It's been how long?

It's been days, weeks and months and from what I've read -- this is no way to write a blog. Trying to recapture some of that time with memories is like snatching at parts of a dream, now you see them now you don't. Since my last post life brought a gift my way. I know it may be hard to believe but Dave sent me a present. DD is her name and there are numerous reasons why I know he had something to do with it. He was a very frugal man, recycling long before the word was invented, he didn't like to spend money unless he had to.  Well this little gift was free, not only that but she had all her shots and a microchip, and the woman who bred her walked into my kitchen carrying her. My friend Bev supplied me with leash, dog food dishes, and a crate. All of this happened because I mentioned to a neighbor that I was thinking of getting a small dog. It was like poooffff and there she was three days later. The first few weeks of puppy ownership did not go well. The pup (seven months old) was not house broken, she chewed on everything, would not come to me, and was terrified of loud noises and other dogs. I was stomping around in the snow waiting for her to pee. I had to shovel a place for her, and to be on the safe side I was putting newspapers down on a rug near the door.  I was afraid I was becoming one of those old ladies whose house smelled like pee and disinfectant. Gratefully that has not occurred (Yet). Today after living together for two months I can proudly say that things have changed. She comes (most of the time) when I call her name, she does her business outside (most of the time), she has chew toys and loves to play. The rug is washed, newspapers gone. We are working on her fear of other dogs, but she loves people and wants to say hello to everyone we meet. Then one morning around the middle of January I bent over to pick up the ten pound Carin Terrier and saw a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I peeled it off and there was a picture of Santa Clause and one word - Dave- written across the top of it. And I knew in my soul that he had sent the dog. Since then we have bonded, she understands me and I look at her with love in my heart. It could be a coincidence, but I can still hear his words, "The next dog we get will be delivered to us. We won't have to go looking for one, it will come to us."
I think about all the animals our family has had as pets over the years. Noah the German Shepard, Buffy the long haired mixed setter/lab, Tar a sweet mutt, Dulcie a Portuguese water dog / Poodle mix, a horse named April that I adored and rode for fifteen years, cats Scup, KC, Princess, Fluke, and then the many small animals like hamsters, parakeets, bunnies and of coarse a few laying hens (until a raccoon got into the chicken coop). And now DD to finish the list. I can understand not having a pet. When Dulcie died Dave and I decided not to have any more - "unless it comes up the driveway to us," he said.  We lived a few years without pets. It was easier, there was no demand on our time, the house was cleaner, and having no responsibility is definitely a good feeling. On the other hand I can now legitimately talk to myself, I am forced to walk and I find I enjoy it, the other side of the bed isn't empty, and I have a being that needs me. When I balance the scale, it tips to the positive side. Remember the Wizard of Oz? Judy Garland who played Dorothy had a dog named Toto. Well Toto and my DD look like twins, and my mother named me after Judy Garland- just more coincidence. Looks like this little Carin Terrier is here to stay, thanks to my neighbors, my friends and my guardian angel.

Friends

I have the best of friends, I am so fortunate to know such good people. They are forgiving and giving. They hold you and help you. They listen and understand and I am so humbled by them. Our friends touch our lives briefly and yet are constantly with us.  We are better people because of who they are.

 And so for you, my friends I add a little poem.

For the Young at Heart

by J. J. Dutra

There's a magic place so oft' 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 perfectly fearless sight.

Most often they laugh then call you a fool

Whimsy and mirth are a favorite tool

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 a 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 stardust 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.

My Apple Laptop Pro, isn't a pro anymore, it's an unusable piece of sh__. So I have turned to the computer that I have used only for writing. Now it's hooked in --now the world can read my thoughts (not that they are anything special) and see pictures of me in a pool with my grandkid - (though I swear that didn't look anything like me - I thought I was younger). Now I can continue my blog, Facebook, mail, and all the rest that brings the world into my home.  I realize I'm hooked. I love to write. I want to see what my friends and family are up to, and I need to keep in contact with the outside world. I've done away with my TV. Gave it to my son. I still see films on NETFLIX, but no ads, no news, no reality TV. Sometimes I don't even know what day it is.  

