Retaining Hope By Michael

This is not a cruising-related post.

My mom and my girls, 2010

On top of all the dire current events from around the world, it was widely reported that Geraldine Ferraro succummed to multiple myeloma this weekend at age 75. This news is especially significant to Americans because Ms. Ferraro helped us to make a giant leap forward in our ability to normalize the perception of women in powerful leadership roles. This news is especially poignant to me and my family because my mom is afflicted with the same disease that defeated the health of this powerful woman.

Ms. Ferraro lived with the incurable blood cancer for as long as anyone I've read about. I was painting our house and listening to the radio when the first reports of her death were broadcast. I caught my breath and realized I'd internalized quite a bit of hope in Ms. Ferraro's life. She was the most famous person with the rare disease and so long as she continued on, staving off the cancer with one drug after another, it seemed to me that anyone could. I'd accepted that multiple myeloma is incurable, but I'd allowed myself to believe that it was already defeatable.

My mom was diagnosed in 2002, four years after Ms. Ferraro. She wants to continue to hold back multiple myeloma for yet another decade, to see her six grandchildren graduate high school. That will make her roughly 76 years old and see her living with the disease longer than Ms. Ferraro and perhaps longer than anyone living with the disease today. Her wish is not unrealistic. The same kinds of strides were made with HIV, transforming the still incurable disease from a death sentence to a managed condition. With adequate funding, it is reasonable to assume the same kinds of strides may be made with multiple myeloma.

Everyone reading this post is bombarded with pleas for charitable donations. It is neither reasonable nor possible for any of us to accommodate them all. But I am writing with a proposition that you will be hard pressed to find a better way to maximize the effectiveness of a donation.

My mom is in training to walk a half marathon to support the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF). This is a charity with a very successful record, momentum on its side, and better certifications for responsible and effective stewardship of funds than any other I am aware of (in fact it is the only organization in the world to achieve these accreditations).

If you can spare the time and some funds to make a donation, please take a minute to read my mom's statement, use the links above to validate my claims about the MMRF, and rest assurred that any money you choose to donate will be very responsibly used to try and extend the lives of many.

Thank you,

Michael

Galley Swap By Michael

http://www.galleyswap.com/

All of the puddle jump provisioning posts of late remind me of a great site intended for galley-based cooks: Galley Swap.

Did you know that separating bananas from the common stalk slows their ripening? Me neither, I read it at Galley Swap.

Did you know that the “disposable” salt grinder sold at Trader Joes for a couple bucks is excellent aboard because its all-acrylic construction prevents clumping—and that it is refillable? Me neither, I read it at Galley Swap.

Do you know where to find 12 helpful galley resource links for the "relentlless galley enthusiast" and 22 at-sea recipes? Me too, Galley Swap.

This site is a good resource, I hope it flourishes.

--MR

Compression By Windy

Packing up the house in preparation for moving is a huge task. My focus now is clearing the attic to create a staging area for stuff. What looks like an avalanche of crap (okay it is) is the beginning of our Boat, Storage, and Sell/Give piles.

At the same time that I'm sorting everything, I'm also trying to repackage things for the limited space we'll have on board. For the board games we are taking with us, I'm stacking all of the boards, bagging up their individual pieces, and chucking the boxes they came in. Repackaging games is unexpectedly satisfying.

--WR


All that packaging for what amounts
to a fistful of cards

S&S Blog Entry By Michael

On the Sparkman & Stephens corporate blog, they feature short descriptions of their designs, roughly one per day, just a bit about the design and the boats that were produced from it. Yesterday, on March 21, it was time for S&S design 2292, also known as the Fuji 40! It is a short post, and I am already familiar with the Stanley Rosenfeld photos and yacht specs. What was new to me is the early set of interior renderings (below) and mention that “…15 boats were built to this design, 7 before the plans were even completed.”

Early renderings of the Fuji 40 interior, very similar to what it became

In the post, the author is not definitive that the total count is 15, but this is the most credible figure I have ever seen (isn’t that amazing, that this info is not known?). Also, if 7 were built before the plans were complete, that means our hull #4 is part of that group. “Hey Takumi, they just finished the Fuji 40 plans. Beginning with hull #8, go ahead and move the mast forward a couple feet where it should be, completely change the rudder shape, and it looks like we’ve been making the hull much too thin…”

--MR   

Ready to Float By Michael

It is kind of an arcane reference, but it keeps occurring to me, so I'm sharing it here: 

Eleanor looking forward to the ride

At Disneyland last month, after waiting in line for the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, we stepped aboard our “boat.” Of course, it didn’t rock or anything as we boarded, it’s on tracks after all, a big roller coaster car in very shallow water. Then, when the operator pushed the right button, there was a bit of a jerk and we rattled forward on the tracks until…that feeling, when that big roller coaster car becomes a boat, driven off the end of the rigid tracks, sinking down a couple inches as it finds its waterline, bobbing just a bit, the unmistakable sensation of floating.

In addition to being an obvious metaphor for our big, pending life change, that Disneyland transition to floating reminds me of a real world transition: of the moment you get offshore in a sailboat and shut off the auxiliary. You know: the sails are up, you are underway with water moving past, heeled a bit, little bubbles left behind in the wake. But your ears and body tuned out the noise and vibration of the diesel 15 minutes ago. It’s only when someone cuts off the fuel, and the oil pressure alarm squawks, and the key is turned off, that it then really feels right, pulled and pushed along by unseen forces, only sailing sounds remaining....ahhhh.

The crews of other boats in Mexico are now writing interesting posts about their final preparations for South Pacific voyages, their fascination with the culture and food that surrounds them, and even the real stresses of family life afloat. In that context, it is pretty pathetic that I am easily stirred by the sensation of floating on a Disneyland ride. But that is an indication of how eager I am to get underway.

Sara of s/v Wondertime just wrote an excellent, manic piece on the stresses of preparing to cast off, to break the ties of land life. She’s got 104 days left on her counter and I’m with her every sentence, feeling the anxiety. In 40 days, our house goes on the market and there is so much to do between now and then...

But I know that when we drive away from it all, enroute to PV, I’ll feel our Ford, with a trailer in tow, jerk a bit as we rattle forward until…that feeling…finding a smooth road, swaying just a bit, the unmistakable sensation of floating…away.

--MR