In Which There May Be Elephants On My Roof.

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I began this post sort of early in the morning, not because I have to work, nor because I went to bed at any kind of decent hour last night, but because the Roof Men are here. After several delays, they are here and they are rumbling, clomping, and thudding around my roof. I'm glad they're here. But all the racket sort of eliminates the option of going back to sleep.

The Roof Men speak Spanish quickly and English slowly. They are very polite, a little shy even. I'm glad for their sake that the weather is cooler today. They are only doing half of my roof, but it still might take them more than a day because my roof has four layers to be removed: three of shingle, and one of wood shakes underneath all the rest. (Yeah, that's totally illegal. I don't know how it even happened in the first place.)

So since I am awake, and yet not really very awake, it seems like a good time to tell you a little more about how I ended up aboard the Hawaiian Chieftain. I have talked about it a lot, but written very little as yet. But the talking helps me sort out how to write it, because the questions people ask show me what parts most need telling. So here is the beginning of the story.

I first heard about sailing tall ships when I was in high school, I think. There was an article in the Eugene Register-Guard which interviewed some gal who volunteered on the Lady Washington, and I cut it out and saved it, as much for the pictures as anything else. At the time I was reading a lot of high seas adventures, Treasure Island and The Dark Frigate and the like, and I spent a lot of time with my piratey Legos and computer games. So of course I thought, "That's really cool. I'd like to try that someday."

I eventually threw away the article in an overly thorough file-weeding session, but not before noting "Sail in an old-fashioned vessel" on a list of Things I Want To Do Someday in my diary. And a couple years ago, upon certain realizations regarding my own mortality, I sought out that list to see what still needed checking off. Some things no longer seemed so important -- I no longer want a pet iguana, for example -- but others struck me as being A Very Good Idea. So I took up archery, and assembled a harp, and wondered idly about the whole tall ship thing.

Then there was this movie that came out a couple years ago that had some pirates and ships in it and stuff. Maybe you heard of it. After watching it, I decided it was really time to search the internet for that ship I'd read about all those years ago, and see if she was still taking volunteer crew.

Google landed me at ladywashington.org, where I discovered much to my astonishment that one of the ships I'd just been watching on the big screen, the Interceptor, was in fact "played" by the Lady Washington herself. So then of course I had to watch the movie all over again so I could pay more attention to the ship instead of to Certain Actors. After all, the world is full of beautiful men, but a ship as gorgeous as the Lady is a rare and wondrous thing.

I applied to crew the following summer, but the volunteer coordinator ended up in the hospital for a couple months, and in the meantime my application got lost. So I applied again the next summer, but not until too late. Then I applied a third time, well in advance ("...and it burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp."), and finally I was accepted -- to crew for the Hawaiian Chieftain, a new acquisition for the organization that owns the Lady Washington. (I admit I was a little disappointed by this at first, but I figured there were probably reasons to be glad I was on the Chieftain instead, and sure enough, there were.)

So all of this hope and fear and expectation and dread was just boiling in me as I tried to stroll nonchalantly down the dock toward the Hawaiian Chieftain for the first time. I actually had to stop walking for a second, stilled by a wave of emotion at the thing I was about to embark upon. And I took a deep breath, and noted: This is what it feels like when a dream comes true.