in Ukraine is a prime example.  Coveting what is not ours. Wanting our neighbors land and resources. Taking what you want and saying it belongs to you, what a joke. It's called stealing. It's been done over and over with the same results, people die for absolutely no reason. The casualties are a by-product of someone's gigantic ego, or their mistake, or their greed. There has got to be a way to stop the madness. I have learned that there is enough for everyone, we just need to figure out a better way to distribute the wealth, not just giving money, or food donations, they are important, but giving so that there is dignity in accepting.  As for peace, there is only one way, Let it begin with me.  Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.

2022 has been a roller-coaster ride. Wear a mask, don't wear one. Keep your distance, no you can hug anyone now. Get a covid vaccine, well get more than one, I've had five and a flu shot. We are struggling with our beliefs. And it seems God is losing. Personally I believe in everything. I am a Protestant, a Catholic, a Buddhist, a Hindu, an agnostic, and sometimes just an atheists. I feel that there is a reason for our beliefs, it teaches us to understand ourselves and each other, and it teaches us to love, and for me: Love is the most important lesson, love of ourself, love of our fellow man, love of nature, of the earth, of the oceans, of the air we breath and the food we eat. If we learn to love, we can conquer our world.  

We'll drink a cup of kindness yet, For the sake of auld lang syne.  Stay safe warm and dry, my friends. Fair Winds, until next time

Thanksgiving 2022

 Happy Thanksgiving.  I am Giving Thanks for the food I eat, the roof over my head, my family, my friends, my dog, my garden, my computer, my wood stove, the water I drink, the ocean that provides me with fish to eat, the earth that I walk, the beach where peace abides,  the home that surrounds me, the books that I read, the ability to think, the history that has made up my life, the places I have visited,  the man that I married, and the memories he made for us, my sons and their families, my grandchildren, the sun, the moon, the stars, the air that is fresh and for the turkey I will eat on Thursday. I am thankful each day.

Okay, I admit it. I'm not much of a blogger. And as for tweeting- that's just not my style. I've been trying to figure it out, too much effort for so little results. Subject matter with one sentence is better left to those who know what they are talking about. How can I put my thoughts into one sentence? I can't. I receive a magazine (Writer's Digest) and inside there is usually a photo and you are suppose to explain it in a few sentences. Me? I want to write a novel about it. I'm not a tweeter, a twit, or even a story in six words or less. That's fun. I'm more woman of many words, nice long sentences that take you away to another place and time. The manuscript that I'm working on is currnently at 64000 words and I'm not done yet. The action at the end is fun to write about, but now I'm wondering if I should kill off my hero or just wound him? If I wound him I'll have to take him somewhere new with the next book, but If I kill him off I can begin again in another direction, perhaps with a woman detective, a heroine who can solve the mysteries of life while having a lover? a friend? a family? a dog? Right now I'm at that stage where it can go either way. Remember that wonderful sign on Route 6 as you left Truro and entered Provincetown, it said "Provincetown Either Way" It was so appropriate. It was unique and thought provoking. Well of coarse it's gone. Maybe it was seen as controverial. Either way, I just wonder why it had to go? I diverse: The manuscrip is titled: The Crow - a James Crowley Mystery. I thank all my friends, family and fans for their love and support. I need each of you because writing is so singular. It takes time away from everyone. I'm alone, and it sometimes takes so long to put together that my friends and fans lose interest. Can't say I blame them. Wish I could write faster, more often, and produce a great book. I'll keep trying. Right now I'm trying to put together a web page. Not as easy as you may think especially when your budget is 0. I think I found a way to produce one for little expense. Square Space or Word Press? I'm figuring it out. Okay so now a name: I've got a few ideas, but it's got to be right because it will be around for a long time. How about jjdutrapenandink@squarespace.com or bookishdutra@squarespace.com. or wordslingerdutra@wordpress? Anyone out there with any ideas for a title to a web page? It was suggested to me that I try to raise money for publishing. Maybe I could get some help with the cost of publishing. The last one cost me dearly. I need publicity and PR. but that cost an arm and a leg. Do I use the axiom: it takes money to make money? I fear I don't have the patience to write the extraordiary query letter in order to get an agent. To get noticed you have to be superhuman, or have an MFA in Literature, or be someone famous. I'm just a gal who loves to write. Oh and I will be reading (along with six other wonderful writers) at the Provincetown Portuguese Festival -- Poets and Prose. Friday June 24, 2PM at the Crown and Anchor, on the beach. Sounds like fun. I have written something for the occasion. Hope to see you there. Fair Winds.

What? Another year come and gone?

