Category: flicka 20

Quiet Heart

3/14/22 Monday

This is my favorite place on the island. It looks right up the Strait of San Juan de Fuca to the Pacific Ocean. From here one can see the Olympic Mountains, Seattle, and Canada. Subjected to extreme weather, it knows fierce winds and strong current. Today it is quiet. The sun, clouds and sea slow dance together, a breathtaking display of light, shadow, and color.

Weather changes, life goes on. I work at my job, which is going well. I’ve been offered a better position and I’m taking it. I spend time with my son, he is 12 now. Yesterday I noticed a pimple on his nose. To him most things I do are lame and old fashioned, but he still likes reading together and for me to tuck him in bed. It’s amazing to be a part of his life as he grows older. I’m trying to buy a house which is ridiculous. It’s outrageous how much they cost these days, but I’m transitioning out of minimalism and would like more space. I’m getting back into surfing. I’m not as good as I once was but it still makes me happy. I’m seeing someone new. She’s a beautiful mom with wavy brown hair, and my new favorite pastime is listening to her tell me about her day as I trace my fingertips over her olive skin in the moonlight.

The sailing dreams are on hold as I navigate yet another phase of moving forward through life. I’m dedicated to being around as my son goes through school, so for now I’m trying to keep the passion for blue water boats under control. Walks around the marina are tough, but I know there will be another time, another time.

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This will be my last post. I’m going to keep the blog up, just in case someone who is going through tough times may get some use from it. There was a lot of pain. There was a time when I thought life was over, but in reality it was just life as I knew it was over. Waves roll through, clouds come and go. Walking barefoot across the sands of time, I’m still able to feel the sun on my face. I can still feel love. I look forward to days ahead, excited about new dreams, as the old memories become ghosts, lying at my feet like broken bits of driftwood. It’s all beautiful, and I am thankful.

Thanks to those who have commented and become friends from afar. Thanks to the fella named Stormy who inspired me to blog in the first place. I wish everyone well. I don’t give an eff about spammers so if anyone wants to say hi here’s my email: rainey1@yahoo.com

Spark

10/3/21 Sunday

There is no longer a tiny ship waiting for me. No sails to mend, no rigging to tune, no bottom to clean. I’m more efficient at work, no longer distracted by fretting about wind and tides, planning the next adventure. Chart #18441 (which covers the southern Salish Sea) has long since been rolled up, collecting dust in a storage unit at the marina. The sound of the bow crashing through waves, the risk of going forward untethered to clear a fouled jib sheet, and the satisfaction of bringing a sailboat back safely to a slip singlehanded are all memories now, fading quickly with time.

To pile on, summer is long gone. Darkness comes early these days, and a quiet gray is creeping in, subtle but persistent. I still go walk the beach sometimes, but the sand is cold, and now I wear shoes. The soles of my feet are becoming soft, muscles are disappearing, and my palms are pasty. Frankly I’m getting fat. The new Monday through Friday work routine is really sealing the deal, and this is having the same dulling effect on the inside. Slowly but surely life is becoming comfortable. The rainy days of autumn are quiet, peaceful in a way, thoughtful, and soft. The only new excitement is my Swedish friend.

It’s late at night, and the rain pitter patters on the window. My energy is spent. I lie on my stomach, legs loosely tangled in a sheet, staring at the flickering candle by the bedside. Her fingertips softly trace my body, like warm little raindrops down my back. Without a word she hands me something. It’s a birthday card, a card and a chocolate bar actually. The chocolate makes me smile, but the card is a stunner. It’s a tiny watercolor of a little yellow Flicka, with tanbark sails no less. As usual she’s really not aware of how much these little gestures mean. I say thank you (a lot), blow out the candle, and lie wide awake drifting on a sea of memories as she quietly drifts off to sleep.