Congratulations! You Got Twelfth!

Show No Fear!
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

It drives me absolutely nuts when I attend a children’s sporting event, and every single child present wins. I’m sorry, there is only one word that describes this situation: Bullshit.

Complete and utter bullshit.

Do not tell me that this is about improving the self-esteem of our children. You can not and will not gain self-esteem from some crappy piece of medal on a ribbon which you received for showing up. You will not, can not gain confidence and pride in self for just for having a pulse. The medal makes it worse.

I made the girls give theirs back.

Before you declaim me as the worst soccer mom in the history of the species, the girls were not terribly upset. Despite all societal convictions to the contrary, children are not stupid. They know that a medal received for showing up is a piece of crap not worth the energy used to stamp it. The only item worth keeping that day was the third place ribbon Jaime received for her three-hand reel. The girls were all happy to keep that one on the boat and put it up in a place of honor.

I do not know which idiot pop psychologist got on Oprah and convinced the rest of the nation we had to improve our children’s self-esteem through the distribution of nonsensical and pointless trophies. I would like to take that pinhead by the scruff and shake until his teeth rattle, his eyes glaze over, and he pees his pants.

Self-esteem is built by working your ass off and getting results. It’s earned by arriving to the contest, toeing the line, doing a really bad job, and failing to even place. Then it grows by going back to the drawing board, struggling and practicing and perfecting your craft, and returning to take fifth. Then repeating this over and over until some brilliant sunny day, your world opens up and you attain second or even first. If a child does this even once -- whether in Irish dance, swimming, or competitive lanyard weaving -- that child has learned what it means to succeed.

Do not protect children from failure, people. You are not doing them any favors. Believe it or not, children grow up. I can assure you that when that child gets to work and expects to be patted on the head for just showing up, things are not going to go well. In fact, you do not even get a medal for doing your job. You just get a paycheck. You only get a bonus or prize in the adult world when you work your ass off and go above and beyond the average. This is why we use the word “reward.” A reward is something you get for doing something special.

Call me cruel. Call it tough love. Call it supreme bitch Mom. Call it neglect. My children fail all the time. They fail at math, they fail at Irish dance, they make idiots of themselves on stage and they fall out of trees. They trip, and they make ugly pictures which we call ugly and sometimes they even make food so bad I throw it over the side of the boat. We don’t pretend it’s pretty when it’s not. We do not say it tastes good when it makes us gag. We do not tell them they are doing a good job when we can barely read what they’ve written. As parents of the 21st century, we probably suck.

But you ought to see these girls -- a more self-confident, energetic, charismatic bunch of kids you will have trouble finding anywhere. And I do say so myself.

Cutting the Lines
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

Almost as Fun as Watching Paint Dry

For those seeking all the details of the trip, we're copying our notes up to s/v Don Quixote's ship log. This is not a narrative and so has little to no entertainment value that I can perceive. However, we have received several messages from family and friends requesting more details on where we are anchoring and what we are doing.

I don't think my loved ones think I actually tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth in my own posts. Go figure. *cough*

The blog is a combination of entries from Dr C and myself. They will most likely appear in batches as we get fat wifi pipe to post them. You can also follow my tweets on Twitter and track where we've been via Google Maps. Both of these are displayed in brief on the sidebar of this blog as well.

That should about do it. Please let me know if I'm missing anything.

Hall Monitors and Meter Maids

Woo! Hoo!
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

It’s three in the afternoon, and we’re sailing north at about 5 knots towards Everett. This is only our third day into the cruising part of our cruising adventure. I’m feeling pretty smug and fine. Yes, it’s cold and miserable. It’s the Pacific Northwest. It’s usually cold and miserable. However, the girls are happily playing in their cabins, Dr C is practicing guitar, I’m listening to podcasts and helming the boat. And it’s a Wednesday. I think. I’m not even sure. Yes, I’m feeling fine.

Until the U.S. Coast Guard heads towards us out of the east.

At which point my heart beat increases, and a feeling akin to complete doe-in-the-headlights panic hits me. I start running through the check list of Coast Guard requirements for navigation on inland coastal waters of the United States at a rapid fire clip. These are fresh in my memory having just prepped for the Washington Boater Education Card. The problem is, I know for certain we are not fully compliant.

