Well Hello There

Yes, it's been too long.

And while I can't promise I'll be around more often, I do at least intend to be.  And I do owe an explanation of what's been up the last, oh, 9 months?

First off, I have a new job.  My old job, where I was for about a year, lead into a new job.  The business was closing, or at least transferring half of itself to another company, a major marine chandlery here on the West Coast.  My boss had already moved over, and he was selling half of the company, the repair side, to a new owner.  I was given job offers by the new owner as well as the chandlery.

I decided, for a few reasons, to go with the new chandlery.  For one thing, it's a very large chandlery with multiple locations up and down the coast, and some large warehouses through out the west and mid-west.  While their current internet presence is not a storefront for any but wholesale customers, It Is Coming.  And when it comes, it will be big.  While they mostly cater to the local commercial fishing fleet, their industrial side does also cater to many of the industrial companies that run the west coast.  There just isn't anyone else around, I guess.  I have concerns about the future of the commercial fishing fleet's viability after new USCG regulations come into effect in the next few years.  Overall, it just offered stability that my other option didn't have.  What my other option really offered, that I will miss, was flexibility, face-time with customers, and the ability to learn more about the management side.  I may come to that eventually in my new job, but it's not certain.

I do like my new job, and I like the company I work for.  I do have some flashbacks about my old-old job, and I have some quirks that are a result.  Like leaving notes in 20 different places to remind people I'll be out because a certain ex-boss would accuse me of not telling him.  And, working an extra half hour every day and not charging for it.  Ultimately, because I do not want to end up in a situation like I was in so long ago, I have been trying my utmost to go above and beyond the call of duty.  I was worried about the fact that for the first time in my life I'd be working with mostly all women.  It's been ok.  Everyone has a different personality, but they're all rock-stars at certain things, and you gotta take the good with the bad.

I'm worried that I'm getting further from what I originally thought I'd do in life.  It even came up in my interview.  "Two advanced degrees, you really want to give that up?"  I've been worried about it for awhile. How can I take myself seriously to be doing "only" this, when I originally meant to be doing "all" of that.  I'd mentioned it to R along the way.  He thinks it counts that I'm doing anything related to boats.  And that he's continuing to do what he's doing, and even if I'm not directly involved, I can't fail to be indirectly involved.  I think his feeling is that as long as I'm happy, productive, and fending for myself, he doesn't think I should feel like a failure.  And for now, it seems like he's right.  I look at when I fought for my career as I originally intended it and wonder, was it worth the angst?  The hysterical panic attacks?  The nausea of a Sunday?  I don't know that it was.  Maybe I'm content to let that chapter of serious NAME work close.  Not from a lack of interest.  Maybe the career had fallen into a riptide... where no matter how much I was swimming for the beach, I was getting dragged away.  And maybe it's just time for me to go sideways, and see where we end up.

I don't know that I want to leave the career for ever, but I don't have a way that we feel is comfortable for me to continue as a serious NAME in the future.  While I have background in stability, it is NOT in fishing boat stability. And I know all too well that those loading conditions you write down in the books and send in to ABS/USCG probably have very little bearing on the reality of crab season.  Especially given the general lack of serious education of the fleet's captains.  It's not to say they're not generally wonderful folks, and very knowledgeable, but there's few I'd trust with my life.  Or, say, my stamp, should I ever get one.

As far as a stamp is concerned, I'm not sure if I'll chose to get one.  I suppose in some way it would be optimal to keep that door open.  But at the same time, I'm not certain I'd be comfortable using it.  Who knows.

In the meantime, I do intend to keep working on boats, and using them, and loving them.  In particular, I've been working on a dinghy design on and off for a long time, and I would like to build it sometime.  It's going to have to wait till after we move into the apartment, but that just means I have the meanwhile to noodle the design some more.

All my love...

K

Full speed ahead

Happy New Year!  Cliche resolution that I refuse to make:  posting to the blog more.  However, I have a word for the year:  thrive.  It seems like a good word to live by.  All the changes that last year brought deserve a go- getter plan to make some sense of it all.