Time has a way of slipping away. All the good intentions of the previous year have been carried over and are waiting for me to act on them. I acknowledge the fact that I am a procrastinator, but I'm going to try and squeeze as much into a day that I can. I try to sort out what's important. Laundry or writing, walk the dog or write a few paragraphs of the manuscript - Arethusa. My blog.spot has changed, left me a bit confused. I seem to have lost a couple months of blogs, they've disappeared into the void of the net. I wish I could keep up with it all. I need a new printer. That started a journey that has taken weeks. I bought one, only to find out that it didn't work on my computer, so I took it back and got a different one, only to find out that something was wrong with my internet connection, it appears all printers these days have a wireless component and I only had one of the two broadbands that I was supposed to have, whatever that means. So the printer wouldn't work, I had to take it back. Then began a series of trying to fix the problem. I finally hired a computer guy, Shawn and he figured out with the help of the internet provider that my modem needed to be replaced. Yeah, an upgrade, faster and more efficient. So then a friend loans me a printer that has worked for her in the past and I try to hook it up to my computer, LOL, hahaha, wrong, the old PC printer does not recognize my MAC. So here I am weeks later and no printer. But now that I have this upgrade in modem I can get any printer that will hook up to my mac. At least I hope so. I'm going printer hunting at Best Buy, those guys know what they're doing. Me I'm a dinasaur. So you can see where all my time goes, I fritter it away trying to figure out how to print a few pages from my latest book. Tuesday I will take my third trip up cape to find a printer. They say the third time is the charm, lets hope so. Happy New Year, let's hope is moves slow and steady. Fair winds.

Goodbye 2020

 Today I began putting the holiday ornaments away: the collection of santa clauses, the angels, and ceramic Christmas tree along with lights and wreaths. I've lived in this house, celebrating Christmas each year with family and friends for over forty years. I'm rewrapping the paraphernalia that I've collected, each a memory of past holidays, children growing up, grand children born, loved ones departed. Each year has been a treasure, different and still the same. I feel a renewing of faith around our world. We are learning to share, to forgive, to search for new and better ways to live.... Another holiday come and gone, and this one like no other. I'm ready to put 2020 away, box it up, and throw it into the wood burning stove. I want to hug my friends, go out to a restaurant, see a movie in a theater, and stop being afraid of breathing in public, or touching others. 

And now this. The word RESPECT comes to mind, meaning to have some degree of reverence.  How to respect others and how to respect ourselves needs to be taught. A lack of respect is a cry for help. We are not savages that storm the Capitol trying to dismantle our democracy. Thank heavens that we Americans are more than savages beating our chests, trying to destroy our political system . There are reasons to respect our history, our way of life, and our place in the world. We have been given abundance.  And that abundance comes from the way we as a nation, live.  Others have tried to establish their own rule of law, their own idea of what a government should look like, but history has shown that it doesn't work.  Democracy is made by the people, for each generation, past, present and yet to be. Democracy means freedom, not insurrection. It means we value our history, our country, and our way of life. When we hold elections, we respect each other's integrity and trust in our country. Democracy is what makes America great. It is not one man, one political view, and not an angry mob. Democracy means we trust one another because there is respect.  

When living organisms kill people, when angry mobs march the streets, when earthquakes and hurricanes savage the land, then fear rears its ugly head. This is where respect comes into play, we respect the organism that is killing people while we discover how to make it harmless. We respect hurricanes, and rebuild after earthquakes, making the world safer and more secure. And we respect others' views, opinions, and beliefs because we have learned to respect ourselves.  I believe that we are one people. We have one world and one life, why can't we respect that? I believe we need to feel reverence for what we have and not curse what we don't have. Close your eyes and think of the mighty oceans, think of this magnificent planet, smell a flower, watch the children play, or sing a lullaby. Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.

Stay safe, warm and dry. Fair winds.

Arethusa

 

Fond memories, Dave with cup of tea, Bobby Giovino in yellow slicker, and me. 

A Nantucket holiday

Dave, Jackson (eight-years old at the time) and me, left Provincetown Harbor for a short family vacation. We were heading for Nantucket. We sailed across Cape Cod Bay, sailed wing-on-wing through the Cape Cod Canal and now, with all sail set, jib, main, and mizzen, Arethusa was pulling, leaping forward, crossing Buzzards Bay. This part of our journey would take a couple of hours and so Dave told us the story of the islands that we were passing. We snuggled in the cockpit, taking in the distant views of land.  "Elizabeth, Martha, and Nan were the names of the king's daughters. Elizabeth was kind, generous to the people, giving to the church and so the king gave her the Elizabeth Islands as a gift. Martha was gentle with her mother and helpful to the people of the castle, so the king gave her Martha's Vineyard. But Nan was selfish and spent most of her time looking in the mirror and worrying about herself,  so the king gave her nothing. And that made Nan very mad. So what do you think she did?" Dave asked Jackson. "She took the last island for herself, a daring move. See? Nantucket."  Jackson started laughing, saying he got it, "Nan took it. Nan took it." 

