Brilliant sailing on Tampa Bay.

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Photo shoot at the marina.

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Sea-time

I leave this morning on an overnight cruise with students on the Catalina/Morgan 440.  This will take me to 19 days of sea-time for the month of March, which I think is a record for me.  I'll have 45 days since January 1, an average of one out of every two days.  I'm amazed! 

Motivated student studies under sail.

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More about Spanky, my Colorful Caribbean Cat.

The animal shelter on the east end of St Thomas consisted of two buildings - one for dogs and a smaller one for cats.  The "Cat House", as it was labeled with a hand painted sign, was little more than a shack with a series of cages around the outside perimeter. Kittens were kept inside.  I went in and saw several cute fur-balls with little tails sticking up.  Some running and bouncing and others sleeping.  They all looked very adoptable.  I went out to look in the cages around the perimeter.  Those cages held larger and more adult cats.  I knew these creatures were less likely to be adopted.  I walked past the cages, stooping to look inside.  I noticed one that was watching me.  It was a juvenile, not full grown.  A mix of color, tabby with white patches.  He came to the chicken-wire wall of the cage and sat looking at me.  I poked my finger through the wire to touch him.  He lowered his head so I could scratch around his ears. 

 

I enquired about him with the young West Indian woman who was looking after the Cat House that day.  She told me thought he'd be a good match for me.  She happened to know that the cat's previous owner was also a man – a young man who lived with his mother.  He'd been arrested and was in jail for a drug offence, and Mother didn't want the cat.  I paid the adoption fee and was told I could pick him up after he'd be taken to a vet for shots and neutering, which would take a couple of days   I returned to the cage where he was being kept to let him know I'd be back for him. 

 

After a couple days of settling in, it became apparent that this was an active and playful cat.   Also obvious was that he was unaccustomed to being an indoor cat.  He was always trying to get out, either through the front door of the apartment as I went in or out, or through the sliding screen door to my balcony overlooking the Lagoon.  But my front door was just a few steps from the road, a busy road to Red Hook.  I wasn't going to take chances with him roaming around. 

 

After about a month together I had some reason, which I don't now recall, to take Spanky to the vet.  In the examination room the vet looked at him briefly, turned to me and said, this cat had serious health problems.  He suspected there were a couple different infections.  If he was right, the prognosis was not good.  Did I really want to keep this cat?  I was shocked to hear this.  I'd just adopted him.  He'd been taken to a vet for shots and neutering before I brought him home.  I assumed his health was fine.  He'd been in my home long enough that I felt we'd bonded.  I wasn't going to simply give up on him now. 

 

I told the vet this.  He recommended blood tests to see the extent of the problem.  Then began a period when I'd take Spanky to the vet once every week for an injection of a cocktail of drugs to combat his infections.  I recall many days when it was clear that Spanky was not feeling well.  I hated to see him that way.  I felt so helpless.  At other times he was his usual high energy-self.  In time his health stabilized and his injections were reduced to once a month.  Eventually he was declared fit, except for the one infection for which there was no cure – FIV, the feline version of HIV.  He was otherwise healthy, but his immune system was compromised.     

    

As time went on Spanky and I developed a routines.  This was in the time of working for Trawlers in Paradise, which was right next door to my little apartment.  On days when I wasn't busy with charter guests, I'd come home for lunch, and then lay down for a short nap before going back to work.  Spanky would join me on the futon and nap with me. 

 

I had a friend from Washington DC who would come to visit.  She was an artist and worked as a freelance commercial artist.  We'd met on a charter I'd skippered.  On one of her trips down, while sitting at my desk, she caught Spanky and me napping with her camera.  Through the many years since that afternoon and all the miles between, I've still got that photo.  It's on our fridge now. 

 

I recently had the photo scanned into a digital file.  You'll see I was working on long hair back then.  Later, I briefly had a pony, which I got rid of on a business trip to St Lucia.  (Another story.)                

 

Another charter party happy to be off on their cruise.

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Lovely afternoon sail past down town St Petersburg.

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Teaching father and son this week. One retired engineer, the other an engineering student.

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Spanky, the Colorful Caribbean Cat. Part 1

The story of Spanky begins with Hurricane Marilyn in September, 1995.  It was a savage storm that heaped devastation on the Virgin Islands.  In those days I was working with my pal Gary at Trawlers in Paradise.  We had a charter fleet of about 13 Grand Banks trawlers.  They were beautiful and functional vessels which we kept beautifully maintained.  The storm totaled two of our trawlers and severely damaged all but two of the rest.   

