For Auld Lang Syne

I wonder why I keep them?  Of course, I thumb through our old log books to get ideas for this blog but, as far as I know, Dwight has never looked at them and I'll bet he never will.


There are 6 logs in this house, the first one written in 1988. Then there is another log on board Echo in France, just waiting for some 2012 stories.

Puget Sound with Mt. Ranier looming nicely way back there

I suppose the real mystery is not why I keep old logs, but what I've managed to forget. How did we get lost bicycling through Vancouver's Stanley Park; what July 4th celebration with French locals dressed as British and American soldiers; how could I have forgotten all the engine trouble with Chapter III....every third or fourth log entry has a complaint about that motor coughing or smoking or stopping, and then there is the cryptic note in the Chapter III log that we were having trouble with Jeff. Who forged my handwriting, we've never had trouble with any Jeff!

Chapter III in a lock somewhere in France

Why do some scenes stick? If I remember the night our Cap'n Kitty fell overboard, a traumatic experience for all three of us, then why can't I remember the day another boat wanted to rescue us because we anchored our sailboat, Espejo, in the wrong place during a 48 knot blow. That must have been a little hair raising, too. I certainly do remember Cap'n Kitty bringing a live mouse into my bed one night but not that the cat smelled like a skunk. Must be true, the log says so.
  
And the places mentioned; where is Playa Chiquita or Jewfish Cay or Los Frailes and why can't I recall Misy sur Yonne?

We Three off the coast of Mexico

Ah well, I suppose I can put it all down to too many memories and not enough brain power, but I do treasure the many scenes that manage to float up through my foggy mind like cream on milk. A sleepy island in Puget Sound where the only noise was the crisp clip-clop of a deer's hooves as it crossed a macadam road; the night a very tired frigate bird tried to sleep in our rigging while we were sailing off the coast of Mexico; the morning smells of baking bread in small French towns, yum.

Cap'n Kitty aboard Chapter III watching the French countryside roll by

Then there are a few things I don't have to concentrate on remembering because they just don't change.  In one long ago log entry I complained that Dwight chose an unsafe spot to tie up making getting on and off the boat a bit dicey for our Cap'n Kitty. The same thing happened last summer with Echo....poor Yogi-dog!


So let's raise our glasses for a toast to the memorable, the unmemorable, the unchanging, the ever-changing.....to the New Year and to us.

The three of us high above Lake Tahoe, Christmas 2011