Here is a poem I wrote whilst bobbing up and down (and side to side) on the great big ship that is now my home:

8-12-12


The ship rocks slowly

Back and forth beneath me

Like the steady breathing

Of your enormous chest.

This is how you tell me

You are here, and
You are not afraid.


It pretty much sums up how I feel about sailing out here in what feels like the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.  I love it.  I love the way the ship sways and rocks with each swell.  I love looking out of every window and seeing sea and sky meet in a distant and perfectly straight horizon.  I love all the interesting ways we find to entertain ourselves and each other now that we're trapped here together.  Saturday, I passed several card games (including Hand and Foot, Uno, and non-monetary poker), Scrabble, Battlestar Galactica, and a ship-wide sock-golf tournament (which is just what it sounds like, by the way) just between my cabin and the laundry room, where I happened to be playing a rousing game of figure-out-how-to-operate-the-dutch-laundry-machine.  (I won.)  They tell me that this has been one of their easier sails.  All I can say is it's been delicious.  How many teachers can look out their windows during lessons and see dolphins swimming outside? (Dolphins!  Eeee!  Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures.  I was too busy being gobsmacked.)

We will eventually get where we are going, probably within the week.  (I'm not supposed to give exact dates or locations in case real life pirates or other ne'er-do-wells happen to be reading my blog.)  And once we get there, things will settle into a new normal, one that I have not yet experienced.  I'm kind of excited to be docked and all.  I'm nervous, too, but not as much as one would think.  I really don't know what it's going to be like, for one thing.  Plus, my Great Task has already begun.  Of course I am here to see Africa (not to mention hear Africa, which, if Sunday night was any indication, is going to be AWESOME).  But my real job is right here on the ship, teaching these wonderful, generous, gawky, sullen, brilliant teenagers, some of the very few people who did not get to choose to live here.  I feel like they know more than I do sometimes, especially when I'm teaching geography (that's the area of Social Studies that we're focusing on this year).  Who am I to tell these kids what the world is like?  I grew up in California.  They know Spain and Switzerland the way I know Disneyland.  Well, I can help them learn how to learn, if nothing else.  And maybe if they just want a grown up to pay attention for a while, I can be that person, too.

Speaking of students and school, I have some journal entries to read and return, so I'll be signing off now.  This was the view from deck 7, starboard, Saturday evening.  Not too shabby, eh?

I love you all.