Boxing the compass

I found a bottle of wine with tall ships on it en route to the party,
displayed here by Mr. Splat.

I'm so tired I keep falling asleep as I type this. The laptop on my lap is no deterrent. (And this was my day off!)

Last night after getting dinner all ready, I left it in Harrison's capable hands to put on the table and went to rent a car at the airport. From there I drove 35 minutes to Kure beach to meet old friends.

I got there just in time: my friend's five-year-old was making a sign that said, "Welcome to our party."

While the adults had long, meandering conversations about food and history and school, the kids entertained us by telling stories or saying funny things.

I told Eve and Harrison how much I enjoyed this.
They said I could read them bedtime stories anytime.

Several days ago Eve talked about having to get the compass on her last boat "boxed," which means that, because of metallic changes in the boat, the compass was no longer was accurate. (Apparently navigating through places like the Bermuda Triangle may also set your compass askew.)

Returning to the boat on Monday morning, this was the metaphor that came to mind. I felt like my inner compass had been boxed. I was reminded that certain things are constants, even when everything else around me is changing.

Yeah! Crew Appreciation: Cap hands out gift
certificates for ice cream.

Preparing to Leave Again
On Tuesday we get a new chief mate, and on Wednesday we set sail for Long Island. So, like every good sailor, I worked on my day off. I went provisioning when I got back from Kure Beach. I bought about $500 worth of groceries - about 45 pounds of which was meat!




Mondays's Menu
Breakfast
Louisiana Hash from the Dixie Grill (just as good as it sounds)
Lunch
Watermelon slushie from Sonic, where the waiters still roller-skate to your car (except ours didn't. Lame.)
Dinner
One scoop Turtle Cheesecake, one scoop Pecan Praline ice cream