There are any number of things I'd like to accomplish this year but resolutions don't seem to work, so I think the small goal routine is more in order.

1. Move into the shop with R.
2. Solidify my job for the long run.
3. Be fit.
4. Pay off/down debts.
5. Make more jewelry, and sell it.
6. Get the catboat together.
7. Visit home.
8. Do more fun stuff with R.
9. Do more fun stuff with the dogs.
10. Get more of my power squadron classes done.

Some of those are truly quantifiable, or could be made to do so... Some are more, what, touchy feely.  For example, "be fit" could mean, oh, lose one million pounds, or gain muscle, or do a triathlon, or something.  I haven't decided what for that topic, but not for a lack of noodling on the it.  Create healthy habits?  And how do you quantify that a thing is a habit?  That you generally always do it?

Quantifying that you paid down debts isn't so hard.  I could measure my debt today and again later and say, yes, the X of today and the Y of tomorrow have this relationship:  X > Y.

More fun stuff with R and the dogs... I can't quantify where I am with that now... but I do want to make an effort.

Moving into the shop with R involves more than my time, so it can't happen at the rate I'd like for it to, but it's at least quantifiable.  I made pretty much no jewelry last year, so anything is an improvement over that.  Unfortunately, it's a bit at odds with paying down debt, so I'll have to be a better seller.

Getting the catboat together involves more than myself, since it involves our paint room and R and his tools and expertise.  But maybe if I can work on breaking the project up into small goals we' 'll get somewhere.  But, get moved in first.  Then my boat will be way easier to work on.

Visit home:  like I've always said, you can take the girl out of Texas but you can't take the Texas out of the girl.   I miss home, and my parents, my best friend, our boat, and Galveston, and the food, and the Sun.  That way it shines and warms you to the bones.  I miss having a tan and lighter hair and a need to wear shorts and, and, and.  I mind Oregon less and less and enjoy the month or two of normal weather during the summer, but, I do miss home.  Now that I have a normal sleep schedule the storms keep me awake and edgy, and there's so little thunder and lightning.  Let's face it, a good thunderstorm is downright cathartic.  The rain here is so... constant.  If the split between the good weather and bad weather months was more 50/50, maybe that wouldn't make me so homesick.  But, here we are.

Last year wasn't a bad year.  There were some surprises, some challenges, some disappointments.  But overall, I'm thankful for the changes it brought.  I loved my time with OWSA and I miss it.  I love that I am involved with boats and fishing vessels more.  I love that I'm being challenged and asked to learn in the job I found.  I love that I'm near my husband and can sneak more moments with him.  I loved our attempts to get away.  And the fishing trips were pretty exciting.  I always enjoy doing new and different things with him.  College forced us to be so adaptive in some ways that it's nice to stretch the adaptive muscles and go experience life.

Highlights:  telling new ex-coworkers I'd be just fine, and trying to make a graceful exit in a disgraceful situation.  Whether I pulled it off, I was proud of myself for not saying every thing I'd ever dreamed of saying in that situation.  The boat trip the next day, steering that huge Hans into grey confused seas on the bar.  Did R know I needed a good bash into weather for some catharsis?  I suppose so, and silently thank him for not reclaiming the helm.  The next boat trip:  being told to pick R up at the marina to get him back to his truck, and instead getting picked up for a sunset cruise with 900 hp.  Seeing my family in St. Louis.  I'm in love with my nephew!  The crabpot tree lighting in Ilwaco:  the weather was horrid but I enjoyed tromping around with R.  And further back, my birthday boat ride/sea trial, and our vacation in March.  OWSA classes, USPS classes.  Including that nefarious fuel incident on a certain surveyors boat during Cool Maneuvers that necessitated an awesome assist from Captain Ron.  Outings with on the club boats with my OWSA girls and docking practice.  I was so nervous!  And a million small quiet moments, watching my little family:  Chloe snoozing innocently, Captain doodling in the yard or staring out at his kingdom.  R engaged in some physical or mental combat with some boaty matter.