 

Even now, sitting here in St Petersburg nearly 18 years later, as I think back on that time and the many ways it changed our lives…It's difficult.  So many stories to tell from that time.  We lost two friends in that storm.  Rick the bartender at Bottoms Up and Denny the whacked out Viet Nam vet.  Both lived on houseboats anchored in the Lagoon. 

 

The forecasts for Marilyn suckered us.  Two weeks earlier we'd had a very close call with Hurricane Luis, which was a huge storm that traumatized St Martin, just to the east of us.  It was supposed to hit us too, but turned and missed.  In contrast, Hurricane Marilyn was a smaller storm.  Forecasts predicted it would miss us.  Rick and Denny had stayed ashore with friends for Luis.  But Luis was a bust.  Marilyn seemed a lesser threat.  Both Rick and Denny decided to stay on their houseboats for this one.  But Marilyn changed.  It stalled near St Croix, strengthened, turned north and ran right over the top of us.  The morning after the long night of Marilyn Rick's houseboat was found overturned.  Rick's body was inside.  Denny's houseboat was simply gone.  Later we found it, also overturned, blown up against the mangroves about a half a mile from its original position.  We never found Denny's body.  Or that of his Dalmatian, Boofus. 

 

My pal Gary also had a houseboat.  It was on the dock below the little four-unit cider block apartment building where I lived.  I had one of the studio apartments overlooking the Lagoon.  Gary and his girlfriend at the time, Dana, stayed with me for the storm.  We spent the night huddled together in my bathroom.  None of us slept.  The storm sucked my double front windows, frame and all, right out of the building.  And these weren't even real windows.  Just screened and louvered window openings.  Horizontal rain soaked everything in my little apartment.  But that was noting compared to losses others sustained. 

 

In the morning we walked out to a new world.  Everything had changed.  Gary's houseboat was half sunk, all the windows and sliding glass doors blown out.  At the marina our charter fleet was a wreck.  The docks were a wreck.  The shop and store room flooded.  The chaos unfolded a constant stream of shocks as we looked out on the Lagoon.  The boats that had been anchored there.  The docks and the wrecked boats of the other charter companies nearby.  Mangroves stripped of leaves, not a single bird to be seen.  Images flood my memory.   Words fail.  And that's what we saw in our immediate area.  Later, Gary and I would drive around the island with his video camera taping.  What we saw and recorded was….Well, about a week later a Red Cross supervisor saw the film and got it copied for Red Cross training purposes.

(How Gary and I wound up in the company of a Red Cross supervisor is story of epic heartbreak that my mind tends to avoid.) 

 

The following days and weeks are a blur of long hours at work, in hurricane season heat, restoring our world as best we could.  But again, Gary and I had it easy compared with many.  The island's electrical grid was destroyed.  It would take six weeks for power to reach us.  We moved onto one of the damaged trawlers and lived like kings using the trawler's generator for air conditioning, a functioning galley, TV and VCR.   

 

Many people simply left the island as soon as they could get on a flight.  For the first week or so only military aircraft were using the airport, bringing in FEMA, Red Cross, and other disaster relief.  That was our only link.  Relief was slow.  Unlike Florida or other hurricane prone states, relief agencies can't simply put convoys on the interstate.  And you can't use the interstate to drive away from the disaster.  As commercial flights resumed, people left and many left their pets behind to fend for themselves.  One day we discovered that a cat was hiding in the back of our shop storeroom.  It was half wild with trauma and lack of a safe environment.  We began to leave food out for it.  Slowly it allowed us to get closer.  Eventually we could pet it.  It didn't seem like it had always been a feral cat.  It was a frightened cat that heeded a new home.  Someone gave it the name Bear.  I don't remember why.  It looked not at all like a bear.  It was white with random patches.    . 

 

Gary was now living on a lovely Herreshof design wooden sailboat, about 37' long, that he had purchased from one of those people who were leaving the island.  I was back in my apartment with a generator the landlord had gotten from FEMA.  Gary's situation was not as conducive as mine to pet keeping.  So, with some reluctance, I agreed to take the cat into my little apartment home.  I say reluctantly because I had now been living alone for many years.  My work took me out on charter from time to time.  I liked my independence and the lack of dependency.  Taking in this cat was for me a big commitment.  The biggest I'd made in a long time. 

