Nothing matters when we're dancing.
So..
Two weekends ago I saw some amazing people I haven't seen in over a ear, caught up on each others' lives, and reopened a couple windows in my head, windows I'd shut tight because of experiences, yada yada. And now I miss the Lady Washington, and my semi-plans of tripping to Maine this summer to play on a windjammer or some sort have changed a bit. Goddamn boats. Say what?!
Anyhow, the summer is coming ridiculously quickly, and I'm nearing panic-mode of HOLY CRAP I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING YET, BUT I'VE SPENT THREE MONTHS DOWN HERE AND HAVEN'T DONE MUCH, MY SCHEDULE WITH SCHOOL AND A WEDDING IS OBNOXIOUS, AHHHH.
Uh, yeah. Because that freak-out helps.
So I decided to send out a bunch of resumes, and focus on the other Really Big Thing in my life.
Music.
Skraeling, the amazing Irish band from Toronto, has taken ahold of my eardrums. Brilliant music. Jaw-dropping talent. Playing every night for a week through St. Patrick's. Not only an excuse to escape to my favorite bar, but also to escape from the Spring Breakers. (Hurrah for Finnegan's being "all the way across the island" from Duval Street.) And did I mention here was good music? And the dancing. Oh god, so much dancing, close your eyes, escape in the movement, nothing else matters, dancing. (Of course, my commendation on my dancing abilities from Keith went something along the lines of, "For the record, when she dances, Elan is the world's biggest dork. It may be the cutest thing I've ever seen that didn't involve kittens.")
There's just something really incredibly freeing and exhilerating about dancing.
Except it means many many late late nights, and OH GOD MY LEGS FEEL LIKE JELLO I CAN'T EVEN RAISE THE STAYSAIL mornings.
But so worth it.
To make it better, one of my itty-bitty, resolutions was to live for the beauty in the day-to-day. The clouds and the moon. The green of leaves. The flowers as they each bloom. Not just the natural, either, but the romance of the Island's eccentricities. And last but not least, those singular moments when Fate is agreeing with this very moment, when nothing could be better. Take the two hours various crews from Liberty, Hindu, and Appledore spent sailing on Appledore, listening to Skraeling play. One of the best sails I've experienced in months, surrounded by friends and music. Or curled in a hammock on the beach with the wind whipping past us and the waves crashing gray and foamy. Perfection in its simplest forms.
Luckily, most of the insanity one can imagine that comes along with celebrating St. Patrick's on a drinking Island happened two days before (including a free concert with Kenny Chesney -who?- at Sloppy Joe's), on Saturday, so the Spring Breakers were still either too hungover or corraled to the mainstream bars to bother with the real St. Pat's.
Not only was Mr. Chesney here, but Alan Jackson's fishing boat, as well as his yacht, have been in town the past few days, and Jimmy Buffet was rumored to be in town. Please do not run at me with your groupie Sharpies, because I couldn't pick out any of the three in a crowd if you paid me.
Spring is most definitely here. And by that, I mean, our cold fronts are no longer a cold 65-degrees-and-windy-front, but are slightly-less-hot-but-windy-fronts.
There is much drama to be had on the boat, but it is only a swift kick in the bum telling me I need to get back to freak-out mode.
Cue the last twelve hours.
I've got a possibility in Rhode Island and Martha's Vineyard, but I've kind of been holding out for something else, so I called the Captain of the replica Nina and and Santa Clara (yep, Columbus' boats. Nina sails around the US, Santa Clara daysails in the Cayman Islands.) to check up on my emails with their office, and after they transit across the Panama Canal they will be needing crew, for get this... Tall Ships '08! Eeep! He's happy with my resume, laughed at my [bad] jokes, and told me to keep in touch. (This is so perfect. A traditional square-rig, Tall Ships, and seeing British Columbia and all over the West Coast!)
Craig brought his boat down from Islamorada yesterday, so he finally accepted my invite to play on the Hindu on our sunset sail, and was floored. And over a ridiculously late dinner (I had yams! Oh how much I miss them!) told me about a prospective delivery he's doing in April, taking a brand-new catamaran from France to St. Martin's. And would I crew? (Really, to be paid good money for a two-week trip across the ATLANTIC OCEAN!)
When it rains, it pours, friends.
There are still no absolutes. I am not packing any time soon. But oh god, am I crossing my fingers.