But I'll never get anywhere with this year if I keep focusing on last year.  So, off I go!

The Demise of Luxury

I knew there would be changes when I moved to the Coast, to take up a more prominent position as "wife".  A lower income (and matching lower expenses).  A refocus on boats as living, breathing entities as opposed to hypothetical steel parts of a barge.  And I knew, that much like always, my life, and therefore my belongings, would be subject to the demands of local floating vessels.  It's part of the job, should you choose to take it.  I get it.  Crap happens.  Sometimes literally.  Like, when someone else drops the sanitation hose before putting it in the thoughtfully provided trash bag, before actually making it out of the salon of the boat.

In the past, it's taken it's toll on clothing, jewelry, and other accessories.  I've had garish epoxy spots on a blue dress that was then re-named "The Monica Lewinsky Dress."  I've had emergency duct tape repairs on my trusty comfy old JCrew chinos when a Katrina-damaged boat's hull-to-deck joint decided to take exception to my boarding.  I've lost numerous cheap pairs (and a few not-as-cheap pairs) of jeans in battle with fiberglass.  You get used to trying not to get too close, too bonded, too in love.  You get used to carrying spare sets of clothes, to ward off incidents.  You poke things with a stick if there's a possibility it might leave a streak on your carefully guarded Levi's.

I've had pearls pop out of settings around acetone.  Ping!  I've had tote bags and purses (I only buy sturdy ones) dumped over and taken up to the top of masts as bo's'un's bags, full of DeWalt this and hardware that.  And usually that was without my consent.

So like I said, I try to guard against it.  But, I can't help picking up the odd piece of luxury now and then.  Periodically, a beautiful piece of leather strikes my fancy.  Something classic of line, practical of use, sturdy of structure.  Something, you know, like a Coach.  Or, at least, Foach.  If I won't know the difference, I don't know so many people around me who would, or who wouldn't wink and smile and shrug.  Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, and all.  Girl's gotta pay bills.

But I knew that new-used-possibly-fake Coach purses would come to an end when I moved out here, so I cherished my last real black leather acquisition with its brass closure as the last hurrah of saving for a rainy day purchase and then saving it for a really bad day to use it for the first time.  My last one I'd used for 42 months straight, and it has it's battle scars.  And this one, this one I'd obtained for the express purpose of putting it away to find when I moved to the coast, whenever that would be, grr.  The next day, I was jobless, moving to the coast, and needed a stellar interview bag.

6 weeks later... a bag which apparently had 5200 on it met up with my Coach.

Half an hour of scrubbing with solvents later, I would say it looks 95% better, in terms of how much white you can see.  But I'm unsure how much I've damaged that buttery beautiful leather; the white stitching nearby has turned black from my scrubbing (I wish it was black stitching to begin with, frankly).  This vision of 5200 all over the flap will forever be burned into my memory.  I'll always see the damage.

And truthfully, while I'm fairly annoyed, I'd still rather be here with 5200 on my Coach, than back there in Town in a permanent holding pattern.  There isn't much if anything in the way of boaty glue you could add to my Coach that would make me feel otherwise.

Relationships and Crap

I can't say we've mastered the art of long distance relationships, but we seem to be mostly settled into our situation. Communication is key, of course, such a cliche, but there it is. And much of our communication is mundane, but by unspoken agreement, we're in the habit of trying to provide the simple things for eachother. A goodnight call. An I'm-thinking-of-you text. Making note of something funny to tell the other person. I try not to weight down our few moments on the phone with nagging demands, bad news, additions to his to-do list; but focus on how his day is going, his mood, what he's concerned about, and try to mention something for him to look forward to.

I tend to call R after work on my way home--a phone call that lasts 30 seconds at most and lists my intended schedule for the evening, and reminds him of my ardor. Since I'm on my own usually, if I ever happen to disappear off the face of the earth, he'll know where to look (uh, once he's noticed I'm missing... which might be awhile). He doesn't always pick up on that phone call, but at least it serves as a time stamp of when I'm leaving work. Since he knows what I need to say, it's actually not necessary he picks up.

