Tour of the BOAT

Some books strapped on the shelf. Normally this is where we keep the computers. So we call that the office.



All that and she cooks too. Ruth in the kitchen.



Our fold out bed. I put a board across the aisle, and then we made a cushion for that, and with the one across the aisle, and the table folded down, we lay perpindicular to the way the bed used to go, and it's about a king size or so. Bigger than any bed in any of these huge boats around us. Suckers.



Our dining room. That's the table that drops down to the seat height to make the first part of the bed platform.



It might be too late for you to send a picture of yourself, but if you're not up there, it's not because we didn't ask. This is the wall of fame, right there.

TOUR OF THE BOAT

Our new plate holder



Our new shelves



Storage up in the V-berth. Used to be a triangular bed, but that was a long, long time ago.



The laundrette.



Our pantry

Somomo

These were the conch that were too slow to get away.



Skinned wahoo on tha dock



Skinning conch



That's a huge pile of conch shells back there.



And that's all she ate for dinner, too.

Some cool people we met

Derek and Dan, who gave us our water bladder



Fellow Popeye fan. This was just a dude I met on the street.



Gavin and Michelle's catamaran. They run a dive tour business off of this thing.



Ruth and our friend Patti. She's super cool. The one that drove us all over, remember?



This a closeup of the hat our friend Reg was wearing. What a silly, silly man.

Hey, return the favor.

A Knowles grave. Everyone here is either a Knowles, Rolle, Harding, Fox, or a few others. And they're all intermarried, and everyone on all of these islands is a first, second, third, or whatever cousin practically. It's crazy.



This graffiti reminded me of the Coop.



Elvis's rental. This is how they pay to keep the lights on at Graceland.



Besides shops like this, they have shops all around that say things like "Produce & Notions." They sell notions all around here. I have no idea what that means. Bahamians have a different way of speaking, thinking, and pretty much anything else.



Like this one, for instance. Any idea what the hell this is supposed to mean? Someone took a lot of time with this. It was posted in a phone booth that is no longer in service. Head scratching is a major pasttime down here for us.



Anyway, here's a couple more for you. Maybe you could return the favor. Send us a picture of some snow, or someone frozen solid in a block of ice, or something. Maybe the first robin of spring covered in frost. Come on, ante up. We miss that stuff. Seriously.

SO, the latest

All that's left of this shipwreck...



...except this toilet, which is perfectly intact. We're going to try to make a trip up there on the way back, and we can use it in our next project.




Bridge at high tide over the rushing current into the backside of Warderick Wells.



Hurricane damaged hotel, North Bim.



Nature taking over man, as it always will, happily.


Okay, we're still here. Yeah, I know. Lazy. Unmotivated. Do nothing, dragass, bums. Well, be all you can be, as they say. To be or not to be. So now, we just ARE. Being, that is. Not doing much. Sitting around the marina, making music, hanging out with Hugh, Chris, and now Bob and Pat. We're going to get together tonight and watch the Democratic debate (did I just capitalize that? Whoops.) between our man and that thing.

That should be a good time. I'm making chili. In the meantime, we're over at the hotel, which I guess we are entitled to use because we're staying in the marina. They have a gym, but like all things in the Bahamas, it is open at odd times, and the hours aren't posted. So a few miles over here, only to find out that it's not open for four hours (3:30), so we're sitting in the bar typing, and maybe eating a little chicken.

So, that's all our news. Sure would be nice if we heard what's going on with all of you guys. Oh well, I guess that's not to be. Well, the Murawskis give us updates, anyway. But those Livingstones, they're such mysterious people. And can't write emails. All with these fancy college educations, usin' high falutin' words, work on computers all day, and all that highclass chit chat, and still can't drop an ol' boy a line so he can hear how his pore ol' mother and pore ol' father, sisters and brothers are doin.' Oh well. At least you guys know how we are. At least you all have that peace of mind. But that's fine. As long as you guys are comfortable, that's cool. Because for us, it's only about a couple miles walk to get online to post this for you guys, which we do at every opportunity, but I'm sure it's much, much further for you. So ya know, don't trouble yourselves.

If you didn't realize, I was being a bit sarcastic. For real, someone write an email now and again, and tell me (JL) how my family is doing. You're killing me over here, with that silence business. Miss you all.