STERLING SAYS.

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea- "cruising," it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.


Sterling Hayden
The Beautiful Blonde Viking God 

Pierre, tickled and somewhat mischievous, eagerly passed on this curly blonde hunk's passage to me. We huddled down below at the satellite dock, and from the gleam in his eyes, I anticipated a valuable lesson. Like the impromptu charting lessons with the compass rose. Or the wild-eyed tales about my grandmother, his sister Emily.

Last night at my own "galley" table, I kept the company of Alex St. Claire, snow-making and trail extraordinaire. Over Coors and my perfect, slumbering Boo, we listened to the hysterical stories of Utah Phillips resonating with the strums of Ani Difranco and sat smug in our gratitude for how stinking lucky we truly are. For our town, our families, our hope for building our own cabins and meeting the loves of our lives; for our wealth of freedom and simple joys, our freedom to give up the world in the palm of our hands for the benefit of someone out there who is sure, and our capacity to ask why, like Socrates and inevitably receive peace of mind.

In the midst of a charmed evening, Pierre's reference came to mind and I excavated it from the mystical caverns of my travel diaries. I hope you enjoy and that you take a moment to REALLY know how lucky you are today.

Catail

FROM THE LAND OF.

Bourbon pumpkin pie.

Indian princess headdresses.

Snowy runs along the Snake. 

Home fires.

Woolen boots.

Sleeping pups.

Fast friends. 

Neighborly baking. 

Trumpeter swans.

Icicles. 

Ski legs.

Jazz on the mountain.

Christmas lights.

From the land of all of these things, I give thanks for you.
Tis the season to be merry and be wild.
Here is a song that I remember hearing over the open water.

Wild Child

Ever close your eyes

ever stop and listen

ever feel alive

and you've nothing missing

you don't need a reason

let the day go on and on

Let the rain fall down

everywhere around you

give into it now

let the day surround you

you don't need a reason

let the rain go on and on

Only take the time

from the helter skelter

every day you find

everything's in kilter

you don't need a reason

let the day go on and on

Every summer sun

every winter evening

every spring to come

every autumn leaving

you don't need a reason

let it all go on and on

FIRSTS.

First time using a jackhammer.
First time paragliding.
First time smoking pure tobacco.
First time holding a monkey.


These are a few that came to mind although there are many shocking more. 
Firsts are a big deal. Write yours down. Keep adding to the list. 

From the lover of all things foreign. 

DON'T WORK YOUR ASS OFF.

You've got a nice ass.


Try that neighborly advice over morning coffee, porridge, and puppies.

MEET BOO.

On Halloween, the puppy stork delivered an irresistible green eyed, German shorthair pointer. Baby "Boo" instantly built his home in my heart, and life's rolled on to a different drum ever since. Today we took a field trip to Aunt Rachel's country house on the West Bank.

To new beginnings and our eyes of the world,
Cat

EYES OF THE WORLD

Right outside this lazy summer home You ain’t got time to call your soul a critic no. Right outside the lazy gate of winter’s summer home, Wond’rin’ where the nut-thatch winters, Wings a mile long just carried the bird away. Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world, The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own. Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin’ brings, But the heart has its seasons, its evenin’s and songs of its own. There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away, And there follows his wagon behind him that’s loaded with clay. And the seeds that were silent all burst into bloom, and decay, And night comes so quiet, it’s close on the heels of the day. Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world, The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own. Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin’ brings, But the heart has its seasons, its evenin’s and songs of its own. Sometimes we live no particular way but our own, And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home, Sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone, Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own. Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world, The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own. Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin’  brings, But the heart has its seasons, its evenin’s and songs of its own.