Day 3: Bequia to The Tobago Cays

Let's see.  When I woke this morning I'm sorta thinking it's Tuesday.  Humm.  Partied Sunday night, worked our butts off all day yesterday (Monday???), and then had one rum ti and crashed.  Yeah.  It's Tuesday and I'm real happy I can remember that much this morning.  Also, the one measly drink of alcohol has completely worn off, my back is killing me and I need to take a pill.  

Fifteen minutes after the pill went to work, I found my back no longer bothered me - better living through modern chemistry, baby - but my tummy is telling me I need to eat something.   I'm sure there was no meal last night; we were all just too tired to bother.  Having slept where I lay down in the cockpit the night before, I went below, fired up the stove and scrambled some eggs.  Toast completed the breakfast, and that was made the old fashioned way.  I just tossed a couple of slices of bread on the burner for a second or so.  

Doped up sailors make a lot of racket cooking breakfast while on a slowly rolling boat so by the time I finished cooking, everyone else was stirring.  To get out of their way, I went back topside and ate.  The wind was calm and now that most of my morning needs had been met, I slowly became aware it was time to take a bath.  Actually, I dang near tossed my breakfast when the stench of my unwashed-for-days body finally registered on my brain.  I tied a line around my midsection, grabbed a bar of soap and a towel, undressed and jumped in the water. 

The water in the Caribbean is the most beautiful shade of blue/green you can possibly imagine.  If you have never seen it, you must before you leave this planet.  It is a wonder of the world.  Pictures can not convey the sight of the colors as the wind blows the waves and the hues change.

Not only is the water beautiful, it is also warm.  The average temperature is 80 degrees, about the same as most heated pools, and there was only a vague sensation of a change in temperature when I splashed in.  I'd take a deep breath and start rubbing my body with the bar of soap until my feet touched the bottom.  Then I'd shove off the bottom, surface, take another breath and repeat.  Before long everything had been rubbed and I climbed back on the transom.  There was a fresh water shower head located there and I completed my bath by washing off the salt water before toweling dry.  

I wrapped the towel around myself, closed my eyes so the guys still eating breakfast wouldn't have to look at my well rounded, mostly naked body during the middle of their breakfast, went into my cabin and dressed.  A quick look at the onboard clock showed it was 7:20 AM.

What???   When I'm at my house, in my own bed, I never even RISE til around 10 or 11 AM.  What's up with this?  Here's it only 7:30 and I've already taken pain meds, eaten, bathed and dressed.  All this sailing stuff can't be good for me.  Maybe I should get off the boat and go home to get some sleep.  Never mind, the guys just finished their breakfasts and clamored up the companionway.  Their noses must be completely plugged up because even though I can smell them, they're happy as clams to get underway.  Thank God the wind is forecast to freshen and blow out of the NE at 16 Kts.  Joe fires the engine, Sam and I raise the anchor and we motor out of the harbor.  

Today we're actually going to sail away!  The destination is the Tobago Cays and the Marine Sanctuary located there.  We round the most western point of Bequia and turn south.  Joe, the diver onboard, had been there before and knows we need to go past Canouan and pass to the east of  Mayreau before turning to the east and raising the Tobago Cays.  We asked Capt'n Chris just what our southerly heading should be to accomplish this.  We were astonished when he told us, "Hell if I know.  I forget.  If ya wouldn'tda been in such a hurry to leave, we coulda figerder out while we were anchored.  Here's a chart."

Wow.  The only pieces of paper I'd ever seen aboard my 26 footer years ago, other than trash that needed to be carried ashore to be dumped, was one that I used to list stuff that broke while underway and needed to be fixed later.  And, the only pencil on board was used to write down all the busted crap on that piece of paper.

In those days I'd often sail northwest for five or six days, turn around and sail mostly east till I saw some land.  If there was a bronze/gold colored bridge in view, I needed to sail south to get home.  If there were no lights to speak of at night, I still needed to sail south.  If I saw oil wells, I was close to Santa Barbara and home.  If there were lights all along the shore, I needed to sail north to get back.  It was easy to find my berth without any of the chart crap he had tossed at us.

Now, Capt'n Chris expected us to use the paper he handed us to find our way?  Christ.  Might as well ask a dolphin to find a bird's nest.