My friend Sara said I should let everyone know that I'm surviving, that the loss of David has played heavy on my heart, and I have put off writing until I could see the screen through the tears. He was the apple of my eyes and my inspiration. Now he is my muse. Just before he passed into the mysterious unknown, he said to me, "You'll be alright, the boys will help, and you'll write ten more books."  So here's to you dear heart. I am working on a sequel of the Fishermen's Ball. A.J. Crowley will solve another murder in Provincetown in 1939.  In the novel Dead Low Tide  the years leading to WWII brought out the best and the worst in individuals and the town at the end of the cape is no different from cities everywhere, seeing violence on the streets while  hoping for peace throughout the world.

My granddaughter and I are also collaborating on a YA, chapter Book The Pearl Street Gang. We are having fun developing characters and stories surrounding a group of pre-teens who come together around a wharf known as "Nonny's". The kids find adventure, search for individual freedom, and develop their personal stories while belonging to a peer group that prefers to hang out at the beach near Nonny's Wharf in Provincetown in the 1950's.

The Arethusa is a second memoir for me. I've always wanted to tell that story and because Dave and I were able to retrace our voyage this past winter, I have a clear understanding of where we sailed, the people we met, and the storm that took our vessel but gave us our lives. David is gone, but his stories live on and the 'Arethusa' is one of the best.

Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your understanding, your sympathy, and your love. I will try to live up to the ideal that Dave created in me. He will always be my number one fan. Fair Winds.

First stop

Some days are difficult. I'll be chugging along then suddenly out of the blue I am washed with sorrow and I can't see because of the tears.  At other times like yesterday at the beach with my grandchildren I laughed with joy as they boogie boarded across the waves at Head-of-the-Meadow beach.  Low tide and the surf was just right. I saw a huge seal head rise from the sea about 100 yards from where the kids were playing in the water. I don't usually worry about the the ocean, but I had to ask my grand daughter to stay a little closer to the beach, she has a tendency to go out as far as she can and then dive into the waves and body surf to the beach. I got spooked, but the kids knew no fear. Thank God for children and yes - they are our future. My own experiences with the ocean have given me memories that have made the journey worth any fear I may have felt.

I am using the two log books I kept during our journey south last winter to fill in the gaps in memory.

Captain's Log: October 21, 2016 - Arrived Menemsha (one of the best harbors on the east coast) after a seven hour journey. Except for putting the lines on the poles,  traveling through the Cape Cod Canal was the best part of the day. Knowing that we won't be seeing it again for many months is a strange feeling: bittersweet.  The calm water, the narrow trench that splits the land, the tide pulling us along at 12 knots. We are flying and I'm loving it. I told Dave I knew this was going to be a terrific vacation because I loved traveling at 9 knots instead of 70 miles an hour down Route 95. We arrived 11:30 AM and  I made lunch after we were tied up in Menemsha Harbor. This time of the year is so quiet, different from the sunny summer days when the wharf is filled with tourists asking questions about the boat, the fish that Dave has iced in the tubs, and what it's like to be a full time commercial fisherman. In October the people that visit are friends or friends of friends. Sitting on Squid Row, yamming with Denis or his son Denny, or the Mayhew's or a lady named Grace who knows our friend Barry is a reward that we have given ourselves. We could have bypassed this sleepy hollow, but it just didn't feel right not to stop, after all Dave spent almost every summer fishing out of this harbor, over thirty years. Of course the harbor has changed in those years. There are fewer fishing boats, some friends have moved on, yet the sun is warming, the talk interesting, and the people always welcoming. It's the best first stop we could have chosen, appropriate Dave tells me. We spend only one night. We have many miles in front of us and the weather will be closing in before long. As Shakespeare wrote: "There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." We leave after a hot breakfast of oatmeal and tea. The day is cloudy, the wind 10-15 SW, and the seas choppy, all in all a normal day on the water in October. We have consulted the charts, the computer, and have local info from Denis Jason about our next leg. On to Galilee, Point Judith RI. I've never been there, so my excitement grows with the waves.

Blessings

Every day is a gift, a blessing. The people we meet, words spoken, our surroundings, even the simplest of things, all make our lives different,  precious, our own.  Did you hear about the dog that swallowed a firefly - he barked with delight!!!!!!!!!!    Did you give thanks for those minutes? All along the way Dave and I reminded each other to give thanks. So now I am reminding you, don't forget to give thanks. This weekend is the 69th anniversary of the Provincetown Blessing of the Fleet.  Captain Dave and I attended about 40 of them. Not too shabby.