 

So Bear came to live with me.  At first it was a cool relationship.  Bear kept his distance.  Living in the back of the shop had made it hard for Bear to keep clean.  Now in my apartment, eating regularly, I began to note changes.  Bear's coat became cleaner, shinier.  And Bear became friendlier.  I would come home from the marina at the end of the day, sit on my futon, and Bear would come to me, get on my lap and purr loudly.  If I lay down he would lie on my chest purring.  His paws would stretch and contract, like he was kneading bread.  It was very endearing.  Soon I found that I looked forward to going home, feeding Bear, and then sharing time with him purring.

 

One afternoon, about six weeks after Bear had moved in, I came through my door and walked in the apartment expecting Bear to come see me like always.  I saw Bear laying on the little area rug next to my futon.  He didn't move to greet me.  I walked over, leaned down to touch him, and realized he was dead. 

 

I was stunned.  I didn't know what to do.  I walked back out the door and back to the marina.  I paced up and down the small parking lot.  What the fuck!  All that we'd been through - the hurricane, the deaths, the destruction, heartbreak, hard work, and now to lose this little piece of animal companionship.  I was devastated. 

 

It was so unexpected.  So inexplicable.  I'd taken him to the vet for shots and a check up.  He seemed absolutely fine.  Why did he die?  I didn't know what to do.  Eventually I returned to my apartment, rolled Bear up in the little area rug I'd found him on, took him to the marina and unlocked a dinghy.  With Bear at my feet I steered out of the Lagoon and out to open water.  Some distance out I stopped the engine.  I sat in the drifting dinghy for a moment looking down at this mystery.  He'd been in my life such a short time.  He was supposed to be a survivor, like me.  I let him into my life, made an emotional commitment, made a connection, but then he died.  Why did you die?  I picked him up, lowered him into the sea and quickly drove away.       

 

After that it was hard going home to my apartment.  I'd go to the door and be reminded of when Bear waited for me.  It made me morose.  I grieved for a couple weeks, and I then began to think - that cat became very important to me in such a short time.  Clearly he'd awakened some quiet need of mine.  Why deny myself now?  There must be many cats in need of a home.  I'd be doing one of them a favor.  Maybe saving a life. 

 

On my next day off I went to the nearby animal shelter, which turned out to be a rather sad affair, and there I met Spanky.     

Another charter party happy to be off on a week long cruise.

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At the office late again.

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From a letter to old friends

My three days of sailing with the elderly couple (90 & 86) on a Hunter 44 DS began easy but developed into challenging conditions.  Our first day on the water, the winds were at first very light, the boat barely moving.  But after a couple hours the wind came up to a pleasant 10 kts out of the south and remained so for the rest of the day.  We sailed easily with good speed for a couple hours, and we all enjoyed it.  But I could see that they were growing weary of the boats motion, gentle as it was.  They were unaccustomed to this much activity and outdoor stimulation. 

 

We'd planned to go for dinner at a resort with a marina on the east side of Tampa Bay.  We decided to make it an early dinner.  I sailed the boat in and motored to a dock.  I've been in this marina so frequently that I have the dock master's personal cell phone number.  As we approached I called him and explained that I had an elderly couple who had mobility issues.  I asked it he would meet us with his golf cart to ferry us to the resort restaurant, which if walked would be about a quarter mile walk.  He agreed, and so we arrived at the restaurant via chauffeured golf cart, and after dinner he picked us up again to take us back to the boat.  I tipped him $20 and we set off on our sail back to the Vinoy Marina in St Petersburg.  The south wind held.  The sail back was easy and direct. 

 

The next day the wind was really up.  A front was moving in.  It was blowing about 15 kts in the marina, which is sheltered by the Vinoy Hotel and trees in a nearby park.  Out on the bay the wind would be stronger.  The slip we were in is oriented east/west.  The strong south wind made getting out tricky.  We motored out of the marina basin, and I set sail with a deep reef in the main. 

 

I could see that the Yacht Club was hosting a regatta.  There were a lot of boats of various sizes racing around the Bay, and in these wind conditions it looked like exciting sailing.  Our sailing was slower and controlled.  I needed to keep the boat as comfortable as possible.  But the wind was building – steady 20s and gusting higher, nearing 30 kts.  Even reefed as I was, the boat healed to a degree that was becoming uncomfortable for my passengers.  I put the main sail entirely away and sailed under jib alone.  The boat heeled less now, but the wind was kicking up a chop on the Bay that made the boat pitch and roll.  There was nothing I could do about that.  After only a couple hours of sailing they were ready to go back in. 