The weather was perfect, winds light. We left Buzzards Bay and entered the terror known as Woods Hole Cut. There are other ways to reach Nantucket Sound, but this one is the shortest. Dave asked Jackson to spot the buoys, point to them, and call out the numbers.  Dave brought the sails in tight. He had a pair of binoculars next to him on the seat and the wheel in his steady hands. He had been through these waters with the Wildflower and with Justin Avellar onboard the Hindu. But this was the first time under full sail. For him it was like winning the Derby. The buoys came up fast, I could see rocks jutting out from just below the surface, only feet away. Jackson called numbers and pointed. I checked the chart book that lay open on my lap and pointed to the number in the book.  My heart was racing. The narrow passage seemed to be littered with markers, signs, and buoys, never mind the rocks and the boats moving in all directions. Dave had a big grin on his face. He was showing us that all we had to do was be prepared and pay attention. He steered the boat as if he was driving the Indie 500. And he had it all under control. On the other hand, I felt wild and not the least bit in control, a mixture of happiness and fear, blood pumping as if I'd jogged a mile, and yet exhilarated.  Dave adjusted the wheel, looked around, bending his body to see under the sail, checking the area around us. I could feel the confidence that radiated from him. We passed the NOAA buildings, The Wood's Hole Institute, and the ferry docks. Across Nantucket Sound I could see the low lying island of Martha's Vineyard. After passing the marker on the other side of the Woods Hole Channel, we fell off the wind to port, and began a steady sail up the sound to Nantucket Island. I could just make out a shadow on the horizon, our destination.  I'm a Jersey girl, brought up on lakes and ponds, so coming into Nantucket Harbor for the first time is enchanting.  And coming into the harbor under full sail is absolutely thrilling, a once in a lifetime experience. We sailed between the two rock breakwaters that stood out from beneath the water. The entrance is narrow. I  realized right away how small the harbor was, not wide and open like Provincetown Harbor.  Looking as if he'd been doing this all his life, Dave brought the boat up into the wind, let go the jib sheet, ran forward, dropped the mainsail, picked up the gaff and then picked up a mooring line from a white ball - all in one smooth move. He set the mooring warp over the bow cleat. Arethusa slowed its forward motion, fetched up and lay still. Beneath his dark beard, Dave's smile was a joy to behold, like he'd just won the Bermuda Cup. "Holy Moly!" was all I could say. "Smooth move, dad," Jackson added. We were folding the sails onto the boom when a boat came alongside driven by a man in a uniform. "That was quite a sight," he said. "Picking up the mooring was a nice maneuver, but I'm sorry you can't stay there, it's a private mooring." Dave thanked him, said we would move, and started up the engine. The Harbormaster, whose name was also Dave, said, "I watched you come in. Not many sailors would be capable of that little trick. Have you been sailing long?" I laughed when my husband replied that we bought the boat two months ago in Maine. They started talking about fishing and the Harbormaster told us to follow him. "I'll put you on a mooring closer to the wharf." He gave us a key to the showers and told us it cost $10.00 per night. "Stay as long as you like." Nantucket is one beautiful island with a history that dates to 1659. We enjoyed two glorious days exploring the streets, shops, and harbor before setting sail and making the return journey. Once we were back home I admitted to Dave that I was getting to like this thing called sailing.

Two Boats

 The Wildflower and the Arethusa gave Dave plenty to do, constantly improving, rebuilding and adjusting. I was back to being a landlubber, mother, and working RN. Then came a day that is painful to remember, but a part of the story. I think it was because of an accident that I had, burned parts of my face, ear,  a trauma that I prefer to forget. Let's say it kept me out of the sun, off the water, and recovering quietly. We had owned the sailboat all of two months. While I healed, Dave began a new project. He reminded me of a bee, lots of energy, on track of a specific outcome, and could sense his plan coming together. Dave said to me one day, "I want to take a look at Arethusa's scuppers."  These are the holes that drain water out of the boat when it is moving. Then he said,"The cockpit feels a little spongy. There may be some rot. Might as well check under the floor while I'm at it." I knew what that meant, he was going to start ripping and tearing. Dave loved a good project, especially one that was connected to a boat. I loved to see his enthusiasm. His energy was infectious and I never said no.  I had witnessed what he could do. He built a twenty-three foot Swamscott dory, the Fanny Parnell  in his dad's garage in 1968. I sailed with him when it was launched, great sturdy, slow. I watched Dave and two of his friends, Marty, and Peter sail the Fanny Parnell in front of the breakwater in Provincetown Harbor. The dory Dave had built, was tipped on its starboard side with three big fishermen weighting down the port. That Fanny Parnell is now over fifty years old and sits in the parking lot of Moby Dick's Restaurant, in Wellfleet MA where kids climb in it and adults admire the full length planks. Dave built things to last. 

Arethusa was the project he took on in 1978. Rebuilding the cockpit was not unique and a good diversion while I healed.  He made a sort of workshop on the water: Dave bought a fourteen-foot float, attached it to a thousand pound mooring, and then tied the Arethusa to one side and the Wildflower to the other. "It's sort of my backyard on the water," Dave told me. The Wildflower provided generator, tools, and working equipment. Our home, seven miles to the harbor, is a short ride,a so he came home from work every evening, and sometimes during the day to pick up more tools or wood. "If I could clone myself," he said, "we could start our own boat-building business." I remembered the dory and what Dave said to me when he sold it. "The Fanny Parnell's not big enough." I knew then, that he had plans, dreams, and desires. 

