I started my part of this blog on Sept 28th, made a few entries, then scrapped and restarted on Dec 3rd. There simply hasn’t been any time to sit and write entries. Here goes again.
I think the easiest start is a quick recap of key dates. In 2002 I met met my partner, Duwan, and heard for the first time that she was interested in living on a sailboat. In 2007 we started taking sailing lessons, completing enough courses to do a couple of week-long sailing charters. This year we decided to rent out the house and buy a sloop. We did some boat shopping online and drove to the Florida East Coast for a whirlwind boat shopping tour starting October 6th. Now we own a Catalina 36′. We have sold most of our stuff and quit our jobs.The renters have moved into our house, where we are still doing some work on the exterior. One of our kind friends is allowing us to stay at her house until January, when we head to Ft Lauderdale to get the boat ready for a cruise to the Bahamas.
Here’s an excerpt from the log I started In September:
‘I grew up in Southern Florida. In high school I traveled through Boston. I remember walking in Boston Commons and seeing buskers. A busker stakes out a spot and makes music. Sometimes people enjoy the music enough to toss money. Sometimes they just walk on, leaving the busker to entertain the open, empty space. This looked like an ideal gig to me. I decided that I wanted to be a busker when I grew up. It would be a low overhead operation, wandering over the planet, doing odd jobs, making music, and occasionally surprising some receptive soul into looking at things from a different perspective. Now, 35 years later, I realize that somehow I got sidetracked into leading a comfortable, predictable, constructive life instead.’
And here’s some philosophical crap I addressed to you, dear reader, on Dec 3rd:
‘First, I feel the need to establish some common ground. You and I are most fortunate. Here’s why. The universe is unbelievably vast, cold, and empty. Think of the space you occupy. Odds are two or three bazillion-to-one that this space should be a vacuum. Odds are a gazillion-to-one that the space should be occupied by some kind of matter: you know, star, rock or cloud nebula. Yet here we are. Not only are we matter, but we are alive. And we’re not bacteria We’re not varmints. We are self-aware human beings, capable of savoring and manipulating our environments. Damn. We don’t have much time. Better get to it.
I have to admit I do feel a bit luckier then you, though. See, I had the additional good fortune of acquiring a partner. All I had to do was frequent an establishment that hosts live music, chat up my bartender, and let her overhear me tell some of the patrons I was a heathen. Well, also after talking with some guy for a few minutes I leaned over the bar and told her he was a congenital asshole (something she already knew).’
So greetings from our ‘port’ of call: Cabbagetown, Atlanta, Georgia, USA.