 

When we motored into the marina basin I knew that there was no way I could safely single-hand this boat into its slip.  It was gusting up to 30 even here.  I called on my cell to find out who from Sailing Florida's staff was around.  I learned that Patrick, who I'd seen there earlier, had left on a sail with the owners of the catamaran.  I called the boss, Capt Dave, and learned that young Kevin was on the way down to the marina.  Kevin is only about 20, a part time student and part time employee.  He's been with us for only about a year, but he has become a competent boat jockey.  And he has nearly completed the requirements for getting his entry-level Coast Guard license. 

 

The marina basin has moorings for transient boats that don't want to be on the dock at the marina.  I decided to pick up a mooring and wait for help to arrive.  Soon after I'd secured our boat on a mooring, I saw another boat from our fleet, the Hunter 31, coming into the basin.  I figured that like us, they'd been chased back in by the high winds on the Bay.  I knew they were bareboat charterers and that even in calm conditions they'd be expecting help from Sailing Florida staff to get back into their slip.  I waved them down and told them to do as I did – pick up a mooring until we had help on the dock. 

 

It wasn't long before I saw Kevin on our docks.  I called his cell.  I'd seen that there were two other boats out of our fleet that had come in before me.  Rather than try to get into their slips, they had gone side-to at the t-head on the end of our dock.  The charterers on those boats were also waiting for help to get moved around to their slips.  I said to Kevin that I was okay where I was.  If he wanted, he could get those other boats moved off the t-head before helping me in.  Kevin said he wanted to help me in first so that I could then help him deal with the other boats.  That made sense. 

 

I had arranged dock lines so they draped along the lifelines in a way that Kevin could grab my bow line as I entered the slip, and, as soon as I was in and stopped the boat, I could grab a stern line and jump to the dock.  It was vital to get dock lines on cleats as quickly as possible.  The south wind would blow the boat away from the dock and into the next slip the moment I stopped.  I started the engine and dropped the mooring. 

 

The boat needed to go into its slip stern-to.  If it was docked bow-in the shore power cords wouldn't reach the receptacles.  My elderly passengers were staying on the boat.  They needed shore power. To get my boat into its slip I'd have to back down the fairway between docks and then turn to port into the slip.  Prop walk and the strong wind made the alternative – going down the fairway bow first and then backing in – an impossible maneuver.  But in these conditions, backing through this confined space with boats and concrete docks on both sides would not be easy.  I'd have to back going north with a very strong south wind.  I anticipated that the wind would tend to turn my bow one way or the other.  To prevent that, I'd need lots of steerageway – lots of speed so the keel and rudder could prevent the bow from twisting.  I set the boat up to back down the fairway.  I got the boat gong fast in reverse.  Nonetheless, just as I neared the mouth of the fairway a gust of wind caught my bow and turned me.  My stern was now headed directly for the corner of the concrete t-head.  Quickly I used lots of forward thrust to regain control and get away from the docks.

 

I took a breath.  Looked back down the fairway I'd have to negotiate.  Saw Kevin waiting at the end of the finger pier where I'd need to turn in.  Set the boat up again, then reversed into the fairway even faster than before.  This time I was able to maintain control in the fairway.  But the turn in was a quick, delicately judged moment.  I remember a moment of thinking - this must be a little something like slamming an F-18 onto the deck of an aircraft carrier.  Kevin had a boathook to get my bow line in hand.  With the boat still only halfway in the slip, the wind pinned the leeward rub rail at about midships against the piling that separates my slip from the neighboring one.  I stopped the boat, grabbed my stern line, jumped to the dock and got a turn on a cleat.  From there we were able to man-handle the boat the rest of the way in.

 

After my boat was secured, plugged into shore power and my passengers settled in the cabin, Kevin and I began rounding up the other boats.  There were the two Catalina 350s on the t-head to move into their slips.  Then the Hunter 31 that was out on the mooring.  While that was still going on three other boats came in the marina basin: the Catalina 445 with the owner driving, the Catalina/Morgan 440 with one of our free-lance skippers and the Beneteau 37 with another free-lance skipper.  Kevin and I wrestled all of them into their slips too.  