Ripping out the cockpit on the Arethusa didn't take long, but the project kept getting bigger. "I tore out the floors in the cockpit today," he said. I listened as he explained. "I'll put in new ribs that are sistered to the old ones." He steamed wood in the garage and explained how the project was coming along. He brought home piles of debris that were sorted into keep, dump, and questionable piles. He bought boxes of screws, cans of glue, and all kings of epoxy and cloth. He purchased specialty lumber like white oak, cypress and mahogany from yards that it took all day to drive to. No fishing, no work for me and our funds were heading in the wrong direction. It worried me. It took patience and faith to keep going. That's when Dave would take me in his arms and say, "Let me know when the bank account gets really low and I'll go out and make a withdrawal from Cape Cod Bay and Trust." The work on the cockpit took more that two months. The anxiousness that I felt was soothed away with time. I went back to work. Dave was back fishing. "See I told you everything would work out, don't worry, but don't quit your day job just yet." We laughed. The Arethusa went up onto the the railway in Provincetown where her bottom was check and painted. A ladder was braced between the railway timbers and her hull. The ladder to get into Arethusa, seemed to be sixteen feet to climb, I was terrified of the heights but had to get back to that beautiful sailboat. I felt the attraction, looked forward to sailing again. I didn't know it at that time, but that rebuilt of the stern, scuppers, and cockpit would one day save our lives. 

Nantucket Dreaming

Dave and I bought the forty-five foot yawl Arethusa back in 1978. We had been sailing it for six weeks when one evening at the supper table Dave asked, "How about we go somewhere, take a few days off, and sail to Nantucket. What do you think?" Of coarse I said yes, but inside I was a nervous wreck. Leaving land is not easy, I had a job and a home. I thought about how much I didn't know about sailing, about all the things that can go wrong when you are alone on the water. Gradually I began thinking that a short trip somewhere would be fun. I was absorbing the sailing life, excited by it, thrilled to be able to do this. We talked about what we would need. "I'll put the Wildflower on the mooring. We've got the charts. I can bring Arethusa to the wharf, get fuel, water, and take onboard whatever you want to bring from home." I was in for a new experience. "We just need Jackson, food, and plenty of cash," Dave said.  I looked at my husband and said  to him, George Bernard Shaw wrote: Some people look at the world and say why? And some look at the world and say, why not?"  I think you are in the second category."  We opened the charts, listened to the Beatles, the Stones and rocking hillbilly music, while we checked off items from our never ending lists and transporting them to the boat. In a week's time, we were waving bye-bye to home and heading away from Provincetown Harbor. For Dave this was a weekend away from fishing, his vacation. For me it was risk taking, excitement, and adventure. During the past six weeks we had been sailing around Cape Cod Bay, taking friends for short sails, and racing alongside of the beautiful Hindu. I was comfortable on the boat, I knew how to tie lines, and I could handle winches. I was ready, or so I thought.  I had much to learn. I didn't even know the names to the parts of the sail, what's a clew? What's the difference between standing and running rigging, abaft or aback? From Alfa to Zenith, forepeak to stern, ground swell to gybe, it's a language all it's own. Dave had been a student of a mariner's way of life all his thirty-five years. His knowledge came from hanging around fishermen, boat builders, and sailors. Born in Provincetown in 1945 to a family of fishermen, being on the water came naturally to my husband. We left the dock at dawn, crossed the bay and entered the Cape Cod Canal. The captain planned our trip, so that we would enter the canal with the tide going west, an ebb tide that had a maximum velocity of 5.2 miles per hour.  The seven mile cut in the land, dug in 1909, is thirty-two feet deep and four hundred-eighty feet wide, built to accommodate vessels to eight hundred-twenty five feet. The water pushes through, changing directions every six hours. The entrance buoy was tipping on its side from the wake of the tide. "I've got an idea," Dave said once we entered the canal. "Judy, take the wheel. Jackson and I are going to set the jib boom, to keep the jib set out to starboard while I set the mainsail to the opposite side of the boat, that's port to you land lubbers." This sail plan can only be used when certain conditions are met, breeze on the stern, moving with the tide.  It was our first taste of what's known as Wing-On-Wing. What a treat it was.  I waved to people in cars passing on the bridges over our heads, to people walking, biking and fishing alongside the canal. I wondered if they imagined a mythical creature, a dragon navigating the passage, or the goddess the boat was named for, as I did.   

To Be Continued:

Hold on to the love

Our losses are magnified because we feel them together, but are alone and we can't be together to hold each other during this grieving time.  Our community is mourning the death of Scott Stewart. I met him through my friend, Dianne whose daughter married him. His family adored him. He was fifty-one years old, witty, energetic, helpful, a loving husband and father, and the kind of man that people love being around. He grew up on the lower cape. He worked hard, rebuilt houses including his own, loved the beach, and he had many friends.

His wife Tracy will feel the pain the most, you could see the love they shared when they were together. A friend sent this to me after David died. I don't know who wrote it:
"I believe the hardest part of healing after you've lost someone you love, is to recover the "you" that went away with them."

It takes a long time; patience is required. I cry on a daily basis, but I also laugh, enjoy a good meal, cuddle with my pooch, and love. I love my sons, their families, my friends, my dog, and a walk on the beach. I was told that love never dies and I believe it.

They say we are in this together. We are. I feel your lose, Tracy. You will move forward  taking the love with you. It does take time, the ache lessens but never goes away. The days will bring sunshine and eventually joy, because love never dies.

Oh WOW:
Three wild turkeys just walked past my window, the dog started baking like mad, and I laughed till I cried. I told DD to stop barking, let them be, you never know - if things get really bad they may be our Thanksgiving dinner.

I'm sending you some love today. Fair winds.

