My Aloha Forever

I have printed this before. However in honor of Jim Dorton day today, here it is again:

Aloha means hello and goodbye.  It means “love to you”.  My husband inscribed “My Aloha Forever” inside my wedding ring.  Although it is the most commonly heard Hawaiian word, it is always spoken from the heart.  Everywhere in Hawaii, everyone you meet will smile and say “Aloha” to you.

This is a story about a man who lived aloha.  My husband Jim was a sailor, an adventurer, a storyteller.  He was stout, had rosy cheeks and a colorful vocabulary.  When you were with him there was never a dull moment. He was always the life of the party.  He was a wild man but the smile in his eyes told you he was a guy with whom you could be yourself. There was nothing pretentious about him. 

We never had much money and we were never interested in material things.  Nor did we lack for much, for in giving we received much in return.  I couldn’t have asked for a more loving man in my life.  We spent 21 wonderful years together.  He was always there for me, and always there for a friend in need. He was a kind and generous man. 

Standard daily men’s wear in Hawaii consists of colorfully printed short-sleeved aloha shirts, usually worn with shorts and Hawaiian “slippers”, or flip-flops.  All the Hawaiian aloha shirt designs tell a story of some kind.  Jim loved his extensive collection of aloha shirts. He had more aloha shirts than my entire wardrobe of work, play, warm and cold weather gear combined.   It would have taken him a two month stretch to wear all of his shirts.  It was quite fitting that Jim cherished his aloha wear, he was a man full of love.

In 2004, Jim’s weight dropped from 220 lbs. to 135 lbs. Our worst nightmare was confirmed with the diagnosis of a rare incurable cancer and ensuing surgical removal of half his insides. Even in his weakest state his generosity never waned.  When his friends visited him he would disappear into our bedroom briefly and return to the living room – big smile on his face - with one of his aloha shirts.

“Here, my friend, I’d like you to have this, I’ll never grow back into it,” he’d say.

Jim’s disease eventually consumed him and he passed away in February of 2006.  After two years of caring for my life partner, my soul mate, I was devastated.  Life wasn’t fair and I was angry.  After trying to hold down my full time job and be his caregiver, I was so exhausted and sad; I was not sure whose adrenaline I was running on.  I had kept a brave face for Jim.  He was so strong. 

As his life neared its end, he specifically asked me for an ash scattering on the catamaran FAIRWIND and a wild drinking bash in his honor afterwards.  Many of our friends used to be Jim’s drinking buddies, but most of us had long since quit.  Jim’s last requests would be granted however.

I was struggling to organize his services when it occurred to me to give all of his aloha shirts to those who attended.  I thought it would be beautiful if everyone donned his clothes.  I knew he’d be present at that party and I thought he’d enjoy it. 

When our family and many friends flew in from the mainland, I told them how Jim had been gifting his shirts during to visitors and loyal local friends.  I said if wasn’t too weird for them it would please me if each of them chose one of his shirts to keep.  I added a stipulation: they would have to wear it to the celebration of his life.  In one way I could creatively clear out the closet; but much more importantly, it seemed an excellent channel to continue to spread his love and keep his spirit alive. 

The ash scattering had its sad moments.  I was too choked up to say what I had planned.  I had to delegate most of the program.  It was awesome and though tears were shed, Captain Danny led some elegant prayers in Hawaiian to properly send Jim back to his beloved ocean.  His friend Chip performed a beautiful reading of “I must go down to the sea again...,” it was perfect.  I don’t know how that poem found me. I also located a Fijian chant that brought back memories of Jim’s and my greatest adventure: sailing from Hawaii to Samoa, Tonga and Fiji, and I added that to the ceremony. 

I tossed some of his ashes into the sea, when an idea hit me. Why not invite everyone to throw ashes?  It is not traditional in an ash scattering, it may even be inappropriate.  I threw all caution to the wind.  It was Captain Jim we were dealing with.  He was neither traditional nor appropriate!  We all threw loose flowers into the sea to guide his spirit, and that was protocol.  But everyone joined in the throwing of the ashes as naturally as if they were flowers.  You could see his spirit take shape and flow into the deep.  It was at once beautiful, sad and enlightening.  We blasted a CD of his favorite rock and roll tunes and poured a champagne toast to a smooth and happy sailing for Jim’s next adventure.  From that moment you’d never have guessed it was a funeral.  We dried up our tears and turned them into laughter.  Even I was laughing.  I had barely smiled in two years, but there I was having fun.  Granted, it took some champagne to find that first smile, but soon enough my hysteria turned into hysterical laughter.  Maybe I’d survive the ordeal after all.

