Slow down. Stretch. Breathe.
Before we let the coming summer carry us away, dreamy, windswept, mouth wide open, ready to inhale each sultry moment and hope they stretch beyond September; before we start marking calendar days for what is to come—the races, the rallies, the rendezvous, the weekends with our partners, our friends, our children, and — for those of us who get to watch a third generation of sailors take flight — our grandchildren; before the exhilarating rush we know we’ll feel when the rudder and sail sing together, lifting our brave vessel over wave after wave after wave after wave; before all of that . . . let’s take a breath.
We are the lucky ones. Not without suffering (there’s plenty to go around), but with enough good fortune to be right now reading about boats and boat gear, and, even better, to be making plans to go sailing.
This little mag is a modest effort, a half-dozen projects wrangled together each month in a fever of testing, retesting, and clattering on workbenches and computers
until our shoulders ache. It may be useful—we hope that it is—but at the very least, these pages can remind us that we are the lucky ones, using leisure time to satisfy a curiosity about boats and the sea.
This intense curiosity is what drives the Practical Sailor ship, and I know of few sailors as curious as our electronics tester Bill Bishop. He’s curious in both senses—weird and full of questions. When he’s not testing, he’s writing science fiction, or melting minerals until they glow and harden into rainbow hues, or growing peppers so hot you dare not approach them—a whiff will make your eyes sting.
A year ago, though, he had nothing to be curious about. At least not that he can recall. For three months, Bishop was flat on his back in a coma. A complication days after surgery left him unconscious and on a respirator. Were it not for the persistent vigilance of close friends and the guardedly hopeful intensive care unit staff, he would not be back tending his garden or at home writing about robots and aliens today.
One happy day last summer, three months after nearly crossing the bar, Bishop suddenly opened his eyes. He watched in amusement as the ceiling, then walls, then floor, spun over head, as if he was lying prone inside a giant tumbling die.
Three months after that Bishop was walking again. He had T-shirts made to hand out to the ICU nurses. “You Can’t Kill Bill,” they read. And today, nearly nine months after that surreal moment when the hospital room spun and whirled, he says he’s ready to start testing again. Something small. Something fun.
How else can I respond, except to say, “Of course, but first let’s take a breath.” We all should pause and enjoy this moment of anticipation, these imagined glimpses of future pleasure. It is a blessing to have something to look forward to—especially if it is summer.
Breathe deep and enjoy before it passes. Today is our lucky day.
Nice story. Each day is a gift from God.