Glenn Miller and his Orchestra

Dancing around a may-pole on May 1st is a tradition in many countries, dancing to celebrate spring. We may not feel like celebrating anything these days, but I think it's important that we still dance. Music, movement, rhythm, what could be better? This morning I listened to the music of Glenn Miller and his orchestra from an album entitled, A String of Pearls. And I danced to celebrate life renewed, the coming of warmth, and the hope that springs eternal in our hearts. This music was written between 1937 -1942, before and during WWII. The music was meant to inspire love, hope, and faith that Johnny would come marching home again. We are fighting another kind of war, but our hearts are still inspired by faith, hope, and charity. We see it all around us during this CORVID-19 outbreak. But I danced today because I am grateful. I'm grateful that I can still dance. I'm grateful that I have family. I can make a cabbage soup today, I have a love bucket, and I have so much more.

I'm not forgetting those who are suffering. I cry everyday. I pray. And I understand the fear that we live with. We are living this tragedy together, and yet I've never felt so alone.  We now know that what effects people in China, Italy, Britain, Korea, Brazil, India, and anywhere else on the planet -- effects us all.   I will do what I can to protect myself, my community, my family. This stage in American history will soon belong to the past, just like Glenn Miller's music. We will look back at today and shake our heads, knowing what we have endured, knowing we did the best we could, just like those soldiers that Miller wrote his songs for.
And right now it means keeping at a distance from those I love. We are a people of love. We need each other, face to face. I don't get the same feeling from a screen. Face time doesn't let me put my hand on the head of my grandson to feel the new buzz cut his dad gave him. I love that fuzzy feeling from a newly shorn head. The summer buzz we called it.

I try to learn something new each day, it's a great way to pass the time. It's amazing what we can accomplish. I planted spinach, swiss chard, lettuce, and peas. I will do everything I can to protect the plants from rabbits, squirrels, and rodents. I'll put up fencing once the plants are above ground. I may try moth balls, and I'd use a BB gun if I had one. Last year the rabbits ate all my pole beans just as they were forming the string bean. Oh I was so mad. But I'm learning. This year I'm going to have the raised bed screened off. I'll show those buggers.
It reminds me of this terrible virus plaguing our world, we need to learn and protect ourselves. With help from our scientists, doctors, and teachers we will find safe passage through this storm. We will once again dance around the maypole and celebrate new life.
The music will play on, so get up and dance. We have to celebrate the renewal of Mother Earth. Stay safe, warm and dry.  Fair Winds.

Bumpy Ride

"Looks like we're in for a bumpy ride," Dave used to say every time the forecast put the winds in excess of fifty mph.  Back in 1986, Dave had the F/V Richard & Arnold on his mooring because hurricane warnings had been posted. Many of the boats in our Provincetown fishing fleet were  rafted together on the Coast Guard's moorings out in the cove.  Dave planned on staying on board, tied to the mooring, with the engine on, jogging into it. He said it was our livelihood and he would do everything he could to keep it safe.  The meteorologists named that storm Bob, with hurricane winds reaching over eighty mph. Dave called me on the CB radio and told me he couldn't leave the wheelhouse, couldn't see through the heavy rains. He said for me not to worry, (as if I wouldn't anyway), he would keep the engine on, he was safe. He said we had the best mooring in the harbor. I prayed. It just so happens that we have a son with the same name. While Dave was keeping the boat afloat, hoping the mooring would hold, I was home with the our sons, Jackson and Bob, and my sister Susan. The winds were howling. The four of us were playing Monopoly on the floor of the living room when the power went out. I gathered up lanterns, candles and flashlight, and checked our water supply. A sudden knocking on the front door caused us all to jump.  Thinking it might be someone in need of help, we hustled to open the door. It was the UPS guy with a box in his hand. I berated him for being out in a hurricane. We offered him hospitality, but he said he had packages to deliver, it was safe, and he was doing fine. He gave us our surprise and we wished him well. We were so excited to open the package that had been delivered in the middle of a hurricane. It was a gift from Dave's cousin, Angel who lives in Florida. She was thanking us for having the family out on the boat the previous month, while they were visiting. The present was an electric tea kettle. The four of us sat on the living room floor, in candlelight and admired the kettle that we could not use.  We huddled under blankets and pillows for the rest of the day. Around four o'clock that afternoon we heard and felt a thunderous noise. I kept telling everyone to stay away from the windows, but of coarse the boys had to know what that horrible crash was. Everyone peered into an eery green atmosphere to see our massive seventy-five foot Aspen tree with a twelve foot circumference, lying on its side, across our front yard. The top of the tree was well into the neighbors front yard. It had landed so that no wires, houses, cars, or persons were injured. We had so much to be thankful for.
After twenty-four hours, an exhausted Dave made his way back to his family who were more worried about him then about themselves. After all, the tree had missed us, the UPS guy said everything was fine out there and we had a new kettle. A bit of yard work was waiting for Captain Dave, but that could wait until the sun came out. We still have two of those huge trees in our front yard, and they continue to grow and thrive, and yet every time the wind picks up above fifty knots, I shudder.  Stay safe, warm and dry, my friends.  Fair winds