So let’s back up a bit. Complying with all the USCG rules is similar to complying with all the DMV rules. It’s a really really good idea, but the bottom line is that if a USCG/cop wants to find something wrong with your boat/car, there are always more things you could have and should have done. The trick is to do all the major and important bits, and then obey all the rules of the road so that there is no reason to stop you. Mind you, I’m not dissing either USCG inspectors or traffic police. It’s a traffic cop’s job to find stuff wrong, and they do a fine job. Mostly, they don’t want to bother finding little ditzel crap on your vehicle, they just want to keep you from driving like a complete idiot. Same with the USCG.

However, I am very aware of the ditzel crap that is non-compliant on our vessel. The most significant at this point is probably our hailing port. While we have the WA to convert Vancouver, BC to Vancouver, WA, we haven’t installed it yet. Nor have we actually yet changed our hailing port from Seattle to Vancouver. That’ll happen in August when we renew our paperwork. Another place where we fail our perfect inspection report objective would be with the heads. While we have the thru hulls to dump overboard zip-tied off, the USCG apparently wants something more permanent and incontrovertible to prove you aren’t occasionally sneaking out into the middle of a sloshy big bit of water and just letting your pants down -- nautically speaking.

On the other hand, these offenses are minor. Certainly, the small fines or hassle resulting from their discovery was disproportionate with the deeply panicked, utterly terrified feeling I experienced as I watched Authority zoom in on our craft. Han Solo reminded me to ‘sail casual’, and I did a quick scan of sails, instruments, course, and conditions to make sure that we looked like a big innocent white blob on the water.

Apparently, it worked. Alternatively, they might have -- like half the rest of the Puget Sound -- merely decided to do a drive-by-catamaraning. This is what the girls call the frequent custom of boats around here to go far out of their way to take a look at us. With multihulls in the absolute minority and big condo-cats like ours literally countable on your fingers and toes, we’re something of a curiosity. More likely, the Coast Guard wasn’t paying us the slightest attention.

It took awhile to calm down. It took another long while to figure out why I panicked. It isn’t the graphics on the transom or the poopy head. I have reason to fear Authority. They might catch us. We’re escaping and taking our kids with us. We’re skipping school, playing hooky, taking a personal day that may last several years long.

We’re being irresponsible.

We’re [cue ominous music] ... cutting.

Sail casual, Toast. You might even consider taking up whistling innocently.

East Marrowstone Beach
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

Fuel Efficiency

Siesta in Transit
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

Gas is expensive. Diesel is really expensive. Sailing is free.

I should have bumper stickers made. Sailing is free.

I love the irony of that statement. Let us remember it contradicts another favorite saying of mine, “Owning a sailboat in the Pacific Northwest is like standing in a shower and ripping up $100 bills.

However, as a cruiser, you really can start to take advantage of the freeness thing. It's not like you are in any great hurry to go anywhere, right? So if you pull out of the anchorage and the wind is only 6 knots, what the hell. Put up the sail and let the wind carry you towards your destination. Never mind that the resulting speed over ground is something less than a full trot for a chihuahua in a hurry to take a piss. This mode of travel earns you the privilege of smugly reducing your carbon foot print while you take in the sights.

Unless and until the children get bored.

Peels of laughter skating perilously close to hysterical rise from the children's hull where Aeron and Mera play some rather vigorous wrestling game in an attempt to keep themselves amused. There is roaring and growling and giggling and then a small blond head pops out of the hatch. “Are we there yet?” asks Aeron. “Yah!” screams the birthday girl Mera, “We're there, right?!”

Jaime at the helm is possibly the worst. “Oh god I'm bored. Omigod I'm so bored. I'm so bored. This is so boring. Wow. This is just... boring.” She leans on the wheel and stares bleakly through her sun glasses past the sparkling seas at the stunning vista complete with basking sea lions, green skyline, and distant sail boats. “Oh god I'm bored.”

A Way to Pass Time
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

Dr C, of course, is blissfully unaware of the mutiny brewing aboard. He's busy cutting holes in something. Or rebuilding something else. Or possibly changing some fluid or other.

Ten minutes go by, “Are we there yet?”

Um, well not yet. It's only a 3 mile trip today but at 2 knots per hour on a very broad tack the amount we'll have to travel over ground would just about take us to Canada if we straightened it out and went as the crow flies. It'll take us... let me do the math. Hold on a second.

Three hours. Omigod.

“Dr C, we really need to motor. We really need to motor,” I inform the captain. Saving fuel and money be damned. Get me to the shore on time.