Richard & Arnold Log: Star date Wednesday 10-21-16.  We left P-town harbor at 4:30 AM. It was pitch black, no moon. The wind was North East light, 5-10 mph. Five minutes into the journey I heard "OH Fuck. Shit. What the hell!" I was already so keyed up my eyes hurt from being fully dilated. I knew right away that something was not right. I tried to keep calm and asked the stupid question "what's wrong."  The reply seemed strangely loud-  "No depth sounder, no reading on the depth gauge." I'm thinking "oh is that all. What difference does that make?" Captain Dave says, "We're going to need a depth sounder in the future.  I should have bought the more expensive one, the one that would still be working!!!"

Well yes, ok, but let's get things in perspective: we're safe, the wind is light, everything else seems to be working, and we know our way blindfolded to Menemsha Harbor. We will sort it out or buy a new sounder. But no -  It seems the boat has to be hauled out to put the thing-a-ma-jig on the bottom of the boat, the transducer, so getting a new one is out of the question at this stage.  We will have to make due with what we have. We will not turn around.

Dawn is breaking. Inside the wheelhouse it is dark, shadows and outlines of grey against black. The glow of the computers are beaming their magical rays to us, giving us charts of the area. We have every chart from Maine to Florida supplied by NOAA and downloaded by our son Robert on a program called OPEN CPN. Try it. Every chart - free.    Dave and I laugh at how far we've come. We started out with the Wildflower in 1970 with just a compass. "We've come a long way, baby," I say. He gives me a big smile,  pushes a few buttons on the sounder, while I read from the manual. The machine finds itself and shows us the depth of the water in the middle of Cape Cod Bay. We are tracking our depths and happy about the outcome.  Its 6:30 and the radio crackles. It's Rex McKensey, the Provincetown Harbormaster calling to wish us bon-voyeuge. We are on our journey and now it is official. The air temp is 60 degrees. I make breakfast of oatmeal and hot tea. God's in his heaven all's right with the world.

Next stop Menemsha:

Remembrance of things past

How can I thank everyone? Is there a way to personally, I mean beyond the texted word, beyond the tweet or message, a way to thank you? I have felt your kindness in the exchange of words, a remembrance, a shared experience. Thank you for sharing stories, telling me about the man I knew for almost 50 years, stories from your meetings and experiences with Captain Dave. They are new to me, enriching, expanding, renewing my thoughts of David.  And so I thank  you.




This blog is begun after Captain Dave crossed the bar. June 2,2016



In October, 2016 Dave and I left Provincetown heading south. We had a destination, but no schedule. We knew where we would be stopping along the way. We looked at charts, always wondering about the next ten miles, the seas, and the weather. David's uncanny judgement of places, tides, height of the waves, the direction of the wind, the clouds blowing across the sky gave him a sense of well being, thereby relieving my an angst -somehow it worked. If things got bad he dealt with it, that's when he really excelled. Managing emergencies, high seas, gale winds brought out the real man in him. He didn't hesitate, he acted. And so I hope to give you a picture though the journal that I kept from October, 2015 into the spring of 2016 of the fun we had, the experiences and the love we shared.  The Captain is no longer at the helm, he's gone to higher ground. I think he'd like me to share with you a glimpse of what we had on our last voyage together.

Leaving Provincetown was more difficult than I could have imagined. There was a need to cast off in both of us. It pushed us. We knew somehow that if we didn't do it now,  then we never would. And so the journey began. It was a Tuesday evening, our first night aboard, but we spent it tied to the float where in 1980 Dave and I tied with our sailboat, The Arethusa.  I'm in the galley putting away supplies when Dave tells me he's going to go out with Bob for a quick ride to charge of the batteries in Bob's boat the Near Miss.  It's a farewell, a father / son special time, the way men do. They spend half an hour cruising around outside the breakwater, listening to the engine. Dave gives his approval and they head back to the wharf. Last night he took his grandkids out in the skiff to check out the ten horse engine hooked over the stern of the dingy.  For the past week we have been bringing supplies, clothes, utensils and every other conceivable convince that I could comfortable carry to the boat. The living quarters are small, but when we moved aboard I was surprised at how easily the Richard & Arnold absorbed it all, took everything in with ease, and it could have held more. When I commented on this to the captain he said, "Well remember this boat carried forty tons of fish in the hold - this is nothing."