In fact, if he doesn't pick up, I usually don't call again. Not even in 5 or 10 minutes. If I call twice, it means I have something important to discuss with him. If I call three times, it means I must speak to him right now.

Often one of us tries to touch base with the other on the phone around lunch time--especially if someone finds themselves in a vehicle. R is often done with his round of e-mails, phone calls, and parts runs, and he has in his head his plan for the day. He's not an early bird, more of a night owl, so having the morning hours to organize himself allows means he can work late into the night, but it means that his arrival at whatever boat he's focused on often coincides with my lunchtime.

Today's conversation is par for the course. He tells me where/on which boat he's planning to work for the day, and what he hopes to accomplish. Today it's a project on a commercial vessel, adding a head, including the requisite sanitation tankage, associated piping, thru-hulls, deck plates, and relevant accessories.

Trying to be an involved listener, I cheerfully ask which head he has spec'd out. A Tecma (same brand as we chose for our boat, using some of the wedding present cash we were given--what else would we have spent it on!). He tells me specifically which model as the head compartment is constrained (they always are...). I note that a significant positive effect of this choice is not fussing with rebuild kits, and he explains that yes, instead of the usual impeller like many heads have, this is more of a centrifugal pump type system. I've met enough heads and used enough of them to know what I like in a head, so it's a good topic.

I note a recent article in a known sailing magazine which did some research on sanitation hose. He explains which hose he chose for this particular project application and why. I am imagining thru-hulls and the installation as a whole, from the brackets holding the tank to the hoses leading to the deck plates. From there, the discussion turns to the destructive nature of... well, Shit, and it's longterm effects on steel, specifically stainless, including 304 stainless tanks.

At this point, the phone conversation comes to an abrupt end as a vendor calls him. "Okayloveyoubye." "Yep."

But I hang up feeling both Cherished and decidedly Normal: doesn't every couple talk on the phone about random shit?

Stolen Crab, Stolen Seconds

Sorry I've been quiet. Christmas came up too quickly, and left too quickly. I think I came out of it with a cold or some other condition that makes me feel a bit like I've been keel-hauled. Rough.

I was a bit late getting gifts together. My mom got an Aquamarine show-stopper of a necklace. R's Mom is getting an opera length strand of onyx with matching bracelet and earrings (still working on the necklace and bracelet). R's Auntie S got a sterling bracelet. Gram, Auntie's D and C, and Cousin C each got a pearl (with random crystal) necklace, bracelet, and earring set--varying colors. Sister M got a necklace and earrings (I owe her a bracelet--I botched the one I was working on and launched it across the shop--then had to go dig for it, but it's going to have to get recycled.). Brother C's GF got a sterling bracelet. R received a special dispensation of boatbux for a project, yet to be determined, and I spliced him up the lower races of lifelines on 3/8" 3-strand twist, and the upper and lower boarding gates. My hands are RAW and aching. I sliced into one finger with a tape measure (when I saw it well up with blood I screamed, "REALLY?"), smashed another finger between two steel blocks while forging a bracelet and ended up with a big blood blister. And my errant right pinky is ever-more errant. I had an X-Ray a few weeks ago, but it showed nothing for all the pain and aggravation it's putting out.

Things are still in a hurry for work. Burning started early on one project. We're hoping to hear about a few other things soon. McBarge could use some projects. Although this current little one has given me fits.

The crab fleet seems to be doing ok. The weather had been far nicer (if colder than usual) for them for a few weeks, but now we're into a typical weather pattern. A few minor issues on some of the boats that R is still massaging out. Come end of January, beginning February there might be a solid project. The last few years we've been taking a night or two at the local Fort's campgrounds in a yurt come mid March, and I did ask him if I should sign up for it. He hesitated and then said yes.

