Where The Action Is

There’s a little cafe where houseboat people go called the Bayside.

You always run into to someone you know and sometimes it feels 

like you’re on a meal plan. We like to go for breakfast on Sunday.

Sometimes I’ll go for lunch by myself if the work’s gone well and

sit at the counter where the action is, reading Bukowski, with Egger

for backup, eating my burger with fries. Today along the way I bought

a painting for my brother-in-law, who celebrated his birthday at the VA,

from van Bo a local brother with paint smeared glasses who was selling 

his art on the corner from the back of a borrowed truck before the sheriff

came and chased him away for no license, making us all a whole lot safer.

Me neighbor calls me, breathless . . .

“ There are two fat geese who have just landed on my float, exploring. Look out your window downstairs. Maybe you can take a picture!” I go downstairs where our windows are eye level with water. See the geese under the pier on our neighbor’s float, beautiful and magnificent exploring float island. Of course, geese wait for no one and as I reach for my camera one gently flaps into the water and floats on the shimmering green surface. I open the window, cup my hands and whistle, as I’ve done with seals and seagulls. The goose floats towards me. With no screen, I wonder, for half a second,  if it will try to board us. 

Once news of the magnificent visitors spread, naturally, everyone had to see . . . 

One Day While Growing up

 One day while growing up

I discovered that my son

had outgrown me. It seemed

only recently that I had carried

him on my shoulders, he in his

fireman’s hat, me & my brown

beard. But now he’s the one

with the brown beard

and yesterday he and his

girlfriend bought a couch

and loveseat for $75 for

their first apartment. And

I am left to wonder where the

time went and what happened

to my brown beard and who

placed this red hat

on my grey head . . .

Sometimes, the light

Reflections Inside and Out

Last night after a small party on the dock, after some wine, an old neighbor who walks with a cane and lives alone on a very rickety houseboat with narrow precarious planks for a gangway, fell in the water trying to board his boat. Two passersby saw him and pulled him out. He was calmly sinking, more worried about his hat floating away than drowning. Earlier in the evening at the party, another neighbor was talking about a similar incident with a different, older neighbor last winter. She said if she hadn't looked over her left shoulder at just that moment he would have died probably of hypothermia. Only his fingers gripping the dock and the top of his head had been visible. She got him out, got him back to his boat, into dry clothes. We hear of older people falling and breaking hips. Here on the docks there are different consequences to consider. Thank goodness for neighbors and quick acting visitors who respond with kindness, resolve, and care.

Just What I Needed

Felines of South Forty

"So, how did your cats handle the new houseboat?" she asked. I shrugged. "They made a few demands— four squares a day, the run of the wheel house, new titles: Captain & Commodore. I saw the light. They've adapted. Or I have. Depends on who you ask."

Joint Venture

I took a photo of the upside reflection of our neighbor Dennis' houseboat in the water, and sent it to him. He returned it with an added reflection of the reflection included. True collaboration, upon further reflection. I love these reflective moments and images here on the water. It gets us out of ourselves, allows us to see how what we say and do is reflected on other surfaces. Oh!

. . . because I'm a cat and you're not

Samson Post

My friend Neil tells me this is the perfect application for the bowline knot, temporary eye around a post. He says old wooden boats had two upright posts on the bow, like this bannister on our houseboat, strongest thing on the bow. Called 'em Samson Posts. Use to secure anchor or dock lines.

I tell him that's funny because I once knew a Samson Post back in the day. He played a little guitar down at The Temporary Eye, wore his hair long, liked to lift. Met a lady named Delilah, barber by trade, and it changed his life forever. Heard they tied the knot— a sheet bend, though some said it was a hitch or maybe square . . .

Slip knot, offered Neil, who'd obviously been there.

Coffee with Ivan Hoe and Friends

Early Evening On Our Roof

Sometimes I send a photo over to my pal Dennis and he sends it back with a touch of magic. It's like I handed him a prius fob and he handed me back the key to a jag.

Short Walk On A Long Pier

   Floating in the shadows of the Ferry where a famous master once zenned, lived a sippy monk on a tippy barge called The China Sea. Each morning he walked the planks with a satisfied shrug, then untied koans of kelpy line until noon. At lunch he played chess with the seagulls on a skiff, and at high tide, he paddled to the No Name where he drank beer and read Li Po until 2:00.  No books were written about him. No one came to his door. But his elegant wisdom glittered like sea glass on the ocean floor. Lifting a conch shell to his ear, he heard the whisper of the universe. And placing the shell to his lips, he answered its call.                                                  

Bowline Knot

My friend Neil is a man of the sea. He is teaching us a few knots which I find both practical and metaphoric. They help to hold valuables fast, to connect two lines as one, to keep us safe in our harbor. And when the time comes they allow for quick release. They are an ancient technology, a beautiful art form. This week Phyllis and I began each morning drinking coffee and practicing our bowlines. Next week, it's on to the clove hitch! 

The Difference Between A Groove & A Rut

Living with two cats on a houseboat teaches me many things. They love their routines - when they eat, when they sleep, a lot, where they sleep on the houseboat at certain times - one by the heater, one on the couch, one on Phyllis’ head at night, one curled up against my back. There is rhythm to routine - comfort, ease, flow. And this is true of me as well, when i am in my groove -writing and reading and exercising and teaching and editing and sharing coffee with Phyllis in the morning as we practice a new nautical knot or read a piece from the tao de ching. And I know, and the cats know that the difference between a groove and a rut is only two inches, the difference being that the cats never bother to measure. No need to calculate when you just know.

I Looked to The West

After a week of howling wind and pounding rain, we were drinking our coffee early yesterday morning and heard a new sound. I opened the curtains & went outside . . . silence!

Hero's R & R

In the morning I battle

evil and injustice and in

the afternoon I go to the

beach. It’s always good

to take a little break.

Gidge tells me she

can’t stand Henry –

can’t say why. I say

sometimes you meet

people in life who just

rub you the wrong way.

With me it happens most

every day – in person, on

the phone, at the green

market buying fruit. It’s

amazing. It’s why I do

what I do. It’s why I

walk on crunchy sand

when I’m through.