At first I was shy about mentioning the shirt idea.  People might think I was crazy.  Upon second thought, I decided Jim had inspired me and if anyone thought it was morbid he wouldn’t have to participate.  Au contraire.  I folded and neatly arranged the shirts on the bed before I’d invited the guys in to choose.  It was like Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving.  Shirts were flying everywhere.  Like any great sale, they ended up strewn about; the numbers dwindled quickly.  Jim’s oldest and wildest childhood friends went straight for his absolute favorite shirts, though they hadn’t been to Hawaii in years, and likely hadn’t seen him wear any of them.  Walter had four shirts on his pile but I didn’t have the heart to stop him.  He was always Jim’s ‘brother’.  I could see the appreciation in the “WOW!” on his face.  He immediately put on Jim’s favored faded purple shirt and wore it every day he for a week. 

            The shirts went so fast I scurried into my bedroom to find his t-shirts and hats I was going to keep. When Jim worked for months at sea and visited ports without me, he always brought me unique artifacts and collectibles, so I would have great memories of him.  I brought out the rest of his t-shirts, hats, and lava-lavas (Hawaiian men’s sarongs).  They disappeared in minutes. 

I could feel Jimbo smiling.  I was amazed at his friends’ reactions when they chose their remembrances of him.  I didn’t feel weird at all.  In most cases, they were able to find items reminiscent of special times they had shared with him.  Old Man Tom, at 84, flew in from California.  He had remembered to bring the Pussers Rum cup Jim had given him 20 years earlier when Tom visited us in the British Virgin Islands.  The old bugger had just recovered from a heart attack and a stroke, but he drank straight Pussers Rum in his new aloha shirt and fishing hat until 3am.  What a trouper.  He was the ideal example of Jim’s fine long-lasting friendships. 

Several months later as I write this I recognize our friends in town by his shirts.  Others email or call to say, “I’m wearing Jim’s shirt (hat, jacket, shorts, shoes, watch, foul-weather gear, etc.) today and I wanted to tell you I was thinking about you both.”  I look at the photos from the celebration and see all those shirts.  And I smile.  I see people hugging, laughing, some of them crying.  When I think about what we went through I still cry, mostly because I had to hold in the hurt while he was ill.  But when I see everyone wearing all of his things it is like a great Jim Dorton masquerade party. I especially like the photos from late that night when we were all notably looped. They make me laugh. They are filled with much aloha.

I gave away all of his clothes except for his slippers.  They still sit outside the front door, Hawaiian style.  They belong there.  Inevitably when one of my brothers or a friend visits they’ll forget to bring theirs.  Jim can still lend them his as he always did. 

I’m glad Jim inspired me to pass on his things that day.  As long as the threads hold together his tales will be told.  This is one small way I hope to keep his legacy alive; as his aloha spirit has traveled far.  People had often said of Jim, “He’d give you the shirt off his back,” and he did, all of them. He gave us his aloha forever.

Remembering Jim Dorton

"Sea-Fever"

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

"Yo no soy marinero, soy capitán, soy capitán...."  That was my Jimmy. Seaman, Captain, Marine Surveyor, funny guy, story teller, adventurer....to name a few of his talents. 

He loved tall ships.  He sailed interisland Hawaii on the remake of the SS Endeavor and climbed the masts of tall ships at every opportunity.  Either he was a tall ship sailor in a former life or his appreciation and knowledge of the world of boating enticed his interest.   After he passed away, six years ago today, I tried to continue to live in Hawaii, but that was Jim's paradise.  I found it to be too difficult, faced with memories everywhere I went and with everyone I spoke to. Of course there were lots of good friends and happy memories too, but I couldn't see them through the cloud of grief in which I was immersed.  When I came to Mérida to look for a house a year later, in my paradise -  the Yucatán - this house was the third one I looked at.  The hand painted tile(s) above hang proudly in my carport.  I leaned against the house, thinking about it, and a piece of the house fell into my pocket. Then I noticed the tiles. I decided that Jim must have picked out this house for me.  Search over, let's sign the papers.

