|
October 24
It was an outstanding day for rowing. The morning was very calm. This is always a pleasure. It gives my mind and body a chance to ease into rowing without the mayhem of rough water. Often one of the most difficult parts of the day is getting the oars into the oarlocks. When the boat is jumping up and down and rocking back and forth, placing the oars into the locks without banging them around is tough. Doing this in the early morning before I've warmed up can make it a genuine chore.
I took a few minutes in the afternoon to change the wheels on my seat. My seat slides back and forth on two tracks. The arrangement is all part of an "Oarmaster." Oarmasters are used in Alden rowing shells and a number of other recreational boats. Rosie O'Donnell gave me the Oarmaster I am using, when she invited me on her show last October.
Actually, she gave me an entire boat. The boat was a large dory. I used the boat several times to take wheelchair athletes rowing. It was fine for this purpose, but
proved to be a bit heavy to manage without several people around. When the American Pearl was found, I sold Rosie's boat to have a cradle made for the American Pearl and have the boat trucked from Le Harve in France to Cologne in Germany. From there, United Parcel Service was kind enough to give the boat a lift to Louisville. While I sold Rosie's boat, I kept the Oarmaster.
I intended to use a different Oarmaster, but it did not arrive in time to ship it with the American Pearl to the Canary Islands. So, I made a few modifications to the "Rosie O'Donnell Commemorative Oarmaster" and it has traversed nearly two thirds of the Atlantic. The wheels were becoming a little tired, but the new ones have restored it to as good as new.
October 25
Hair! I am ready to shave my head. It is difficult to estimate how much hair a human being sheds until you put a dark haired person in a confined space most of which is painted white. Hair is like "the force." It is everywhere! There is hair in the cabin. There is hair in the cockpit. There is hair on the bulkhead. There is hair on the rowing deck. There is hair on the bilge pump. There is even hair on the rudder line. I still have a full head of hair. So I cannot imagine where it is all coming from. If there was ever a case of spontaneous generation of organic material, this is it.
On days when my hair is in need of washing I refer to it as "the entity." Were it not for the fact that some of my die-hard supporters would abandon me if I sent back a picture of my shaved head, I would do away with "the entity" in a heartbeat. The bane of a dark haired person's existence is being a houseguest in a home where there is a white tile bathroom.
Happily, I've found one or two gray hairs aboard. These are far less conspicuous and foretell of time to come when I need not worry about so much dark hair on white surfaces.
Again the rowing weather has been ideal. Light showers shattered clouds and sunshine filled the day. In the morning I was treated to near-full moon on one side with the sunrise on the other. It is all great fun.
October 26
I've been burgled, robbed, by one pirate named James Boswell. I have on board a store of books on CD that I have scrupulously saved for the second half of my journey. This morning, I listened to James Boswell's "A Life of Johnson." Boswell stole two hours of my life. Why individuals persist in reading this book is beyond me. Johnson appears grumpy, ill mannered, slovenly, un-kept, and poorly disciplined. Okay, so he compiled a dictionary, and was a religious man, but these are hardly elements of character that inspire the reader. No doubt my poor estimation of this great work of English literature will upset classic scholars, but I found little redeeming value in the book and can see no reason why it should be assigned to young readers.
Yesterday I listened to Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. Now, this is a fine book for all ages. Plenty of action, some serious thought, internal moral struggles, it has all the makings of a worthy story. You might say it is too violent for young readers. Whenever this argument is raised I think of a dinner I had with one of the grand dames of Louisville, Mary Bingham. The topic under discussion was children's literature. The book Beowolf came
under scrutiny and Barry Bingham, Jr. said, "But, it's so violent for children."
To which Mrs. Bingham in her eighties, an ace patron of the arts and pillar of the
Public Library, responded with the slap of an open palm on the table, "Nonsense, children LOVE violence." Someday when my hair is snow white, I shall deliver the line with the same dignity and force. I will savor that moment.
Moby Dick is wasted on children. I did not begin to understand this book until I read it again last year. Shakespeare should be re-read once a decade. I have King Lear aboard, I always think he's going to wise up and see Cordelia as the loyal child, and I am always let down that the tragedy remains a tragedy. Hum, I wonder what Disney would do with King Lear? The thought brings a shudder.
Again the rowing weather is ideal. It seems that once I passed the 40 degree west meridian, the water changed its humor. The waves are smaller and spaced out a bit. The wind is slightly less, but since the rowing is easier my progress remains about the same. There can be no doubt that I am happier at the oars than I am sitting in the cabin waiting for the weather to change.
|