Luckily, I have been a pilot for the last fifty years and Joe also held his pilots license with an instructors endorsement.  Both of us were good at reading aeronautical charts and quickly determined a nautical chart has much in common with those we could read.  Between the two of us we were able to determine a heading that would put us in the general vicinity of our destination.  Sam, an MD, was smart enough to locate a  guide in the ship's library that included profiles of the various islands as seen from the sea. 

Among the three of us we had determined what direction to head, how to identify islands as we approached them, and were certain we could find our destination.  Who needs Capt'n Chris?  There was some discussion about tossing him overboard but we were not sure he'd sink.  None of us wanted a witness to the crime, so we let him remain on board.  

 

Four hours after turning onto our southerly heading we passed Canouan.  Two hours after that, Mayreau was on our starboard beam and we turned east.  Thank the Lord we had decided to keep Capt'n Chris; he knew where the best anchorage was when we gained the Tobago Cays.  He put us no more than two hundred yards from the windward side of the best place to view the growing sea turtle population and into waters where we needed only a bow anchor to hold us on station.  As you can see, the Marine Sanctuary at Tobago Cays is a very popular and crowded destination.  The diving is fantastic.

Joe and Sam both grabbed snorkels and fins, Capt'n Chris and I grabbed and filled glasses, and we all watched for sea turtles.  An hour and a half later Sam and Joe climbed back aboard without even one glimpse of a turtle.  Not five minutes later Capt'n Chris yelled "There e goes!"  Joe saw him, jumped in without his equipment and the underwater chase was on.  The turtle won.

For those of you who happen to be nautical types, the sail out of Admiralty Bay was made on a broad reach with the main reefed at the first point in 16 Kt winds.  The southerly run was made on a single tack on a beam reach and we were close hauled when we turned east after gaining Mayreau.  The sails were lowered and we motored in the close quarters experienced while in the Cays.

Day Two: Bequia to Bequia

I guess the song title describing this post would be "Will It Go Round In Circles"  Listen and decide if the 5th Beatle, Billy Preston, knows how to ask the question!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuFOkAL8ihM

My answer to him is "Hell Yes"

Capt. Chris (real, legendary, Capt. of the Caribbean) had learned from his first trip across the waters with Sam, Joe (names changed to protect the innocent), and your fearless (really) author, that his crew mates were lowly, despicable cretins worthy of absolutely no respect in any endeavor requiring more than the raising of a glass filled with an alcoholic beverage to our mouths.  He needed to work us into a crew: one that could handle the most daunting and awful condition with which the sea was capable of challenging us.  In other words, he wanted us to bring the inner sailors each of us had already proved were inside, to the outside where he could hone our skills.

Yeah, Joe had sailed for years, owned a small boat and wanted to step up to a larger one, Sam had sailed with buddies for ages and wanted to be sure of his large boat skills before buying one, and I - the true hero in this tale - just wanted to learn if my aged, fat and decrepit body was still physically able to handle a boat as well as the Adonis like one I had 35 years ago could.  We all knew how to sail, Chris was able to determine that the first day, but there was much he could teach us.  First though, he needed to turn us into a well functioning crew.  Drawing from his enormous experience, he determined the best way to mold us into a unit was to make us lose weight. To accomplish this, he made us work our butts off this time.

Still somewhat queasy from the previous night celebrating the fact we did not drown each other the first day out, I fired up the engine and, following the hand signals Sam was sending, slowly motored toward the anchor as Joe stepped on the electric switch that hauled in the anchor chain.  We managed to leave Admiralty Bay without running aground and without swapping paint with another vessel.  WOW.

I was at the helm as we headed toward the open ocean to raise the mainsail when Chris tossed the horseshoe life preserver into the ocean and yelled "Man overboard!"  This was a no brainer.  With the boat underway with power, I simply reversed course, slowed and put the transmission in neutral as we approached the horseshoe.  The learning experience came when Joe grabbed the gaff (basically a sharp, pointed hook), instead of the man overboard pole, to retrieve the float.

Capt'n Chris pointed out his mistake and Joe grabbed the right tool instead.  After retrieving the dang thing, we noticed the rubber doohicky that went on the sharp end of the gaff to protected everyone from slicing off their appendages - arms, legs, ya know - was missing.  It had fallen overboard.  We motored in circles until it was spotted and without thinking, Joe, since he was the one who managed to lose it, simply jumped in to retrieve it.

Now, we had a real man overboard situation.  Holy Crap.  This time was for real.