Jim loved México, it was our first topic of conversation when serendipity struck us. He loved adventure and travel, and so did I.  During our twenty plus years as a couple, we accomplished more than some people do in an entire lifetime.  We sailed around the Hawaiian Islands together. A few times. We sailed from Hawaii to Swains Island, American Samoa, Western Samoa, Tonga and Fiji with two good friends of his, the crazy brothers Eric and Mike. He drove tourists on sailboats for sunset and whale watching sails, took private sail charters, did a lot of boat repair and building with his good buddy Rusty on Oahu.  He and I taught diving and he drove boats in Maui, Kona, Fiji, British Virgin Islands....and he had the opportunity to sail to Fiji and Australia to help a sailor friend, plus two trips through the Panama Canal with good friend Dave.  On the first time through, he was on a 64 ft yacht. They were side tied to another sailboat. As they went through the locks, the other yachtie somehow got his boat going around in a circle, so Jim, Dave and the unknown couple went through the entire canal backwards.  Stern to!  I wasn't there for that adventure but I saw the photos.  Hilarious. But successful.

We didn't meet until we were in our 30s. Neither of us had been married or had children, other than me and the cat I dragged to Hawaii from Akumal, México.  He was a loving husband and mate.  He was my best friend. He was my soulmate.  And I thought we would live happily ever after.  

We struggled financially throughout all of our years together because we preferred fun jobs to 'the grind'.  We only worried about money when we wanted to hit the adventure trail...then we worked our asses off for it, sold all our stuff, and away we went.  We started over more than once in a new home, on a new island, with all new (used) stuff.  I loved my life with Jim.  I think about him all the time, I still talk to him.  I have his 'treasure chest' here with a few of his favorite things, and what I have left of his physical self, a few of his ashes.  

He died about this time of day. I miss him.

Jimmy, I will always love you.  But life must go on and I must survive.  For you. For us.  In all my travels I have never met another person like you!  You are missed by many and loved by many more!

Happy New Year

I've been so lapse at blogging lately that I just noticed Blogger changed the entire format.  When I sat down to blog and load photos a week or so ago, I didn't recognize my own page.  Not to mention I wanted to add photos and was unable since they are not online in a Picasa album. That pissed me off, so I downloaded my photos from my hard drive to Picasa. That took forever since I am a photoholic.  Then I lost my ambition to write.

My procrastination was caused in part by my heavy holiday workload, and in a bigger part by the nasty flu/cold going around that has befriended me. I think I got this thing in December, went through some heavy antibiotics, felt better, and then it came back.  Maybe since everyone in the house got it (with the exception of one person who got dengue fever instead) we are passing it back and forth and it's seemingly ours forever.  I hope not. I am currently awaiting the day I wake up and feel TERRIFIC.  (Waiting for Godot?)

The weather is strange this winter. We had a few fresh 28°C (82°F) days so far, and nights down to 18°C (64°F). This week the daytime temp is hovering around 33°C (91°F) and nights still 18°C....in late January! The facts that the air is so humid, we live in rock houses with cement floors, and our blood is used to a daily dosage of 105°F days and 95°F nights from March to October, mean that when the first northerly front blows in we'll freeze and all get sick.  There have been relatively few northerlies; instead we have warm tropical air traveling northward and the weather is perfect.  I don't mind the cool nights, in my cocoon, as long as the temp doesn't dip into the 50sF I'll be alright with winter this year.  But I miss the pool.   

This year we emptied the pool for the winter because it was just a lot of extra work and chemicals trying desperately to get the water to a usable temp.  We can heat up the pool during the day with the solar panels and the hot sun itself, but it cools down to ground temperature over night. It is a losing battle.  This means that this year we are going to fix and paint the pool before refilling it in March. 

I'm a little confused by the weather. I think back to pre-dawn January of the past few years and remember wondering if I'd freeze to death before I could hit the bathroom and climb back into my hammock cocoon. This year so far has been different.  I may be speaking too soon about the weather, it's only mid January, so you may hear from me again about this topic. Like when the first real cold front dips down into our territory. Enough about non-weather.

Here is one more pic of the cuties we babysat for a couple of months in Oct and Nov...and a little of Dec.  They are now safely ensconced in their loft in NYC.  From what my friend Janet tells me, they are living happily ever after. Their stay made the others here very jealous. My cats started marking territory inside the house.  In fact, I saw Buster spray for the first time in 13 years.  Moka still has to do routine inspections in the kitties' old room to make sure they have not returned, or any other cute little buggers like them!