The crab is reportedly not so plentiful as one might hope this year. I guess last winter was odd, this summer was odd, and this fall was odd, weather-wise. However, the price per pound is up, highest they've seen. If you can bring it in pre-chilled, the canneries pay even more because they can air-freight them live, but it means the added complexity of an RSW system. The price has meant that every last son of a gun with pots and a license has been out, much to the chagrin, I'd bet, of the Coasties on Cape D, watching over them. Little gillnetters and the like even. Makes me ill to think of, the water being what it is, this time of year most especially.

R has commented more and more in the past few weeks about stolen crab. Apparently there are unkind souls out there who pick others' pots. Which, when you're onto some crab, and you have two good 100 pot strings, and the string in between them comes up both empty of crab and empty of bait, you get around to suspecting you've been robbed. Since it's a small community that takes care of itself, I suspect that things might just a special way of sorting themselves out. From what I understand, there's also now a program for deckhands to testify in court on boats they saw picking pots not of their ownership. You have to identify the buoys and the boat, but that's no problem for a decent deckhand. And the reward is significant, some 5k per deckhand. (I told Russ he should be out there doodling in the Hans.) Seems like karma is an especially dangerous thing to screw with when you're dependant on the sea for both your living and your well-being, but there's always someone vying for a Darwin Award, isn't there?

Snapshots of the Holidays

The past few weeks have been such a blur that snapshots of the moments are all I think of.

• Knotting pearls and crystals till my hands were raw, riding as passenger in my car while R drove us to a family shindig. The pearls and crystals are (mostly) now necklaces, bracelets, and earrings for relatives.
• Horror and aggravation at the box-mailing store. S***, is shipping expensive or what. One million dollars, indeed. Some key gifts will simply not arrive on time. I'm annoyed with myself--it's not like I didn't know when Christmas was, same day every year. I think instead of knowing when Christmas is, I need to know when the LAST SHIPPING DAY before christmas is.
• R's voice. Suddenly, with the crabbers out on the water (mostly... they come ashore from time to time), he seems a bit momentarily lost. I hear from him far more often than usual. I think he's so used to being around a gaggle of people he's maybe missing the jibberjabber and calling me more often to make up for it. He's back on some recreational boat work, and will find his stride soon. The calls are lovely. Except, I wish I had more things of interest to say. It's been so many months of trying to edit what I could say, want to say, need to say, wish he could hear, down to only the very absolute most pertinent things, with a few random bits of jibberish to add some spice or entice a laugh out of him. Now I'm making lists of things to tell him about.
• Ice. And Freezing Fog. And the clear crisp nights with thousands of stars. It's colder than usual, this winter. It means less rain. But the driving is more difficult. Snow hasn't really made any serious appearances, knock on wood.
• Swearing like a sailor. The vessel I'm working on at work has been problematic in the latest software. Information on it was slow to come in from the NavArch, and there's been a lot of rework, which tends to get the software's panties in a wad. In the realm of Plate-That-Ain't-Flat, where I often work, I'm kinda the only de-wadder. In the realm of Plate-That-Is-Flat, someone else takes turns with de-wadding.
• Hot Pink Sequin Purses and Peacock Feather Earrings. My sense of humor as far as gag gifts are concerned seems to involve picking out gifts that I would have loved when I was 5 years old. More strange: the number of people in my life in their adult years to whom I could give these items, as regular gifts, and be spot-on.
• Random Acts of Kindness. In casual conversation, I told a person (co-worker) about an issue I was having with a personal tool I use on a regular basis at home. Mere hours later, he laid a solution on my desk. I am just a co-worker, perhaps a friend. But how nice to be thought of.
• Laughter from the Englund Marine guy. I had called to make an order, and asked to get our company's price, while keeping it off the company's tab (all of the invoices are e-mailed to R). Guy realized I was ordering parts on the sly for Christmas. Sneaky Wife Christmas Shopping. I do it a few times a year for various occasions, and they are always amused. Which makes me wonder, where else would a boatbuilders' wife shop? Where do other boat-widows shop?
• Elf-ery. The fiberglass table became the present wrapping station. A Friend with a Young Buddy in tow happened to visit last weekend, and Young Buddy was pressed into exuberant gift wrapping and detailing service. It was extremely productive--in fact, a lifesaver. Better, in a happy turn of events, Young Buddy was able to take care of his Christmas Shopping for his mom from my collection of hand-made baubles.
• Nesting and hope. A quietly proud of himself R took me upstairs to see the section of apartment he's been working on, here and there. In fact, I don't know if he had planned to show me, originally, except I had to go upstairs and get some boxes for jewelry gifts out of my stash, and lo and behold, there was a Wall, where there hadn't been one before. With a Door. I apologized for going up there and asked if I was supposed to stay away, or if he'd be giving Grand Tours? I don't think there will be more than a bedroom and bathroom, for now. And it will be some time before just that is all done. It's hard to see it come together and not get excited, although I'm so afraid of getting excited. I suppose I mean that if I get attached to an idea, and then it doesn't happen, it's depressing. Sometimes the feeling of Anticipation is the best part tho, so there are moments where things happen afterall and I find out I've cheated myself out of Anticipation.
• The Power of Suggestion. The Boatbuilder's Wife has a boat of her own, a nameless catboat. And she wants to see it float--in fact, promises were made to the previous owner. And while it appears I am bumped (FOREVER, it seems) from the paint room this winter (where there is heat, and therefore curing epoxy) I am trying to devise ways to forge ahead, however slowly, without being a burden, or adding stress. "So, I was thinking... maybe, I could get my new rudder prepped for epoxy, and then... if you happen to be glassing something else..." Suggestion is a powerful thing. He later mentioned a similar engine that was modified from raw to freshwater cooling, and threw the idea out that perhaps we could effect a similar modification. So... she's coming up in conversation. That's not so much a baby step as a wiggling of toes, but there it is.

