March 30th, 2012

IT's an odd time. Many of us stacked up here side by side caught in the daily grind of preparation. Its nothing like our former days in the islands, free on the sea, diving and sailing, full of the sun and wind and wavelets and the blue above and below and all the motion continually sloshing inside me and all about me and a great feeling of expansion. Still it is also a magical time of dear friendships and exquisite moments, full moon and planets in conjunction and fireworks and breezes softly tickling over the warmth of sun beams penetrating. Whales also figure into the energy here. And we strive on in preparation. I am drying foods so we may have real nourishing food for our journey and so every couple of days I return from the market, arms full of greens and fruits and mushrooms and eggplants and zucchini and tomatoes to dry in my dehydrator and store it away without worrying about refrigeration. Today I dried strawberries for the equator crossing to go with champagne. Dried, I can squish a whole eggplant and half an onion and a big fistful of greens and tomatoes down to the size of a half sandwich bag. The aromas here are heady full of basil and strawberries drying slowly in warm sunshine. A big Olympic qualifier sailboat race has been happening this last week resplendent with a visit by the president of Mexico. This was accompanied by a huge military presence and metal detectors and helipads poured for four helicopters and soon after a helicopter flying in and out at different angles. We are all antsy to go and yet have much to do. We have been isolated from the best part of a boat for too long now. We are left only with cleaning bilges and other greasy places while everything we love about boat seems to have disappeared in smoke. Winches need scrubbing and oiling. The stinky chain locker home to all the sometimes mossy sometimes mucky chain needs cleaning. Netting waits to be strung along the lifelines to keep little Sushi safe. The dinghy needs to be patched and folded up into its seemingly way too tiny bag and stowed. The fridge and freezer need cleaning. Everything's got to be sorted and inventoried so we can find things in all the wonderful little niches which abound in boats. And then I must find room for what seems like an impossible amount of foodstuff. The list goes on and on growing longer rather than shorter every day. Get propane. Get diesel. Fill up one more time with water. Check out with the Port Captain . I mentioned dear friendships magically forming here and I must say I wonder if we would leave at all if it weren't for one special friend who is probably least motivated to help us leave and yet most generous in his assistance. Every day he shows up in the morning to help with odd jobs ticking them off faster than we can think of replacements and working well into the heat of the day until I am sure I will look out to find a melted blob where once he stood. Other friends have shared books with us on everything from food preparation to yoga on board and cruising guides to our destinations. They keep stopping by to check on our progress and offer to help. Neighbors on all sides swap assistance and ideas and parts and tools as well as stories, transportation, frustrations and humor. These last moments shared with friends are painfully dear moments where real dialogues happen and feelings are blurted right out. It's like visiting someone who you know will die before you ever see them again and having that last conversation. Most of us will probably never see each other again. A few of us will go on together or circle back and meet again but none of this is sure enough to bring much solace. Perhaps that's why today as I was walking along the waterfront carrying my last load of freshly washed laundry over my shoulder I realized that in Spanish "Adios" means something like "to God" and I wondered if the word stemmed from older times when people more frequently took their leave from family and friends knowing they would probably not meet again in this life. And so I continue to practice letting go. And today at one point I felt how many more big letting go's I would face in this life and how very precious attachments are and how important it is to notice these attachments and really savor them prior to letting them pass. In that moment as Sushi trotted along beside me, my eyes fell on a lovely branch of bougainvillea splaying up into the blue air with the light behind catching the sharp edges of leaves and spines framing and presenting soft pink new blossoms and even knowing that these too would pass on seemed sweet and bitter and overwhelming. It is an odd time. The sun rises and sets. Music fills the air, hangs poignantly, hesitates and is gone. The moon changes from new to full and back again. The first day of Spring has come and gone with a parade of children dressed as Kings and Queens riding floats bumping along the cobblestone street surrounding the old wooden cross for which the town is named. And boats leave to go north or south or across. Soon we will be sailing to the Marquesas. First we will visit the giant mantas and whales at the islands of Revillagigedes. I'm pretty sure that isn't spelled correctly but after a margarita and a Spanish coffee I can't find within me the correct spelling. Like I said, it's an odd time around here. I am pretty sure I will be inspired to write again once we begin our crossing to the South Pacific and French Polynesia. So this letter is partly about creating a mailing list for newletters. You have all been a wonderful audience for two seasons in Mexico but I am starting a new email list for the next adventure to the Marquesas and Tuomotus and beyond. If you would like to remain on the mailing list, please send me a very brief email with the words "Keep me on the mailing list" somewhere included. At some point in the near future I will no longer have internet and communications will be more difficult. And who knows what will be after that? So if you don't find time to read the letters, don't fret. Just don't reply. Rebekah is here and trying to set up a blog sight which would allow you all to check in and get messages and a position report as often as you like. I will send out news on that when it is ready. I'm tired and sore in places I never have been sore before so it is time to head to bed and rest up for whatever tomorrow might bring. We will leave here tomorrow or the day after at the latest. Much love to you all! --Pat and John and li'l Sushi aboard S/V The Rose, La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, Nayarit, MX