Requiem to Weasel.  Yes, he deserves his own obituary page, but I'm trying to consolidate this cat stuff a bit.  He was having troubles with our cats before we took on kittens, but then it was Buster and Busmo that decided the white one with balls must go.  I don't know if they ran him off, if something happened to him, or what.  He was sitting on a pillow next to me for months, as if I were the only safety he had.  Then one day he didn't come back.  Who knows what happens to these cats that so often go missing?  Weasel was really sweet and I miss him.  Not like I miss Mokito, but something was fishy about his disappearance too. They were buddies and I miss them both.

This photo of Busmo came out in such a way that you can see how HUGE he is when comparing his FOOT to our foot long remote control! He has taken his role of security guard very seriously and has some nasty bite marks this week to show it. We have another intruder.  The neighborhood ferals see this operation and want in. The housecats have decided the club is closed.

Here's Buster with his best friend Cuate.  They are the oldest neutered males and they are great pals. They travel together.  Safety in numbers if for neutered cats I guess. Buster is close to having his 14th birthday!  He would rather be my only cat, but he likes his girlfriend Moka, and I think he secretly likes the rest of the commando.  He is staying closer to home these days, as he approaches his older and wiser years, and letting young Busmo do the fighting for the cause.

Not much info in this blog. It's a hello I'm still here kind of post.  Hello, I'm still here.  Doing much of nothing except when working.  I promise myself, no resolution or it's a lost cause, to write every day.  So far I have not done that, but today is a new day and I have written something here! 

¡Feliz Navidad! Merry Christmas! Joyeux Noël!

¡Feliz Navidad!  Merry Christmas! Joyeux Noël! 

Happy Holidays.  They snuck up on me again. Is time going faster or is it just me?  We broke out the decorations a couple weeks ago, Lindasita gifted the tree, I painted names on our stockings - we had just the right number, and set some decorations around. In the photo below are some noticeable memories.  The white teddy bear is from 1992.  My friend Maxine gave me a bear every year. The other two little bears sitting on the dais are also gifts from Max that I display every year. The angel on top is the only one I have remaining from an angel making phase I went through living in Hawaii. It is made from the sheath of the split-leaf elephant ear philodendron.  I made thousands of little woven angels. I know you  are supposed to put the tree topper on last, but I saw her and had to put her in her place. 

This is the tree as we were just getting the lights up on it, but the photo shows the display of the stockings and basically, almost 100% of the house decorations!  The only things missing are the tree decorations!

 This Nativity scene was my Mom's, she bought it on her trip to Italy with my brother Jay and his family.

 Stockings: El Comando de Gatos, Pablo, Lin

 Marsha, Don, Lynn

This little gnome has never been a gnome to me. He reminds me of Jim's and my close friend Rusty, a great friend of mine for the past 26 years.  Jim always put this ornament up every year in honor of his friend Rusty.  Rusty is doing well and lives in Oahu, Hawaii.  I hope he sees this picture, he'll get a laugh.

That's all folks!!!  In other words, that is all I have done about Christmas.  I took on all the extra work I could so we could enjoy Christmas as well as continue our beach project.  I think I had one day free in the past nine days, but NOT being a retired pensioner, I'm considering myself lucky to have work as well as the chance to pick up the extra hours.  In today's world, I think seizing the moment is definitely a positive approach to an unknown future.

Besides my heavy work schedule my health did not assist me to make any Christmas progress.  I caught a nasty cold/flu that knocked me off my feet.  I felt a few symptoms for a few days, and then WHAMMO it hit me like a ton of bricks. Pablo carted me off to a doctor and a week later I am JUST getting both physical energy and brain power back.  Whew! And to think that my flu shot this past year hasn't even expired yet! This was, is - I should say, a DOOZIE (as my mom would so aptly describe it.)

So here I am on the night of the 20th having done nothing at all for Christmas.  Not that I have that much I plan to do.  I am not the one in the household throwing a Noche Buena (Christmas Eve) dinner/party, so I don't have to worry much about that.  (I work all day that day.)  Nor can I help much on clean-up day, Christmas, as I accepted even MORE work that day.  Boxing Day is nice to celebrate.

I'm not thrilled to be a last minute shopper, my enjoyment of giving gifts used to be the shopping itself, which I would do thoughtfully and early in the month. What's more, I haven't 'shopped' for gifts in years, since I prefer to make my Christmas gifts. Needless to say I have not had the time nor mind to spread crafts around the house.  Unprepared I am today, but I have a few days off, and at Christmas miracles often happen.