Joe is a strong swimmer.  He is a certified master diver and is used to jumping off smaller boats and easily climbing back aboard.  A larger boat, however, presents a much larger cross-section for the wind to work against.  In a 19 Kt wind, as was the case during this time, a boat with the sails furled can easily be blown twelve or more feet per minute away from a swimmer.  There is no way in God's universe a swimmer can regain his cabin and bunk.  Without immediate action from crew on the boat, the swimmer will be lost.  I put the transmission in neutral to keep the boat on station.

Joe was swimming his heart out, but with the rubber thingy in his hand he was making no progress.  He was falling further and further behind the wind blown boat.  I put the transmission in reverse with the throttle set in idle.  Now, the boat held station and Joe made some progress.  But, the prop was spinning.  That presented a real danger to his arms and legs.  Capt'n Chris tossed him a line, I put the transmission in neutral and Joe climbed aboard.  The rubber whatsit was put on the sharp end of the hook and all was well.

Dang!  Our first real disaster at sea and nobody was killed.  Guess this little voyage will not make any headlines.  That's too bad, I really hunger to be a hero.

Finally, Capt'n Chris allowed us to motor out of the harbor, raise the main and jib, and sail into the open ocean.  Then, he wore us down.  

No sooner than we had established a comfortable course, he commanded a new one which required us to tack the boat.  "Prepare to come about", the helmsman would shout, and the crew would respond "Ready low"......"Ready high"  "Helm's alee" .......and we'd come about.

After two hours of this torture, Capt'n Chris showed us another road to hell.  The Jibe.

Now, not only did we have to deal with the jib sheets, there was also the main with which to contend.  "Prepare to Jibe," the helmsman called.  And the crew responded: "Ready high, Ready low, Ready main."  Then the command "Jibe Ho"  Sure enough, the boat did what the helmsman wanted it to do and we sailed on.

For more than six hours we practiced these maneuvers and by the end of that time we were an able crew.  We were ready to follow the orders of the helmsman, and were capable of keeping the boat out of harm's way.

After dropping the sails and firing up the engine, we were able to turn on the fridge, motor back to port, drop the anchor, and most importantly, drink a well deserved portion of Mount Joy rum.  Maybe we ate something, but as tired as my body was, all I remember was telling the laundry boat "I don't give a damn if my underwear is dirty."

  

Day One: St. Vincent to Bequia

The tropical birds were supposed to be loud enough to wake me, but it was a good thing I set the alarm clock.  After a couple of Rum Ti's (just to get into the spirit of the trip) the previous evening, I needed the extra jarring the clock provided to drag my hung over body out of the sack.  Holy headache - I'm s'posed to go sailing today?  I took a couple of pills, brushed my teeth and headed out in search of breakfast.

There were several open tables so I naturally chose the closest one.  Still sleeping, I tried to move the chair far enough from under the table I could sit in it, but needed the help of a crew cut, bearded guy about half my age, to unstick it from the deck.  He introduced himself, saying the owner had pointed me out as one of his crew.  Turns out he was Captain Chris and he was the guy who would determine whither or not I could still manage a boat after an absence of more than 36 years.   Great.  What a terrific first impression I must have made.

After assuring him I usually had a better morning, we ordered and started to get to know one another.  While we were eating, we were informed the flight carrying the other two members of the crew had been delayed and they were not expected for another couple of hours.  No biggie, Chris and I just finished eating and then he presented me with the ASA 101 exam.  It took another cup of coffee while I checked answers I hoped were correct.

Nothing wrong with my memory, I was easily able to recall the bow was at the front and the stern was in back.  100%, he said.  Wow.  I just got my ASA101 certificate, hung over and all!  When one of the local stevedores heard the news, he helped me celebrate by carrying my sea bag to the boat.  The five dollar tip he received helped a bit, I think.   It worked for both of us; he carried the bag and I wrung the neck of what was left in the bottle that so brutally mistreated me the night before as I carried it to the boat.

No, that's not the boat we were to use on this voyage, it's just one I kinda want for my birthday and thought I needed to toss it in here somewhere.  Our boat was a 44 foot Dufor Gib'Sea - the one on the left of the picture below - and my bag was placed with care in the stern cockpit.

 
  The bottle I carried was casually tossed in on top of it. 

Since it was my habit to sleep on deck during warm nights some three decades earlier, I selected one of the aft bunks to be closer to the companionway in case of rain at night.  After stowing my gear, Chris gave me a tour of the boat and it's systems.  There were some unfamiliar items; equipment has changed a bit in the last thirty some odd years, but mostly I was familiar with it.  We settled in to wait for the rest of the crew and swapped lies. 