A whisper of hope

You might think that this new way of living, brought on by such a tiny thing, a Corid virus,  would be good for a writer. Chained to the keyboard with nothing else to do. Like everyone else out there, I am having difficulty concentrating. I get depressed, I miss seeing family and friends, I worry about loved ones in New York,  I pray for those with the virus, and for the families of those who have died. This thing that is plaguing us is something so new we have yet to understand the ramifications. How do you fight something so small it can only be seen with a microscope. The idea that we can be brought to a standstill by this killer virus, is unimaginable. It's like reading a sci-fi novel, only now we're living it.
I've always like the way bees live, with jobs, family, work, and order. We have to keep living like bees, only in some new, yet to be defined way.
I was used to the old ways, being a grandmother gives one a longer perspective.  I had a sort of routine, writing, housework, three o'clock pick up of grandkids from school, shopping at the local grocery store, coming and going as needed. I'm now separated from it all. I am alone.
I spend more time binge / binging, (that terrible habit that I used to keep at a minimum,) now it absorbs me. I've wizzed through the English mysteries. Then it was on to Irish mystery, Canadain TV series. I have to admit Australian TV is a gas. I'm now working my way through New Zealand and Brokenwood murder mysteries. I've seen movies by the dozens. Loved, loved, loved The Green Book and Rocketman, wonderful films. I've watched series that I'd never heard of before. I'm either searching for the new norm or reminiscing about the way we used to live.
Dave always called me Pollyanna because I always saw the brighter side of everything, the glass half full. I remain positive, even in the face of this horrible, terrible crisis. The new normal is just around the corner, another new normal in a lifetime of new things, people, places. We all know that the only constant is change. I am hopeful that this will provide us with new opportunities, new ways of doing things, new ways of staying safe. We must remain hopeful. I can honestly say I hate what is happening, the disruption of civilization, like an earthquake that disassembles structure. In the aftermath we come together and help each other to rebuild. Life is precious, let's celebrate it. We need to remember that love is with us always, even when family and friends are not. We will get through this alone and together.  Fair winds dear friends.

Still writing

Watch for the Crow.  New title for next Crowley mystery. I'm working on the new book, and yes life gets in the way sometimes, but I'm loving life, the grandkids, DD, walks, and eventually the new book. I still get down, deeply, but then I work on the second memoir- Arethusa- and I am filled with memories and love. I tend to get philosophical when I think about this new path I am on. I'm on my own for the first time in fifty years. It's different. Dave told me that you can only keep one thought in your head at a time and it might as well be a positive one.  He also told me that I'd be okay.  He was right on both counts. I am okay.

Writing my second memoir, the book Arethusa, gives me great pleasure. It also wrenches my heart because I will have to let it go when it is finished, and then I'll have to find another way to keep the memories alive. I am reluctant to finish it, so I turn to - Watch for the Crow - fantasy in the form of historic murder in our small fishing town at the end of the cape.  Similar to the first two, The Fishermen's Ball, and Dead Low Tide, but different in many ways. I can only hope I'm getting better.


Hope is what is needed in people's lives today. I have hope. I say "there is much to hope for". There are great possibilities. There is infinite knowledge. There are so many good people. There is every thing you could wish for. There is hope for a positive future.  And remember you can only keep one thing in your brain at a time. Store those dark thoughts and find one spark of light, one positive thought, one beam of knowledge. Hope is wedged in-between faith and charity. Now there's a thought to keep in mind.

Bike Paths and Changes

Eventually we all feel the changes. Our landscape, our lives, our world. This morning I took my dog DD on a walk that I had probably taken a thousand times in the past forty years. Most of them with Dave, holding his hand, and talking about our lives. I highly recommend walking with your partner. Talk about everything while there are no distractions, no cars, no children, no phones - just walk and talk. Well this morning I went back to an old dirt road that we walked together so many times, and guess what? The old dirt road is gone. It's been widened and paved, and I didn't recognize it. It reminded me that my partner is gone, our walks have ceased, and life as I knew it  - changed just like that old dirt road. It's been swept clean. I'm trying to adjust to the paved path. The new and improved bike trail will accomedate numerous bikers and hikers. It's close to the National Sea Shore. I'm trying to stay positive, but sometimes changes are not for the better. I didn't meet one bike or one person while on the new and improved road. Maybe that's another plus. I am after all a solitary person. I just miss what was once so familiar. The scrub pine and oak has been pushed back, the big ruts and holes filled in, and holding hands while walking, gone in the blink of an eye.
I spend more time writing, visiting girlfriends, playing with grandkids, but the essence of that comfortable old road is missing. I get satisfaction from my memories. They sustain me and writing about Dave, like that old road is part of a memory now.
In other news: Sharks, pond scum, and plankton blooms, just enough to give one pause and reflect on the many changes in our world. I try to keep the faith in all things. As the saying goes: This too shall pass.Winter will follow autumn, death will follow life, and change is the only constant.
So the new Crowley mystery has got me excited. Title: Watch for the Crow. What do you think of this? The nickname the Crow has been given to the chief by local youth. Two teen boys find a body in the dunes and Chief Crowley must find the killer. I see the story in my head. I've got the beginning and the why, the who, the where, what and when. If I work like crazy, I think it will be ready next spring.
The trouble with writing and self-publishing is that I haven't broken even yet. The last book cost more than I've made so far. I'm about halfway. It's great for tax purposes, a business loss.   I'm going to have to make some changes, find a different way to make my books a business. My problem is that I just want to write, I hate marketing it myself and of coarse it costs money, so there goes any profits. What I figure is that I'll just keep writing and somehow marketing and publicity will eventually find its way to me. Not a very good strategy, I know, but as long as I can still pay the bills, I'll just keep writing.
I had an opportunity to read from my manuscript, Arethusa. I read chapter 4, Swimming and Racing to a friendly group in Provincetown. I think the crowd was pleased. I did a book signing at the Whydah Museum last week. So I can say I did do some marketing. I don't push myself as much as I could. Being a writer is solitary, an introverts ideal job. While marketing is really the opposite, pushing yourself is so difficult for me. I guess I'm that introvert.