Here is the finished tree! Decorated and already droopy because I forgot to water it when I was sick and working.  We like it. It smells like Christmas.

Will the Cat Stories Ever End? Whadda U think?

Here are the two little angels we've been fostering in their super kitty bed, Guera (above) and Mimi (below). In one my last cat blogs, we had the surprise kitten thrown in the carport.  That little darling was taken to Planned Pethood and adopted.  So what's new enough in OUR cat commando to have to report again so soon? 

The following week someone threw ANOTHER young kitten into the carport.  This one was younger, a calico with a lot of black and brown and very little white, had a sinus infection, and didn't come from a family who was tired of her. She was more feral but not afraid of me; she seemed to think I was her mom. It was a wild couple of days with that one around, she did have to stay in the outside bathroom, but I fixed her up with food,water, catbox, blankets, attention and set the Vicks Vaporub jar near her to help her congestion.  She was a sweet little kitty, AREN'T THEY ALL? Dammit! Someone decided to make it my problem.  Maybe the neighbors don't realize our cats are fixed and that these cannot be our kittens that they find in the neighborhood! How's that for optimism?

I had to turn to Mimi the cat rescuer. She came to bail me out again, and because the kitty was gentle and catbox trained, she took it to Planned Pethood where she received treatment and was expected to be a good candidate for adoption.  Again, thanks to Mimi for taking that adorable but impossible little problem out of my life.

Meanwhile, the little sisters have grown considerably these past two months. They learned how to open their bedroom door when they were ready to expand their territory.  They are smart and paid attention. They learned a lot from the bigger cats. We had a person arrive to stay in the kittens' 'old room', and we moved them out into a larger running space.  They now occupy the dining room, living room, and kitchen. Basically all the common areas in the house.  Our commando is allowed out into the living space, but we have to keep all screen doors well shut because the little buggers are now ready to explore the outside. That is not part of the owner's plan.  I am an open door person and I have to think twice about closing doors behind me.  Same with Pablo. But so far so good.  Our cats enjoy watching the kittens play, and so far they are all able to get along.  Moka and Buster are the most jealous, since they take my attention from them.  Not to mention we had a group meeting, humans and cats and decided the commando was already too large and no one else can be admitted.  The cats are doing a great job on outsider cat security.  But I have not done my part on interior security.  I still cater to two adorable little darlings whose photos I now like to take. Here are some pics.  In just another couple of weeks these kittens will be moving to a new home.  Their experiences here have taught them quite a bit about other cats, kittens, humans,.....by the way they are not so afraid of humans anymore!  Talk about a full house!

the favorite toy

 this is how the other cats drink water, cool!

Bits and Pieces: Message in a Bottle

10^th Day at sea, located approximately 1000 miles south of Hawaii in the Pacific Ocean.

June 16, 1990

Our 38ft. trimaran planed, skimming the water’s surface; rare brisk winds moved us along at a fast pace.  The guys said we made 200 miles that day.  It was one of our best days yet.  We were in the ‘doldrums’, the area from 5°N across the equator to 5°S.   An area known for its prevailing stillness. 

On that day I decided to cook spaghetti and sauce for dinner.  To cook below decks in a galley where the gimbaled stove swings back and forth, the cook has to stand on bended knees to move with the rhythm of the ocean while keeping his or her balance.  If he fights the movement, he accomplishes no crew dinner and ends up seasick.  It’s important to roll with the flow, to stay loose and think about dancing.  The ingredients slide back and forth on the counter spaces.  It is a patience-requiring, time-consuming task. It’s not so much a multi-task as it is an octopus task, wishing one had more arms to catch the items rolling out of reach.  

I wanted to spiff up the Ragu with not only fresh onions and garlic, but with some of the dried green peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes, oregano, etc., that I’d dehydrated for the trip.  Preparing dinner that day was my main project, and merits its own paragraph because it’s a complicated process to complete this important task, one which has to be done two or three times a day.  People often ask, “What do you do all day at sea on a long voyage?”  This is one function landlubbers don’t consider.  We work for our supper at sea.  Cooking meals is just one example of essential tasks that consume time during an ocean crossing.

