“Wow, your guest room is really bizarre,”
Said our friends, who had come from afar.
Just a tarp on the grass,
For this lad and this lass,
But they saw every bright falling star.

In the Pacific Northwest in summer, you can throw a sleeping bag on the grass and sleep outside. It’s heavenly during the Perseid meteor shower, when the stars are falling in streaks of yellow and white and blue across the sky … that’s what we did for two nights with our friends, Will and Tina.

We went into that boating store, “West,”
For a brand new flag halyard, the best.
We replaced it — OK!
But the very same day
‘Twas the main halyard broke: Who’d have guessed?

“I’m so glad it’s your problem, not mine,”
Said our Freedom friends, sipping their wine.
But those friends don’t know Lee,
Who, with Simplicity,
Kindly fixed it — we sailed back, just fine.

He went up using spitwads and tape,
But no halyard! We watched, mouths agape.
It’s a bird! It’s a plane!
Superman’s on our main!
No, it’s Spiderman! See? There’s no cape.

A little note of explanation for our non-boating friends…the flag halyard is a loooong piece of string that you use to hang pennants from the mast. On our way to the Freedom Rendezvous with our friend Jacqui’s Freedom 30, we replaced it ($20), because it looked old and rotten. Twenty minutes later, the main halyard, which is the big beefy one used to hoist the mainsail ($200), broke instead. Since there was no backup or safety line, we had to deliver the news to Jacqui that a crane would be needed to re-reeve her halyard ($150/hour). Then Lee and Kathleen magically appeared in the harbor aboard their C&C, Simplicity. Not only did Lee free-climb the 44-foot mast at anchor, he also cooked omelettes for us for breakfast.

Images below: Meps, motoring north, has plenty of spare cycles to clown for the camera. Lee sets up his climbing gear for the ascent. Barry watches Lee from below (hope he doesn’t drop anything!). The masts of Piper and Simplicity at anchor in Port Ludlow, with Lee at the top. Success! Barry shows the bicycle chain weight that Lee fed down from the top of the mast. Out sailing again, with Barry grinding the winch. Crewmember Will takes the helm of the 30-foot sailboat.

Here in sunny Nebraska, this morn
There’s a steer who is feeling forlorn,
He looks up and says, “Moo!”
Which means, “Hi, how are you?
I like grass, pleeeeeease don’t make me eat corn.”

Driving through CAFO country is enough to turn anyone vegetarian…

When the skies opened forth with such power,
I was drowned like a rat. So I glower
At my husband, who’s dry,
And who says, smug and sly,
“I towel off when I go take a shower.”

It rained so hard the other day, I nearly drowned getting back to Flutterby — even with a fortuitous ride across the boatyard from Ted. I should have just gotten into my birthday suit and stood on the foredeck with a bottle of shampoo.

“Sham Poo? No way! Give me the real thing, or nothing.”

When I painted the name on the side,
Philip’s comments were terribly snide.
“All your curves are a fright!”
“Get a stick, do it right!”
Now I’m feeling all shame and no pride.

We could have had the name applied professionally in vinyl for a few hundred bucks. The only reason I painted it freehand was to fulfill a sense of “artistic pride.”

We found in our mailbox a letter–
Inside, a surprise! Even better!
A tiny flat boy,
To bring us much joy.
‘Twas Stanley, the Airmail Jet-Setter.

Stay tuned for more photos and stories of Stanley’s visit to Beaufort and environs. He was an excellent boat guest.

Americans are not very common in Havana. And we’ve certainly never been there. So what are the chances of two guys running into each other at Hemingway Marina and figuring out that they both know Meps ‘n’ Barry?

These two strangers, on Hemingway’s dock,
Had a chat, and it caused them a shock.
“Where ya from?” “From K.C.”
“You?” “Seattle, for me.”
But they both know some nuts here at Bock.

Here in Beaufort-by-the-Sea, life is not all about seafood. Pictures and stories from the “first annual” Backstreet Pub “Meatloaf-Off” will be coming soon, along with tips from the winners on how to make great meatloaf.

