Day 16
Hydrate to dominate.
A favorite saying of the Wild Walker Women growing up with Princy P's simple first aid rule.
“I’m tired.”
Drink some water.
“My head hurts.”
Drink some water.
“I feel sick.”
Drink some water.
Physician, heal thyself.
This morning, I crawled into the cockpit, downed the excellent mocha Jeff handed me (equal parts Zaca Llama blend and SwissMiss instant hot chocolate) and dozed fitfully on the bench in the almost-shade. An hour so later, the headache was worse, the lassitude extreme, and the mood self-pitying.
Drink some water.
Let Georgie take care of you with wet towels, Emergen-C’s, and a coconut face mask.
Let the Mario Brothers rig up a fan.
Drink more water.
hydration tools
Every day gives us something a little different on Leona.
Today the sea-dragon soars under a cloudless sky (the first we’ve seen), scudding the cobalt wave-tops and embracing the breeze. It could be a 200-mile day, and that temptation keeps Jeff and David hopping, checking wind angles and sail pressure. The waves are slightly forward of the beam, so we have lost our smooth ride and find ourselves balancing unexpected twists and rolls. Will that give us a higher score from the rodeo judge?
The nights change it up as well. During our last watch Georgie and I stayed mostly indoors to avoid the bits of drizzle that started showing up during our nightly movie screening (Interstellar this time, about other voyagers who also encounter time-relativity-gravity issues). 10:30 saw a flurry of activity (or maybe it was 11:30 or even 9:30?) when the radar showed an ugly gang of red splotches directly ahead and moving quickly toward us. We closed hatches, stowed cushions, and secured the random books, iPhones, and what-have-yous lying around.
It was a good thing we took all those precautions: the drizzle immediately cleared, and we threaded the needle of the various squalls without a drop of rain or gust of wind.
Yet the night before gave the two of us the perfect night of star-gazing. We lay on the after-deck, lost count of the shooting stars, dove into the Southern Cross, and told each other origin myths of the Milky Way. Was it the diamond necklace Hephaestus forged for Aphrodite that she ripped from her neck, refusing to let him shackle her and instead sharing its beauty with the world, or was it the path created by twin sisters separated at birth but longing to find the missing piece of themselves?
An Ode to the Wrap
The wrap, that perfect trap,
Anything goes, fill it till it overflows.
Meat and veg, cheese and wedge,
A sprinkle of dressing concludes the messing.
And best of all, no dishes to haul.
Cheers,
DW