After several more hours, our other crew mates arrived and climbed on board.  Chris fired up the engine, we cast off the stern lines and were off!  Not yet sailing, but at long last headed to sea.  We had a 19 Kt wind at our back as we motored away from the dock so we made a quick escape to open waters.  Fifteen minutes or so later we turned and headed into the wind to raise the mainsail.

Now, I must remind you readers of my claim to be familiar with most of the boats systems.  Remember that?  Well, one of the items on this boat that I did not have on the boat I called home for years was a lazyjack system to help manage the sails.  My 26 footer from way back when didn't need them.  The main on a boat that size is much easier to handle.  So..............of course I clipped the halyard to the head of the sail before we left the dock without checking to see if it was clear of the lazywhatevers.  Chris sort of chuckled while Joe tried his best to jump the main.  Luckily, Sam had a decent view of what was happening and told him to stop.  About this time I noticed we were almost back to the dock so I turned back downwind and headed away from the rocks - one more time.

A half gallon of diesel later we tried again.  While on downwind Sam squared away the main halyard, Joe got back into position to jump, and I managed to get rid of my red face.  I reversed course so the boat was headed into the wind, we FINALLY raised the mainsail, and turned back to sea.  I brought the boat to a broad reach, we managed to get the jib up with no problem, and set our course for the island of Bequia, where we would spend our first night on the hook. 

The voyage was made on a broad reach through 5 foot seas with a 19 Kt wind.  We had reefed the main at the first point before raising it and that proved prudent.  It was a blast being on the water again and we all took a turn at the helm for the two hour transit. Upon gaining Bequia, we reeled in the jib, fired up the motor and motorsailed into Admiralty Bay.  We throttled back, dropped the main, and Chris took the helm as Joe and Sam loosed the anchor.  Using the time honored and proven theory that all things will eventually wind up at the bottom of the boat, I managed to find the bottle of rum.  Just it time, it turned out,  cause we all needed a drink to celebrate!

Sam and Joe had to take their 101 exam while Chris and I proved ourselves heros to each other over the first couple of glasses.  We found the propane solenoid, located a pot and filled it with something or other we agreed to eat after it was warm.  Ah, life on a boat.  It's all I remembered!

Link to images of a 44 foot Gib'Sea

https://www.google.com/search?site=&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=1038&bih=660&q=44+foot+Gib%27Sea&oq=44+foot+Gib%27Sea&gs_l=img.12...9348.15365.0.17930.15.8.0.7.7.0.190.972.4j4.8.0....0...1ac.1.45.img..6.9.973.NRU6xz_VvCM

 

Kingstown

St. Vincent and the Grenadines

The flight to Kingstown on LIAT Airlines lasted only 25 minutes or so and because I was sitting on the starboard side of the plane all l was able to see was water the entire trip.   Oh well, that's just my luck.  The Lord plays tricks like that on me all the time.  He knew I was going to be on the water for seven days and wanted to let me know what to expect.  Right.......

The charter company assured me there would be a driver to pick me up at the airport to take me to my hotel for the night so I was not surprised when he walked right up and asked if I was his passenger.  It was surprising that he walked up to me and not someone else.  I guess it was because my body was whiter than any of the other tan ones that got off the plane.  So much for fitting in.  The taxi ride to my room, promised as taking no more than 10 minutes, was actually made in less than seven minutes.  Johnnie, the driver, turned out to be a NASCAR wannabe with a death wish.  We sped around a winding one and a half lane road.  Instead of slowing and moving a little more to our side of the road when a car was coming in the opposite direction, Johnnie sounded his horn and sped up.  Later I learned that the guy with the loudest horn has the right of way.  Or something like that.  

Traffic lanes resemble those in England; oncoming traffic passes on the right, and I imagine all the cars with the right side dented and scratched, maybe 70 percent of all traffic, are the result of drivers being unable to determine who had the loudest horn.  If any of you readers are so inclined, there's a pile of money to be made here.  Just invent one or another devise that will measure the decibel level of competing horns and display that information on the dashboard.  I'm sure they'll sell like hot cakes. 

I'll never know how it happened (my eyes were closed much of the time) but we made it to the hotel without adding more dents to the car.  I thanked Johnnie and tipped him way too much.  I figure just getting there unharmed was worth the money.  The front desk was ready for me, and my heavy duffel bag was given to a skinny guy who weighed maybe forty pounds more than it did.  He managed it much more easily than I.  Wow.  I'm outta shape.  The view from the room was amazing; I could see the lagoon, the sailboats moored there and native trees.  Beautiful.

