Like speaking to the ghost of my first lover

Let me explain. After showing my tech-savvy elder daughter a few things about Facebook during a visit, I had one of those “whatever happened to?” moments and chanced upon my first lover’s FB site. That led to what we call falling down the rabbit hole, in this instance this one where her photos and posts made me happy to see what appeared to be a good life … at least until getting to the point where she related that her husband had passed. Forty years together? Impressive. How was she holding up after the loss?

As I continued:

A lot has transpired since we last communicated, but I can say on my end much of it wouldn’t have happened had you not been so much a central part of my life way back when. You really did change my direction. Thank you for the positive things that followed because of that.

Should you want to know more or to just chat, fire back. Or peruse my profile or my blog for a sampling of what’s really been – and continues to be – a rich life, maybe more than ever. Yours, of course, is likely to be more fascinating. Best regards, all the same. Peace … 

Of course, I haven’t heard diddly.

No House of Lords

… the federal senate will never be able to transform itself, by gradual usurpation, into an independent and aristocratic body; we are warranted in believing that if such a revolution should ever happen from causes which the foresight of man cannot guard against, the house of representatives with the people on their side will at all times be able to bring back the constitution to its primitive form and principles.

James Madison in Federalist No. 63

All politics is local

Measures will too often be decided according to their probable effect, not on the national prosperity and happiness, but on the prejudices, interests and pursuits of the governments and people of the individual States. … The great interests of the nation have suffered … from an undue attention to the local prejudices, interests and views of the particular States.

James Madison in Federalist No. 46

Boon Island lighthouse

 

The 135-foot-high lighthouse, the tallest in New England, sits remotely on a treacherous, tiny island seven miles off the coast in York, Maine.

The rocky outcropping was the site of a 1710 shipwreck that left the stranded sailors resorting to cannibalism to survive the winter before their rescue.

The current cylindrical tower was built in 1855 after earlier ones had been washed away.

As one of the most remote lighthouses in New England, it has a wild history.

My first nights out on the water

sleeping with the ocean
a mere foot from my head

the ship at port / anchored creaks, lines grinding / groaning
I hear the neighbors either side
Intimately

have you read
a common topic so uncommon
elsewhere

“I’m dying to be a better reader”

like digging a hole
I like going to bed
or lying on a beach

back below, in my berth
I hear steady breathing a few feet away
only a thin wall separating our heads

her boyfriend’s in crab school

yep, they giggle
unlike the couple with Southern accents
from Florida

the knitting picked up again

I’m going to sleep
[I’m falling asleep]
and so is most of the rest

finally

how many times will I be up
in the middle of the night
the head’s up on deck

I’m glad it’s not raining
or heavily foggy

though we’re sleeping at sea
it’s calmer than a water bed

creaking and thumps
more likely my neighbors
than the interplay of planks and sea

yes, somebody’s bones

now, for that damned mosquito
or some scratching overhead

who just dropped what
on the deck above me?

a shutting door
with a latch
and shuffling

who’s securing the gear
in the dusk?

what a still, calm spot she’s chosen
for the night

3:30 am, a nearly full moon
scattering sound of steady traffic
the other side of Isle au Haut
(the south)
may simply be the water motion

there’s definitely surf other side,
slight breeze, 1 mph?
to the west

can barely see Polaris
light cloud cover

only one plane overhead
on the European flight way

and the flash of a fishing boat
light array
in the gap of Deer Isle

what’s all the noise around me tonight
besides a stray cough
or zipper

are we really that restless

I have no idea what the Patriots
or Sox
did over the weekend
though they’ve been spiraling downward

light snoring in my ear last night

I had the most erotic dream
of someone who in reality was almost well

This could become obsessive.

No time for extended deliberation

Of all the cares or concerns of government, the direction of war most particularly demands those qualities which distinguish the exercise of power by a single hand. The direction of war implies the direction of the common strength; and the power of directing and employing the common strength, forms an unusual and essential part in the definition of the executive authority.

Alexander Hamilton in Federalist No. 74

Full sail!

The evolution of the surviving coasting schooners from freight to a summer vacation platform where people could get a taste of what had previously been available only aboard the yachts of the rich is largely credited to Captain Frank Swift and his efforts from 1936 to create what he saw as a kind of dude ranch escape on the waters of Penobscot Bay.

In time, other owners joined in.

Notably, in 1973 Captain John Foss purchased the Louis R. French and removed her from the freight trade. He spent three years restoring the vessel to her original sailing condition and outfitting her hold for passengers. Oh, my, did he!

In 1986, he sold the schooner to his brother-in-law, who sailed and captained the French out of Rockland and then Camden until she was purchased from by Captain Garth Wells in 2003, who in turn sold to Captain Becky Wright and Nathan Sigouin. Maybe “passed her on” would be a more apt description.

Meanwhile, the already legendary Foss turned his attention to renovating the American Eagle, which he purchased in 1984. It’s now one of the few schooners that undertake longer voyages to places like Grand Manan Island near me or down to Gloucester on Cape Ann, Massachusetts, in addition to venturing offshore looking for whales.

At first, those names meant little to me. Now, however, I understand why they’re often uttered in reverential tones.

first, flapping fabric as wind kicks in
then a surge at my seat and flooring
like riding a stallion
muscular under the saddle