We decided to drink one of our family-sized bottles of wine with our dinner, but we got carried away celebrating our crossing the equator and zipping through the doldrums.  We ended up drinking both Costco sized wine bottles. That’s when we had the bright idea to send out messages in the bottles.  We were completely toasted so it was a crude operation.  I wrote down who and where we were, the date, including our names and our PO Box in Kona, Hawaii.  In hindsight it would have been smart to empty the bottles, dry them, and then insert notes.  But in our state of inebriation we scrolled our notes and dropped them into the dregs of the red wine.    We corked them, tossed them, and forgot about them; other than the notes I’d documented in my journal. 

We threw our messages in the bottles into the South Pacific ocean approximately 1200 miles south of Hawaii.  Many a sailor before us had followed this age old tradition.  For the most part, once the fun of throwing the bottle into the ocean has passed, it is quickly forgotten, and no results are usually expected.  But many a bottle has been found. 

November 21, 1991
Kona, Hawaii

Sorry for the time jump, but the unexpected happened.  Seventeen months and five days after tossing the bottles in the ocean, over a year and a half later, a letter arrived in the mail from the South Pacific Country of Vanuatu.  Two cousins had found our message in a bottle.

Maybe you have seen Survivor: Vanuatu and have seen how outback it is.  It is located in a cluster of island groups northeast of Australia and New Zealand.  The official language is Bislama, although most people speak some French and/or English.  Rather than do a cultural write-up of the country I'll let the photos below show you what life looks like where one of the bottles washed up.

The letter was from one of two cousins, Patrick and Setla Simon, who found our bottle with the message.  They live in the southernmost part of the country on a small island Named Maskelynes, off the island of Malekula.  Their first letter to us was as follows:

Dear Sir (Hello)

My name is Setla. I live in a very small island. Yes friend I’ve already found the bottle. Inside the bottle there is a piece of paper or a small note.  Inside it you’ve wrote all your names, phone number and box number. I can’t read the whole thing because half of the note has been torn up, but anyway I try my best to read and understand it. There are some names but I cant see clearly so I want you to write back and re-write the whole passage again. I found the bottle with the note on this date. (Tuesday the 5^th November 1991)

Write back to me with this address. Never change any spelling.

Mr. Setla Simon

Pelongk Village

Maskelynes Island
South Malekula
Vanuatu

Thank you very much for your great attention! Bye, Setla

 We sent them an underwater disposable camera and asked them to take photos of themselves, where they found the bottle, and their family, which happens to also be their village.  They took the pictures and sent back the camera.  We continued to write back and forth until their requests got to be more than we could manage.  When the entire soccer team needed uniforms and shoes, they sort of stopped writing when we sent them a care package but not full of sporting equipment.  It would be incredible to visit them one day.  By now they are grown men with kids of their own, I would imagine.  Fishing and combing the lagoons.  I should write them a letter and see what’s new in Vanuatu.  At last report many yachts were visiting their area, thus they have become more anglicized, but I imagine it is still quite the peaceful little fishing village it always has been.

This is the mangrove where these guys found the bottle. The bottle traveled about 1,000 miles farther than we did on our sail trip.  We only sailed as far as Fiji.

Patrick and Setla, cousins, our new friends in Vanuatu. Yes, they loved the sunglasses and new flip flops.

A photo of their village from out on the boat, taken while fishing. They sent us pics of the fish they caught, the cleaning area, the drying palapa.

The family standing in their village posing for their first ever family photo.

Buds and Butterflies, Bits and Pieces

Buds and butterflies:  The mamey branches are flowering up again.  This morning I photographed a few beautifully bright orange butterflies (not monarchs) feasting on the seasonal blooms.

Bits and Pieces:  One of my main objectives living here is to finish writing....well, to finish writing SOMETHING, but primarily a travel adventure tale about the sail trip I was part of in 1990.  My husband Jim and I were invited to sail from Hawaii to Fiji with a sailor friend from San Diego and his brother on their boat.  We traveled on a 38 ft. trimaran, or triple hulled sailboat, for three months.  There is so much to this story that I have decided to try an experiment.  I want to post some of my writing. I have taken a new approach to just write about any day or experience and not try to write chronologically.  I am hoping that threatening to post these stories gives me the initiative to pick up that pen and paper every day, if just for a little while, and blog more often, even if I'm just telling sea stories.

It's more interesting than gossip, religion or politics! And so much less stressful!

Tomorrow I plan to post the first installment of BITS AND PIECES. Hope it works out! For all of us.