*mad Snoopy dance*
Two weekends ago I saw some amazing people I haven't seen in over a ear, caught up on each others' lives, and reopened a couple windows in my head, windows I'd shut tight because of experiences, yada yada. And now I miss the Lady Washington, and my semi-plans of tripping to Maine this summer to play on a windjammer or some sort have changed a bit. Goddamn boats. Say what?!
Anyhow, the summer is coming ridiculously quickly, and I'm nearing panic-mode of HOLY CRAP I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING YET, BUT I'VE SPENT THREE MONTHS DOWN HERE AND HAVEN'T DONE MUCH, MY SCHEDULE WITH SCHOOL AND A WEDDING IS OBNOXIOUS, AHHHH.
Uh, yeah. Because that freak-out helps.
So I decided to send out a bunch of resumes, and focus on the other Really Big Thing in my life.
Music.
Skraeling, the amazing Irish band from Toronto, has taken ahold of my eardrums. Brilliant music. Jaw-dropping talent. Playing every night for a week through St. Patrick's. Not only an excuse to escape to my favorite bar, but also to escape from the Spring Breakers. (Hurrah for Finnegan's being "all the way across the island" from Duval Street.) And did I mention here was good music? And the dancing. Oh god, so much dancing, close your eyes, escape in the movement, nothing else matters, dancing. (Of course, my commendation on my dancing abilities from Keith went something along the lines of, "For the record, when she dances, Elan is the world's biggest dork. It may be the cutest thing I've ever seen that didn't involve kittens.")
There's just something really incredibly freeing and exhilerating about dancing.
Except it means many many late late nights, and OH GOD MY LEGS FEEL LIKE JELLO I CAN'T EVEN RAISE THE STAYSAIL mornings.
But so worth it.
To make it better, one of my itty-bitty, resolutions was to live for the beauty in the day-to-day. The clouds and the moon. The green of leaves. The flowers as they each bloom. Not just the natural, either, but the romance of the Island's eccentricities. And last but not least, those singular moments when Fate is agreeing with this very moment, when nothing could be better. Take the two hours various crews from Liberty, Hindu, and Appledore spent sailing on Appledore, listening to Skraeling play. One of the best sails I've experienced in months, surrounded by friends and music. Or curled in a hammock on the beach with the wind whipping past us and the waves crashing gray and foamy. Perfection in its simplest forms.
Luckily, most of the insanity one can imagine that comes along with celebrating St. Patrick's on a drinking Island happened two days before (including a free concert with Kenny Chesney -who?- at Sloppy Joe's), on Saturday, so the Spring Breakers were still either too hungover or corraled to the mainstream bars to bother with the real St. Pat's.
Not only was Mr. Chesney here, but Alan Jackson's fishing boat, as well as his yacht, have been in town the past few days, and Jimmy Buffet was rumored to be in town. Please do not run at me with your groupie Sharpies, because I couldn't pick out any of the three in a crowd if you paid me.
Spring is most definitely here. And by that, I mean, our cold fronts are no longer a cold 65-degrees-and-windy-front, but are slightly-less-hot-but-windy-fronts.
There is much drama to be had on the boat, but it is only a swift kick in the bum telling me I need to get back to freak-out mode.
Cue the last twelve hours.
I've got a possibility in Rhode Island and Martha's Vineyard, but I've kind of been holding out for something else, so I called the Captain of the replica Nina and and Santa Clara (yep, Columbus' boats. Nina sails around the US, Santa Clara daysails in the Cayman Islands.) to check up on my emails with their office, and after they transit across the Panama Canal they will be needing crew, for get this... Tall Ships '08! Eeep! He's happy with my resume, laughed at my [bad] jokes, and told me to keep in touch. (This is so perfect. A traditional square-rig, Tall Ships, and seeing British Columbia and all over the West Coast!)
Craig brought his boat down from Islamorada yesterday, so he finally accepted my invite to play on the Hindu on our sunset sail, and was floored. And over a ridiculously late dinner (I had yams! Oh how much I miss them!) told me about a prospective delivery he's doing in April, taking a brand-new catamaran from France to St. Martin's. And would I crew? (Really, to be paid good money for a two-week trip across the ATLANTIC OCEAN!)
When it rains, it pours, friends.
There are still no absolutes. I am not packing any time soon. But oh god, am I crossing my fingers.
*mad Snoopy dance*