July 2019 - Those lazy days of summer are here, bare feet, no coats, and dips in the salt water. I'm a sun child, a Leo, so hot temperatures don't seem to bother me. I do stay quiet, drink lots of water, and keep the fans going. And I hope everyone is heeding the weather warnings and being safe. With the heat wave comes indoor time so I am catching up on writing skills, via on-line classes while working on two books, "Arethusa" and "Watch for the Crow" (a third in the James Crowley series) I try to work everyday at writing but also reading and learning. Not a bad way to spend my time.  I get to do things with the grandkids as well. We've been to ponds, pools, ocean and bay.  The young ones are always fun. Trying to keep up with them keeps me growing. They teach me about our environment, about todays music, and they show me new ways to use my phone. Thanks to my thirteen year old granddaughter I'm taking Portuguese lessons from an app called Duolingo.

I'm still amazed at how much time computers can suck out of your day. I don't mean looking up interesting facts, ordering a pair of shoes, or even viewing photos on FB or Instagram. I mean trying to figure out how the thing works, like copy and paste, or preview, or add a label or what the heck is a hashtag anyway. I spent the entire morning trying to figure out how to send ten pages from my book-  out in an email. I looked it up on U-tube, then asked my own computer in the 'help' column, then found something on Google that led me to another page that gave me an answer. But when I tried, it didn't work. So back to the drawing board and guess what? I had the wrong email address, so now problem solved.

My son Bob brought me my first Fluke of the season. Wow is that fish just the best eating that's ever been. This past week has brought  suppers of seafood delight. Family and friends came for a visit and we ate: clams (steamers, quahogs, little necks) We ate oysters, shrimp, cod, and Fluke. Each meal has been exceptional, a gift from the sea. Bless those fishermen, clammers, and growers. I'll be looking forward to my next seafood meal. My sister arrived for a ten day visit. We haven't been together since I drove to Florida in 2017.  She hasn't been on the Cape since Dave's funeral, 2016. It's been a great visit, lots of good food, good friends, and good memories. We planned a dune ride for this evening, with beach fire and clam bake, but the fire and clambake on the beach has had to be cancelled because there is no access to the beach because of the nesting Piping Plovers. Bummer. Hopefully next year or maybe after all the birds have flown. I love the birds, love watching their skinny little legs scurry across the sand, love watching them skim the top of the water. I can wait.

So far it has been a supper summer. Lots of tourists, lots of heat and lots of sharks. I'm an avid ocean swimmer and this is the first year I'm not comfortable going to Head of the Meadow to ride the waves. I've only been in the ocean two times this year. I keep hearing the music from Jaws in my head and that doesn't make for a relaxing swim.  Evolution, change, global warming, it's the way of the world. The sharks have always been there, but now I'm very aware of them. And so we change with the changes. Adjust the set of our sails, swim in a pool instead of the ocean and leave the sharks to feed on the seals. Stay safe, warm and dry dear friends.  Fair Winds.

There seems to be a lull, a quiet time in my life that I've chosen to fill with writing and searching for that spark of inner peace that is so illusive in this modern day, fast paced world. I have taken to listening to TED talks. I would highly recommend them to all. The subjects are varied, the speakers interesting, the talks entertaining. There's a category for almost anything you can think of. I've listened to stories about personal growth, art, education, and technology. These fifteen minute talks have renewed my faith in man. They have restored my soul, given me inspiration, and educated me on many new and different levels. Instead of watching some banal tv show or playing another computer game, I'm letting my grandchildren ages 13,11 and 9 watch talks on floating cities, robots, stage sculptures, air quality, health and science.  The app is free. The talks are fascinating and its better than anything on TV. I began watching them when I was browsing the book by Chris Anderson about how to give a TED talk. I thought it might help me when I give my author reading speehes. And they have. But the best part of the book is how it made me curious to hear one of the talks. The first talk that I listened to was Michelle Kuo on the Healing Power of Reading. Wonderful story. The talk that brought me to tears and helped me most, was Nora McInery- "We don't "move on" from grief, We move forward with it." This TED talk has helped with my deep sorrow. After the tears I realized that I still had life ahead of me.  I think I want to get an electric bicycle. I want to learn a language, I want to move into the future and take my love for Dave with me. Maybe I'll get to travel with my grandchildren. Maybe I'll write more books. Thanks to Ms. McInery I feel more alive.
It's mind boggling to encounter such remarkable people who are helping to build a better society. If you aren't interested in social change, how about giant squid, or black holes. There are talks about this as well.
I will be joining other speakers at the Harbor Lounge, Commercial St. in Provincetown on Friday June 28th  between 2 and 4pm. I will be reading chapter 4 Swimming and Racing, from my yet to be published work entitled: "Arethusa"  The reading is part of the Provincetown Portuguese Festival. My favorite weekend at the tip of Cape Cod.  Portuguese music, dancing, food, boats and parades fill the most beautiful place in the world. I love Provincetown.
I hope to see you there. Wishing you festive days and fair winds.