 

This kind of activity is like working a rodeo.  It's fast paced action using ropes to try controlling beasts that don't want to be controlled.  We got everyone in.  No one injured.  No boats damaged.  Like any adventure, after it's over, if you've prevailed, then you can laugh and say, that was fun!        

 

The next day the front had moved in.  There was now a significant chance of rain and thunderstorms, as well as high winds.  Before I arrived at the boat my elderly clients had decided that there'd be no sailing that day.  They'd already packed and called for a limo.  I helped them off the boat and saw them off.  Before leaving they assured me they'd had a great time.  They hated living in an old folk's home, but given their health, that's what they needed.  This had been a break from that dull existence and was deeply appreciated.  If their health held up, they'd come back for more sailing in June for her 87^th birthday.                

Working late at the office tonight doing a sunset sail.

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This week's students - Garrett, Q, and Kevin - with the Beneteau 37 docked at Little Harbor.

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There are a lot of Thistles in town. Watch your step.

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Cathryn

 

Letter to old friends

I'm teaching this week through Thursday.  We've been sailing in 20 knot winds and intense sunshine.  Reminds me of the Virgin Islands. 

 

There are two versions of how Cathy and I met.  One version is we met through church.  The second is we met at a pub.  Both are true.

 

A woman I was dating before I met Cathy got me started at attending an occasional service at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Portland.  I'd been curious about the Unitarian Church long before this, for reasons I won't go into now.  I kept going to UU services after I stopped seeing this woman.  This was after 9 11.  Times were very weird.  I was still rather new to Portland and trying to connect with a community.  The lead minister at the UU church was a woman whose sermons were very good.  She was a writer and excellent story teller - often amusing stories from which great wisdom could be drawn.  In addition, the UU community was active politically as well as socially.  I was in tune with their politics and looking for social connections. 

 

Portland is famous for its microbreweries and brew pubs.  Once a month a group of Unitarians would meet on a Friday evening at one of the many brew pubs.  At one such evening, seated at a long table with many others in the group, I found myself seated next to this interesting woman.  She didn't stay long, but at the following Sunday service I saw her again and asked to sit next to her.  After the service we had coffee together.  We started dating and in time were living together.  We married about a year and a half after meeting.    

 

Cathy's family is Italian, hence she was raised a Catholic.  But she was done with Catholicism and through a friend at her office had heard about the UU church and it's community.  She had been in Portland only about a year longer than me.  She attended UU services for much the same reasons I did. 

 

Cathy's family lived on Long Island until she was I think 12.  Her father then moved them all down to West Palm Beach.  He was a charismatic alcoholic who restored furniture for an income.  He and Cathy's mom split up and divorced some time after moving to Florida.  He remarried.  His second wife had died before I met him, which was a few years back.  Old and frail, even then he was a piece of work.  I liked him, but then he hadn't been my father.  Cathy's mother is also a piece of work but for very different reasons.  She never forgave her husband.  Never remarried.

 

Cathy, with little encouragement or support from her parents, went on to university in Tampa and then did a Master's program in Kansas.  She went to work for EPA afterwards and married.  That marriage lasted a decade or more and then ended.  She left Kansas for the Pacific NW, first in Seattle and then Portland, where she got a position with NOAA.  She was trained as a biologist, but she hasn't been in a lab or done field work in a very long time.  Her work is policy analysis and management.  In Portland she was in the middle of salmon protection issues, which in the Pacific NW are huge issues and very political.  It was the BP disaster that brought her here.  Now her work is marine mammal protection: turtles, dolphins, whales. 

This is a highly simplified explanation of what she does.  I don't understand it all.  It's very complicated and very political.  She sometimes tells me about meetings she's in and the difficult personalities, as well a issues she deals with.  I couldn't do it.  Somehow she seems to thrive.on it.  She is a very good project manager.  I think she could also have been a very good lawyer.  Or diplomat.

 

So naturally the question is - why is she with me?  Exactly.  She is not enthusiastic about my motorcycle racing, but she is supportive.  She has always been both enthusiastic and supportive about my involvement in sailing.  It was she who encouraged me to get involved in an ASA facility in Portland, which led to my certification as an Instructor.  Before meeting me she had never been sailing, but had long been curious. 

 

Her first experience of cruising was on our honeymoon.  I chartered a Freedom 30 out of Bellingham WA for a two week cruise through the San Juan Islands and up into the Gulf Islands of Canada.  This was late in their season, after Labor Day.  Weather was not always ideal.  Her friends back at the office were taking bets on how many nights she'd be on the boat before getting off to check into a hotel.  But she loved it.  We had a wonderful time.  We've gone on many cruises since, mostly in the Caribbean.   