 After locating all my shaving gear, I showered, shaved and went to find some food.  The restaurant  was just as amazing, with a different view of the same scene.  And, to the side of the path leading there I had to pass several banana trees loaded with fruit that was almost ripe.  Too bad I hadn't waited for another week or two;  I could have grabbed a couple to eat on the boat.

That was to be the last night I would spend in a full sized bed and in air conditioned comfort for a while.  In the morning I would meet my shipmates and board a 44 foot Dufor Gib'Sea for a week.

Barbados

Miami to Barbados.   Now there's a phrase that has a pleasant ring to it, especially when it's coming from the intercom of an airliner during the welcome aboard spiel presented by a well groomed hostess.  

 I had boarded a plane the day before, in the subfreezing temperature of Redmond, that had taken me to air conditioned LA and then on to tropical Miami.  When offered the option of a 12 hour layover in Florida or a 20 hour one during the booking process, I naturally chose the longer one.  My body no longer handles time changes on the Easterly leg of a journey as it did during my younger days, and the idea of a full eight hours sleep, along with the thoughts of a leisurely dinner and breakfast during the voyage, was really appealing.  I found myself listening to the welcoming speech while well rested and eager to get on with it.  Of course the flight was delayed a bit.............

The wheels finally got long enough to touch the ground again around 10:30 PM Barbados time and looking around, I noticed the opportunity of a lifetime had presented itself to me.  The airport in Barbados borders the ocean and there is an amazing breeze that flows through the open air portion of the terminal.  Realizing I could enjoy the fantastic smell of that breeze and relive the simple pleasure of a carefree time when long ago, as a much younger man, I allowed the Good Lord to provide my bed where ever I grew tired enough to need sleep, I laid down on one of the many benches and slept soundly through the night.

It seems odd that such a simple act could turn back time so easily, but that act nullified lessons learned over many decades about such things as personal safety, the necessity of a comfortable mattress and the need to protect ones belongings from the lawless hordes.  Of course, it helped knowing the most valuable item in the bags resting under the bench while I slept was clean underwear.  And, yeah, my camera was small enough to fit in my shirt pocket.  Forty years peeled off my age that night and I slept through the process.  The vacation was off to a great start.

There was a time when the world was ruled by giants who learned to fly people from place to place in airplanes twice as fast as the speed of sound.  Of course those days are long gone and the world is now ruled  by kids who play video games while hanging out at the mall.  But, when the giants ruled, Barbados was at the center of  the planet.  Every Saturday, at 9:30 AM London time, British  Airways would hurl a Concorde down the English runway fast enough to land in Barbados, four time zones to the West, at 8:45 the same morning.  

Never did I ever imagine I would find myself in the cockpit of the fastest commercial airliner in history, but when I woke, there it was, less than 1000 paces from me: I started the day off by climbing on board and visiting that treasured space.   After several hours of peering into every place I could see, sitting in VERY comfortable seats that had previously been occupied only by the wealthiest among us, and of walking on every surface that would support my weight,  I returned to the airport in hopes of finding a duty free shop.  Barbados is famous for it's rum, and I wanted to drink me some!

The oldest rum distiller on the planet, Mount Gay, is located in Barbados and some of their rum is deemed the best the world can offer.  They offer several different types, all produced in the same distillery, and sorted by the amount of time the brew is allowed to age.   One of the blends is said to contain stuff that is 108 years old!  Personally, I believe a bottle or two of rum produced at that time was found somewhere in a back corner of a falling down building somewhere on the premises when a hung over employee was looking for a quiet place to recover.  Further, I think one or two drops of the liquid from this find has been added to batches of 100 gallons or more to make a blend that can be sold for at least $100 per liter!  Hey, I'd do it, wouldn't you?  As you can see, I was successful in my search and uncorked the first bottle that evening.

After roaming around the place a while longer, I boarded another airplane.  This one would take me to Kingstown, in the island nation of St. Vincent and the Grenadines, and to Blue Lagoon, where my sailboat was waiting.  

                                 

Sailing The Caribbean, Pt. 1

For some reason I can not quite understand, several people, both friends and friends whom I have not yet met in person, have asked me to continue posting.  I'm both honored and puzzled.  What ever have I done or had happen to me that had not occurred in the life of at least one million other folks who daily walk this planet?  Although I do not understand your interest, thank you for it.  I'll try.

