The moon is out, big, bright orange and creating an alternate daytime as it sets, so I thought I would spend some time updating the world on the individuals and their state of minds aboard Selkie. Tristan (11) spent his year of Caribbean life in boxer briefs. We would ask him to put on clothes, and he would reply, “Take me to colder weather.” Well, here we are in the North Atlantic with a cold wind, and he is walking around in boxer briefs that barely hang on his gangly preteen body and have a few holes. It’s true pirate material. Last night, we tethered them through a hole near his waist band, and he tried to escape. It held really well and everyone laughed so hard we teared up. I’ve begun to throw them away as well. Yesterday, he pretended to play the trumpet for a fallen soldier when I told him so. Too funny. Nick promises to hoist them up the flag line. Lily (9) is wide-eyed and writing poetry. She always stares off in the distance like words are calling her. Nick and I spend hours in the cockpit talking when the weather is nice, and she always comes to listen and smile at our conversations. Her questions never stop. We are always perplexed by her line of thought. So interesting and cute. Mara(5) has Punky Brewster dreadlocks going on! Her hair is so knotted up it sticks out in all different directions. Yesterday, she asked for a brush, and I said, “Honey, don’t even try.” She’ll put on her daddy’s vest, hat, and boots and walk around with the silliest smile, saying, “I’m Daddy.” She really looks like her Aunt Dd, who spent years touring with DJs. She’s a little hipster. Rory (2) will not be weaned from the boob! He demands it! Boy move on! He won’t. He also might turn into a puppy from watching too much Paw Patrol. Yesterday, he got on all fours and waged his butt like a puppy, while he sang, “Pup pup boogie.” He gets so many kisses from this crew, he may melt. Nick (the Captain) is doing fine, though I almost poisoned him with tofu last night. HIs nut allergy is so severe, he can’t handle anything close.Very scary out here. We have to be so careful. Nick hates to be in the cockpit alone. He loves to talk, so mostly we sit together. Yesterday, we talked for hours about family communication at sea and what kind of comments are helpful to hear in the middle of the ocean and which comments are not. He also likes to share really good memories about his dad, who passed three years ago after fighting ALS for 9 years. Last night, we talked about what kind of person he deemed to be “serious sailors.” We’ve been on a Walking Dead marathon at night when alone in the cockpit, when the stars stop calling us, we listen to the call of the zombies. I like it purely because if I think life is bad at any point in time, at least its not like Rick Grime’s situation. Also last night, when I was headed to bed, two freighters were near by. Nick talked to the American one, Endurance. The guy was so nice, he told Nick that if he needed anything to put out a distress and he would be right back to pick us up. And then there is me! I’m good. I think about how I told myself that I would never cross an ocean, just like I told myself I would not like poetry, and never become a teacher. Never say never. It ’s basically like saying that’s what I’m gonna do next.
Small Poem:
“Caught between Sunrise and Moonset”
Soaring on the surface of steal blue
and burnt orange in a blushing dawn.
Maggie, the Momma Poet