The best meatloaves arrived on a mission,
Hoping some folks might fail by attrition,
For their fine chefs, you see,
Were all hoping to be
Named the “First” in the first competition.

The chances of finding a favorite Seattle friend living in Morehead City were so miniscule, we thought that Hell would freeze over first. We caught up with Kevin in December — he’d been living here for 3 years, and Flutterby’s been here for 2 years. On February 13th, when he came out to see the boat for the first time, Hell froze over, as evidenced by the photo below.

From Seattle, friend Kevin is witty,
But we’d got out of touch, what a pity.
But then Hell did freeze over,
For this fine Irish Rover,
Has been living in wee Morehead City.

Left: Meps and Kevin, Right: There was no snow when Kevin arrived at the boat. After dinner, here he is (on the far side) cleaning off his truck.

Betcha can’t tell from the photos below. Happy Birthday to my favorite young woman in the whole world — you look awesome in that sweater!

I’ve a beautiful sis, Julie S.
And she’s older than me, I confess.
But my friends, they all say,
“She’s not fifty, NO WAY!”
It’s her wonderful life — free of stress.

Here are a couple of oldie-but-goodie photos of Julie from 1960. One is with Mom and one’s with her big sister, Daisy.

The boat was so cold that we shut
The door to the forward end. But
We still had a bed,
And a galley and head,
In our maritime eight-by-twelve hut.

Below is a photo of me in our dinette bed during the cold, when the boat interior was about 45 degrees for a week. I’m wearing a wool top under my jammies, a fleece hood, and have two teddy bears to help keep me warm. Although we couldn’t drag ourselves out from under the blankets before noon, we were able to make coffee without getting out of bed!

My two pirate friends, Goofy and Funny,
Have sailed off to the south, where it’s sunny.
They have left this fine village,
To seek plunder and pillage,
They’re not dumb — but they’re plumb outa money.

Maybe you can look at the photos below and tell me, which one is Goofy and which one is Funny? (that’s Dick on the top and Larry and me on the bottom)

Our friend Alex was feeling quite blue,
For a flock of demonic birds flew,
Over each perfect mast,
And he watched them, aghast,
As the paint job was ruined by doo.

So he came out to paint them anew
And the finish was ruined by dew,
Now he frets at the weather,
And fears every feather,
And says, “Will I ever be through?”

Barry and I hired Alex Baker to give our carbon fiber masts a beautiful professional paint job. Unfortunately, Alex has been unable to control the outdoor conditions where he’s working! After the doo and dew, Alex was thwarted by heavy wind, rain, and cold. We all hope the third time’s the charm.

The photos below show the working conditions out in the “sand pit” before the masts were painted. Alex, Barry, Kenny, and Dick had walked out to look at our innovative mast-suspension system. A portion of Dick’s broken mast (right side, top photo) was used as a derrick to suspend both masts.

Three eateries here went away,
As I crossed the entire U.S.A.
If I’d bought just one meal,
From Ralwiggie’s, I feel,
They might still be in business today.

In that great spot across from the park,
I found Taylor’s all shuttered and stark.
So I walked down to Cru,
Just to purchase some brew,
So that they will not also go dark.

But I found, on that sad recent drive,
Though the good food in town can’t survive,
If the service is cursed,
And the food is the worst –
All the baaaaad Chinese places still thrive.

So this flock of wild turkeys went out,
For a party along Amtrak’s route.
“We will derail this train!”
Thought one bird’s tiny brain,
But they failed — just delayed it, no doubt.

In an unconfirmed rumor, I heard that an Amtrak train in Florida was delayed for hours yesterday when it ran — literally — into a flock of wild turkeys. Given Amtrak’s reputation, it’s hardly a surprise that a bunch of bird brains could cause a major delay on the day before Thanksgiving.

While I was away, the boatyard had a potluck so memorable, people were still talking about it 5 weeks later:

Now, Miss Manners would never say, “Eww,”
So Miss Audrey knew just what to do.
With a smile so polite,
She spoke out with no spite,
“Oh, how nice! Ken brought turkey that’s blue.”

Someone tried to give the turkey to the cats, but they wouldn’t touch it. Barry says it’s probably still on the bottom of Core Creek. Eww.