Sailing The Caribbean 

One of the oldest dreams I have been hostage to for my very short life is the one of sailing single handed around this big planet.  In my mind I often leave this world and find myself lashed into and cringing in a quarter berth as the ocean around me rages, daring me to leave the comfort of my cot and slings and to come on deck where it can toss me far from my cork of a boat.  Of course both The Dream and I know that I have already talked to the Good Lord and He has directed me to stay safe and secure in my bunk.  The ocean will always lose in this dream, and I will always survive, just as I once did in real life.  The Dream persists and I still have the desire to make the voyage.  I needed to find a starting place, one where I could find answers.  

My body is now many decades older than it was when The Dream first appeared.  Can I still handle a sailboat?  Do I still want to make this circumnavigation?  How can I find out if I want to do this?  The answer, of course, was to go sailing.  So, for the first time in almost thirty years, I planned an open ocean voyage.  I enrolled in a sailing school who promised:

"Guests with little or no prior sailing experience should be able to complete Course 101. Those with a reasonable amount of sailing experience may be able to complete courses 101 and 103. To complete all 3 levels, resulting in bareboat certification, guests will need to have a considerable amount of prior sailing experience and knowledge of coastal navigation - and therefore guests should not expect to be able to complete all 3 levels in one week unless they do have such experience."

"I'll not be able to fool these guys," I muttered to myself, "These are the only people I've seen that do not promise the moon."    So, I called them and signed up for a one week course that, if I were successful, would result in certification allowing me to charter a yacht on my own, without the need of hiring a Captain to oversee the way I managed it.   

I paid the tuition, bought the plane tickets and set off for St. Vincent and the Grenadines, a bunch of islands located in the Windward part of the Caribbean Sea.  In short, Paradise. 

Thank you, Carolyn

A year ago today I took Carolyn's temperature and found it was elevated.  No biggie, both of us expected it to happen one day.  PSP does not kill, it maims, and one of the areas it affects is the throat and it's muscles; it becomes hard to swallow.  Often this difficulty results in pneumonia and is easily combated.  We expected the infection.  We did not expect the difficulty in swallowing to be fatal.  It was. 

No matter how long death announces his presence in a life and no matter how long he sits patiently on the living room couch waiting for a loved one's soul, the death comes unexpectedly and too quickly.  No amount of reasoning or rationalizing will prepare you for that last breath.

The chest just stops rising and the world changes. 

It's been a year since I told Carolyn it was time for me to dress her so we could go to the hospital.  A week later she was gone.

I've done well this last year, better than one would have thought.  I thank Carolyn for this; she told me all was well when I scattered her ashes in the same place her mothers had been strewn several months before.

You see, Carolyn loved dogs.  She chose to show me all was well and that she and her mom had been reunited not more than two minutes after her ashes had been spread on the waters of the Canadian Atlantic coast where she and her mother had spent many summer vacations while her father worked in the city of Montreal.  He joined them on weekends, but the shoreline belonged to them for most of the time.
 

Only the people in our very small party were in view for as far as we could see during the ceremony celebrating her life and there were no animals at all.  Yet, within minutes of that celebration, before we could regain the grasses beyond the sand, two dogs appeared.  They were jumping on each others back as they ran, seemingly happy to be with each other as only young dogs can show that feeling.  You've seen it - playfully caressing each other while flying low to the ground. 

The two dogs ran straight to me and one, the younger white one, tried to climb my body to be nearer my face.  I lowered to a knee and the younger put her head on my thigh for several seconds.  The older of the two then circled while the younger and I exchanged caresses.  After a short while, they left and disappeared just as they had arrived, dancing and playing as they departed.

I'm sure it was what a minister I later consulted called a "God moment" and that Carolyn and her mom had greeted me and told me they were together again and all was well. 

I've waited awhile to post this and during that time I've learned to dance with new partners.  I've learned to dine and travel in the company of other souls.  I have not yet learned to share my life.  But I will. 

If ever there were a person who could talk God into letting her tell her mate she was alright, Carolyn would be the person to do so.  She could charm God himself and would risk damnation to ease my suffering.  I thank her so much for letting me know, and I thank God for letting her show me. 

Tuesday next will have been 52 weeks, and the 4th of Sept will be a year since her passing.  I'm going to move on.  But, Carolyn, when it comes time for me to rest, be sure my ashes will join yours.  I'll keep that promise as I kept all the others.