What a vessel, the sparkle in the captains eye! Oh he loved me, without a doubt, and I am forever his mate, but the Richard & Arnold was something special to him. Fortunately I understood the term 'the other woman'.  We've owned, operated, sailed, fished and lived aboard many vessels. I'll give you their names and then you'll understand a little more about the captain. The Fanny Parnell, The Wildflower, Julie D, The Kingfisher, The Office, The Arethusa, The Osprey, The Vast, The Opel, The Richard & Arnold, the Last Tango and a couple of good sized skiffs that had no names. We've owned them, worked on them, and learned to love the sea from them. Some we owned for years and one we owned for three days before it broke loose in a February NE gale and sank. All  of the boats were given his time, his money and his love. He wanted to save them all. I learned that if I had faith, went along with some of the wild ideas, I'd get to live a life that held excitement, humor, and shear terror, but would never be boring.
And so because of who he was, leaving Provincetown for a six month cruise was inevitable. We both faced challenges, surprises and risks. Our faith was tested. That first night onboard, that Tuesday Dave asked if I was excited I told him I was too busy to think about it. I had a million loose ends. He had one loose end and that was the sixty foot Casey built, 1924 fishing vessel tied to the float on MacMillan Pier. For Dave his journey began the day he was born. Casting off lines was what he'd been doing for over fifty years. I had to remind him a few times that I was new at this. I came to visit a couple of times when he was fishing, stay a couple of days, but I was the homebody, the shore captain, and not a seasoned crewman. He put up with the newbie, the inexperienced crew, the landlubber. And he had the patience of a saint.

To be continued:

Family, Friends and Fishing

The F/V Richard & Arnold arrived at MacMillan Wharf on a sunny Friday afternoon. Dave and I waited on the dock as the boat was made fast to the pier. Our son Jackson was on hand, as were a few friends and the harbormaster, Rex. Dave recalled that this was the second time in 35 years of owning the boat that he watched her come in with a different captain. The first time was when our son Jackson brought the boat across Cape Cod Bay on his own. David and Jackson finished a fishing trip and when they got to the Cape Cod Canal, Dave told his son to take her home. I picked Dave up by car and Jackson captained the boat. While we waited for the Richard & Arnold to be tied to the poles, Jackson told me how nervous he was that day bringing the boat in on his own. I can relate, I don't think I could do it. Our son, Bob (has a BS in Marine Navigation from Mass Maritime) and his friend Eric (the Red) Johnson made the trip from Norfolk VA in five days, stopping along the way in Ocean City MD, Cape May, NJ and then after a very difficult night in 10 foot seas off the Jersey coast, into Mannesquan, NJ for the last stop-over. From there Bob decided to keep going. After 36 hours at a steady 8 knots, with a 671 Detroit Diesel humming in the background our pride and joy, the oldest vessel in our fleet, returned to her home port. I don't know what we would have done if our sons were bookkeepers, or doctors, or bankers. Both have grown up around the Richard & Arnold and both are capable of making a journey as captain of the vessel. This past winter was wonderful. The boat was tied in the safest place imaginable, a secure, protected dock in the heart of Oriental NC. Our time there was so different from the usual winters of shoveling snow, bundling up in a dozen layers of clothing, turning up the heat and carrying logs in to feed the wood stove. We spent our days on walks, having coffee at the 'Bean', and looking at boats. Our evenings were filled with good food and good company. What's more Dave and I grew closer, literally. Tiny spaces, small everything, less need and enjoying our environment and each other's company. We met the most remarkable people. Heard stories that will stay with me forever. We hope to someday return to the small town on the Neuse River and visit again the places and people that make it so unique. In the meantime the Richard & Arnold will have to stay tied to the wharf. Dave has been in the Cape Cod Hospital for five days, we just got home. His calcium blood level was sky high caused by cancer in the bones. The doctors, nurses and staff at the hospital were terrific. Dave is feeling better, eating and telling me stories again. His blood levels are normal, but we will need to keep a close eye on this as it can lead to serious heart problems and we certainly don't need any other medical issues popping up. The past two weeks have been just plain awful, but thank the good lord, we on the upswing, heading in the right direction. Dave had a PET Scan, a CAT scan, and MRI of the brain and a biopsy, as well as many blood tests. The doctor said there is nothing in his brain, but we knew that already, he's a fisherman after all, ha ha. We meet with our Oncologist, (the best there is) this week to discuss a treatment plan. Dave's a fighter, tough as nails, he's always been a super-hero to me, so I know we have a good chance. Life is precious, but finite to us all. Keep the faith, give thanks, and mention Captain Dave to God. Fair winds dear friends.