Shore Work: Thursday, May 24, 2007

Each day begins very much like the last; with the sound of 4 alarms, and loud resisting groans. "Rise and shine big guy," I say, as if i desire to begin this day more than Caleb, who by now is already lacing his boots as I role out of bed. I step into my long johns, and stretch a very undersized, wool- long sleeve shirt around my neck; smelling the 6 days of unwashed body odor as I push my head through the collar. Next are my jeans, socks, boots, and sweatshirt. I fix my watch around my writist, realizing my usual 10 minute late- 7:40 A.M. departure from the third floor of the Hilton- pausing quickly to switch off the heater and lather my lips with sunscreen SPF4 chapstick. Oh the Bear-den, where breakfast is all serious; Pancakes and scrambled eggs, eaten with serious faces of course. The silence is close to always broken with an intriguing dream of bowline, sheep-bends, and square-knots; coiling rope or mending nets; and how Kyle seemed to somehow involve them with the German Army and a dangerous bridge crossing; where he played Robin Hood and couldn't decide what outfit to wear. dangit, The Clock strikes 8 and never fails to invoke crude obscenities, as we 11 file down the stairs like wounded animals and meet the days agenda of Weston- the taskmaster, ringleader, or whatever you might say. "We got a long day ahead of us boys," he says while giving each of us our specific task for the morning. Like elves of salmon fishing, we trot to our places and begin to build the toys of a June 5th Season opening. The weather is cold, and the wind nips my bare fingers like a growing puppy, whose teeth grow stronger the longer we work out in the yard. Oh the bitter rain, however we pray that it might beat loud enough to grace the veins of Weston's sympathy, who might, just might give us the privilidge of working inside, where doors are closed and heaters sing sweet lullabies to our now enlightened charisma.