How about a poem today?  I remember I was working with children, teaching health classes, when I woke in the middle of the night and wrote this poem. I think the kids had an effect on me.

For the Young at Heart
There's a magic place so of't forgot
Where no line is drawn between real and not
How I happened there I'll ne'er understand
But I found myself in Elften-land
T'is seen on the horizon at dawn's first light
To those with perfect, fearless sight.
Most often they laugh then call you a fool
Whimsy and mirth are favorite tools
An elf will tell you, we don't comprehend
What it means to have an Elften friend.
A slight disbelief and they won't appear
Then the magic words you'll never hear
With them you meet the most bizarre
As you journey beyond the farthest star.
They live in the realm between time and space
And you'll never find a more wondrous place
The deeper you go the more shallow it gets
And to catch your fancy there's a variety of nets.
Elfs sprinkle star dust in your eyes
And have you laughing at all their lies
So if you're around when an elf comes by
Ask him to teach you how to fly

WOW, another speaking engagement. Truro Library, May 14, 2019 at 6:30.  I'm excited, a little nervous, but mostly I'm looking forward to the event. Someone asked me how I can get up in front of a room full of people and talk. Well I just remember the very first time that I had to speak in front of a group. That was a long time ago and probably the worst experience of my life. I was the school nurse in Truro at the time and had to talk to a group of sixth grade boys about reproduction. I was so nervous. I blushed, my hands were wet, and I stuttered. They asked me the most intimate questions about sex. I'm sure they had talked it over before the class and decided what they would ask. I got through it. The following years were much easier and I was more prepared for what twelve year old boys could throw at you. Since then talking to adults has been a piece of cake. They don't ask questions that make me blush. Not that it's easy, its not. Just as with the health classes there is preparation, thinking, planning. But at my age and with the number of times I have had to speak in public it has become more fun.
I don't want to read from my book. I think most adults can read it for themselves so I will tell a couple of stories that hopefully will be entertaining, enlightening, and enjoyable. My granddaughter will join me at the front table to assist with any book sales and I hope there are a few. I think she's more nervous than I am.
I continue to write. I'm working on two books. Depending on my mood, how much time I have, and what new ideas have occurred, determines what book I work on. The Arethusa is a memoir.  I love writing about the days of youthful enthusiasm. David at the helm of the forty-five foot yawl as we flew across the water on a wing and a prayer. The memories bring him back to me. I can see him and sometimes feel his presence when I write about him. Until recently I had a difficult time with that, I'd just cry, but now it's a pleasure to be able to reach into the past and bring him back. The stories are mostly fun. We were so innocent and unprepared for the real challenges that sailing brings. But it was such an adventure.  My life has been full of adventure. I wouldn't trade any of it, even the most frightening, life changing experiences. I'm going to tell a story at the library tomorrow about an adventure I had with Dave. The day we caught the thousand pound tuna fish. What a day, what an adventure that was.

Spring is the busiest time of the year.  Everyone around here is getting ready for the summer tourist season. I'm cleaning out, painting the deck furniture, raking leaves, sprucing up the flower beds, trying to keep up with grandchildren, and writing in my spare time. I like a routine, stretching, walking the dog, and unless there are appointments, lose myself in another book. Although I read daily, afternoon and evening, I mean I get to write that book. I write as soon as I can get to the computer. I've begun another adventure, going back in time to 1938. Watch for the Crows is the title. There will be fishermen, some history about the town, some fun, maybe romance, but the main thrust is the murder.  James Crowley is back. I realize now that this fantasy man of mine is a cross between David Dutra and Tom Selleck. He's the town cop, the man who solves mysteries, and the man of my dreams. Visit Provincetown before WWII, when a telephone operator knew where your mother was, when cars were were just beginning to crowd the narrow streets during the summer months, when people spent their leisure time listening to the radio, when the country was coming out of a great depression, and when war on the other side of the world was hardly noticed by most Americans. It takes time to write a story.  It has to have a good beginning, an interesting middle, and a surprise ending, and as with the adventures I've had throughout my life, I'll keep the faith.  For faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

I want to invite everyone to the Truro Library on May 14, 2019 at 6:30 for a meet and greet. I will be speaking about adventure and how I came to write.  The adventures in my life have taken me to mountain tops in Mexico, the Pyramids of Giza, the Monasteries of Metore in Greece, but some of my best adventures were with my husband onboard the F/V Richard & Arnold. Adventure comes in many forms. Reading can take you on an adventure and writing is where my imagination takes me when I let go. It is my adventure. Wishing you the best and fair winds.