 

Cathy's interests outside of work are all things in nature.  She's still a biologist.  But she's also an enthusiast of art.  Our walls are not enough for all the artwork she has, and she keeps buying more.  She is also very fashion conscious.  I've often heard other women in her office comment on Cathy's fashion sense, which I think must be high praise.  (I'm somewhat oblivious.)  She shares these interests with her brother Stephen who works in Manhattan as a commercial artist in advertising. 

 

I need to get on with my day - another sunny, windy one teaching on Tampa Bay.            .                   .         

 

 

Flying in formation with Summer Breeze II in 20 knot winds.

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I am so fortunate.

I get paid to do what I love to do – mess around on boats.  In the course of doing that I often meet and hang out with the most interesting people.  Yesterday and again today I'll skipper a Hunter 44 for a couple who - as a celebration of his birthday - have come to stay on the boat and sail on Tampa Bay.  He turns 90 today.  She is 87.  They have been married for 62 years.  

 

When younger they owned several boats.  They've lived on a 50 foot Chris Craft for a year and a half in Manhattan's 79^th Street Boat Basin.  They had both sailboats and powerboats when they lived in the Keys.  They cruised the Bahamas on a 27 foot sailboat.  Now they lack the agility and the strength to sail on their own.  They live with serious health issues but refuse to let those issues keep them from grabbing the moment and enjoying what they can yet do. 

 

I can't tell you how touching and inspiring it is to spend time with them, learning their histories and their attitude toward life.  And to think – they pay me.  I should be paying them.   

 

    

Letters to old friends.

You asked about the sailing season here.  It's long.  Year round really, but it gets really hot here in summer.  July and August are brutal, but it's cooler out on the water as long as there's some wind.  In summer, often there isn't much.  All our boats have air conditioning while they're in a slip and hooked up to shore power.  The bigger ones have generators to support A/C when away from a dock. 

 

(Our recent trip down to the Caribbean reminded me of how great it is to be in the trade winds with constant 10 to 15 knots or more out of the east.  I wish we had that.  Winds here can come from any direction or strength, including none at all.)

 

At SF we are now entering the heart of our season   We had a meeting yesterday to discuss this coming week's schedule.  Almost every boat will be out this weekend.  It's a bit amazing when after a flurry of activity to get boats off on their cruises, you look around and suddenly the slips are nearly all empty and the docks are quiet.  We expect it will be busy like this right through June.  I recall last year, it didn't really slow down until after the 4^th of July weekend.

 

This year will, I expect, be busier still.  We've got more boats.  Our fleet is growing remarkably.  Last year we added four 2011 boats.  So far this year we've added three more that are used but in excellent condition – two Catalina 35's and a Hunter 44.  The owner of one C 35 has already arranged an upgrade.  He signed a deal for a 2012 Jeanneau 50 to be delivered to us in June.  Then yesterday I learned that the owner of the Beneteau 32 has started work on an upgrade as well.  And I hear of at least two new potential boat owners that are serious about placing boats in our fleet.  (Did I tell you this earlier?  I may have.)     

 

Yesterday I was diesel technician all day.  The Leopard catamaran's engines were due for service routines, including the generator.  The owners and some family will arrive today and go off on a cruise.  I wanted to get the engines serviced prior to that trip so I spent the day huddled down in the engine bays with tools and an oil pump.      

 

This afternoon I'll meet an older couple (in their late 80s) at the marina and help them get settled on the Hunter 44 they'll stay on through Sunday.  Apparently they sailed a lot when younger - owned a sailboat and cruised the Bahamas.  They don't have the agility or strength to sail themselves any longer, so they want a skipper to take them out on daysails, returning to the marina each evening for dinner at the Vinoy hotel across the street and a comfortable evening at the marina.  I've been told they both have difficult health issues.  They need a patient captain, so I've been given the job.  I gather this little charter will be for them something like a last hurrah.  Make every day count. 

 

Kim, I can appreciate your passion for gardening.  Cathy's the same, but since selling the house in Portland and becoming condo dwellers, lacks the opportunity.  She'd envy what you have.  If we lived close by, she'd come over to work in your garden.  I want to write more about Cathy: her interests, work, family, how we met and so on.  I'll devote my next email to those topics.  . 

 

RR

 

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