The temperature outside is 46°, resulting in melting snow and ice, puddles on the sidewalks, and an almost forgotten sense of spring.
Walking a couple of miles to run a couple of errands, I was comfortable in one of my lighter jackets. Because of the puddles I should have worn my winter boots, but still in a San Diego state of mind didn’t think of them and had on boat shoes instead.
A gigantic, intricately beautiful ice sickle hanging from the building next to ours has melted. I noticed it yesterday when I took the trash out and intended to take a photograph today. There may be a lesson here, but it is tenuous.
Even though more snow is due tomorrow with a low of 11°, I no longer believe in winter.
That Carol and I are flying to Florida in a few weeks for an early twentieth wedding anniversary celebration—we were married in Key West; and I’ll be somewhere in the South Pacific on the actual date—helps.
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I ordered a bunch of stuff online yesterday: Torqeedo propeller; mesh bag for snorkeling gear; various waterproof bags; stainless plates to protect the transom from the Jordan drogue bridle shackles—they are actually backing plates for pad eyes, but will serve nicely; and courtesy flags for Samoa—now officially the name of what was Western Samoa—Tonga, Fiji, and New Zealand. And suddenly found that, but for an uncooperative and/or incompetent man in my optometrist's office who couldn’t provide a number I need to order a prescription snorkeling face mask, there is nothing left on my list.
This is not unparalleled, but almost.
In late 1991, when I was preparing RESURGAM to sail from New Zealand around Cape Horn, I turned 50, and, having a little money in hand, decided to buy everything on my list in one of those: If not now, when? moments.
No deliberate decision this time. I just kept chipping away and it snuck up on me.
True, I still have things to do. Fit the emergency rudder. Check to see if I’ve solved the leaks. Provision.
But there is nothing on my list except the face mask, and I’ll get the information I need to place that order soon.
Who knew that being listless is a minor triumph.
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From THE DEVIL’S DICTIONARY
gallows: A stage for the performance of miracle plays, in which the leading actor is translated to heaven.
genealogy: an account of one's descent from an ancestor who did not particularly care to trace his own.
ghost: the outward and visible sign of an inward fear.
grape: Fill up, fill up, for wisdom cools
When e’er we let the wine rest.
Here's deaths to Prohibition’s fools,
And every kind of vine-pest!
grave: a place in which the dead are laid to await the coming of the medical student.
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I took the photo Tuesday night. You'll probably have to turn your display to maximum brightness to see anything. The white column is the furled jib which I usually unbend and stow below, but left in place this time.