Up ahead was a big yellow truck
That had come to a stop for a duck,
So I stopped my car, too,
And then out of the blue
Came a WHACK! Duck hit me, just my luck.

The web-footed goof flew right into my front towbar. There was a loud thud, and the car shook with the impact. But when I backed up a few feet, expecting to see a duck carcass, he picked himself up and wobbled away. He was quacking, and I was quaking.

Ooh! A butterfly just fluttered by!
But I’m homesick — the sight makes me cry.
I will spend one more week,
For it’s words that I seek.
They’ll emerge, if a writer am I.

I’m in the perfect little writer’s retreat, a cottage on Chincoteague Island. Of all times, why does writer’s block have to hit me now?

She’s petite, and she’s small, and she’s frail,
But her fish seems quite huge in the pail,
“No, this fish that you see,
“It’s not big, not to me,
“There’s no distance between head and tail.”

At our motel in Ontario, I wandered over to watch our hostess, a Taiwanese woman, cleaning a fish from Lake Saint Clair in a bucket. It seemed big to me, almost a meter long (hey, this is Canada). But she laughed, and said in broken English, “This not big fish — some fish big as I tall!”

I was feeling quite lost and alone,
“I can’t talk to my people,” I moan,
But then to my surprise,
When I look with my eyes,
I discover a free telephone.

I was sitting on the north side of the Coffee Cup, a busy truck stop along I-29 and US 12. For $1.47, I could drink coffee and use the internet for a couple of hours. But I needed to make plans with my brother, and I missed hearing Barry’s voice.

The next day, I went back to the Coffee Cup and asked if they knew what was wrong with the pay phone. An employee said I’d have to ask the manager. She led me around to the manager’s office on the south side, and there was a whole row of booths with free telephones. Woo hoo!

When I came, all alone, to this town,
I was challenged by Jessica’s frown.
“I will stay for a week,
Just to see if you’ll speak,”
And the gauntlet was bravely thrown down.

This explains how I ended up with a 1-bedroom apartment in Summit, South Dakota. The population was 267, but I’m making it 268 for the next week.

I am certain this meeting was fated,
But could never be anticipated,
When he strode ‘cross the grass,
I said, “You cannot pass,
I am certain that we are related.”

My mother taught me, don’t ever pass a rest area, even if you don’t have to go. So when I saw a rest area in the middle of nowhere off a 2-lane road in Montana, I stopped. I was the only human for miles. But when I came out of the potty, there was another car, and a man was walking up to the potty. At 10:30 am, my potty stop managed to coincide with that of Barry’s only uncle, Johnny, and his wife, Sooky, who I had not seen in 12 years. Johnny said, of the meeting, “I should go out and buy a lottery ticket right now.”

It’s been eighteen whole years since that day,
When we stepped to the bar just to say,
“Yep, I do,” “I do, too,”
“Here’s a ring just for you,”
And our friends raised their drinks and said, “Yay!”

The day before our 18th wedding anniversary, we stopped to investigate a place on Highway 20 called the Beer Shrine and Wedding Chapel. It reminded me of the fact that when we were married aboard the Flying Cloud, the wedding was actually performed under a palm frond arch in front of the bar.

Barry and I learned many things during our visit to the Beer Shrine and Wedding Chapel. We found out that lots of people like the pizza there. We heard from the owner that she is licensed to perform marriages and does about 30 per year, right there in the bar. We confirmed that Barry likes homemade root beer. We confirmed that Margaret does not like beer. Most importantly, we discovered that Barry does not like beer-flavored kisses — so root beer is the only way to go!

There once was a lady named Clam,
And she said, “To the public, I am
Such a nice quiet pet,
One who likes to just set.
Omigosh! I just laid an egg, Ma’am!”

If this makes no sense to you, go to the Adventures page and read “Cock-a-doodle Who?” You’ll find a photo of Clam there.

On receiving a call from Iceland in the midst of record-breaking heat:

It’s one hundred and five here, you know,
So your calling and saying “Hello,”
From the Land of the Ice,
Felt quite pleasant and nice,
Although next time, could you please send snow?