The Night Before Crab Season

The Night Before Crab Season
Parody By: The Boatbuilder's Wife

Twas the night before Crab Season, and all through the town,
Every one was scrambling, there was no sitting down.
Crab pots were flying down down streets, bridges and docks
With great anticipation about Crab Season O'clock.

The bin boards were sorted and ready in holds,
And bait was chopped and loaded in spite of the cold;
And R with his toolbags, and I close behind,
Doing last minute fixes with what parts we could find.

When each engine on the dock started with roars of noise,
We jumped off the boats and said bye to the boys.
And Up the slippery ramp we flew like a flash,
Praying none of our friends would find rocks to bash.

Waiting at the South Jetty the moon was aglow,
Showing the fleet hurrying outbound, props churning below,
Under the gaze of their families, the wives, kids and dogs,
The small ships ran on, decks bulging with pots.

Each boat had a Captain, and a scurrying crew,
Still lashing down deck gear, battening hatches too.
By the scores they all gathered and approached buoy 10,
While Families ashore waved 'til they'd see them again.

Bye Katrina, hurry Nicole, and Cape St. James too,
Go Ballad, Cassandra Anne, be safe all of you!
Careful over The Bar! Watch out for those waves!
Hope electronics and hydraulics behave!

Heading out to sea in the shivering cold night,
Their decks glowed with work, deck lights shining bright.
As they each passed the jetties, small their lights grew,
And on each boat soon there would be so much to do.

Dear ones watched on as each ship crossed The Bar,
In search of Dungy crab, wether near or far.
A last phone call goodbye before out of cell range,
While freezing fog made things on deck look strange.

Wives and girls headed home, slept, and headed off to work,
Watching phones and weather, trying not to go berserk.
Soon the fleet will be home just as sudden as they left,
Holds full of more crab than the old cranes can heft.

Then R will spring into action, with more parts aready,
Fixing more items at the dock, as each boat holds steady.
I kissed R goodbye, aimed to Portland in flight,
"Happy Crab Season dear, but please sleep some tonight."