#nautical round lights

[decadentindustries]

Bathroom in New York Bathroom - mid-sized traditional kids' bathroom idea with blue walls, recessed-panel cabinets, distressed cabinets, quartz countertops, and ceramic tile with white and blue tiles.

[newtonlara]

Powder Room - Bathroom Image of a small, elegant powder room with blue walls, white subway tile, a dark wood floor, and a brown floor.

[millerlilia]

Powder Room - Bathroom Image of a small, elegant powder room with blue walls, white subway tile, a dark wood floor, and a brown floor.

[project3x5]

Medium Sun Room (Minneapolis)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This boat house is so cute. The 1950 home in Portland, OR has been remodeled and has 2bds, 1.5ba. $350K + $480mo. HOA. The home is on the Columbia River.

Lively orange door.

Entrance foyer. I think that door may be the half bath.

Isn't this a beautiful living room? It even has a fireplace. I've never seen a boathouse like this- no trace of nautical decor. Love the lights around the doorway.

What a lovely dining room- it's so large, light, and airy. Love the round window and doors to the deck.

Love the blue lights under the kitchen cabinets. The kitchen has nice white cabinets and quartz counters. All new appliances and a subway tile backsplash. I know that some people like a big kitchen, but this is the perfect size for me.

Extra storage in the built-in pantry.

The primary bedroom is so pretty and surprisingly big.

The bath has a beautiful sink and tiles.

The 2nd bd. is currently being used as a den.

This is nice, what a huge deck.

Wow, so much space for summer living.

Stairs to the water and a little garden. Plus, a hot tub.

Friendly waterfowl stroll along the piers.

[shortstorytournament]

Short Story Tournament

THE HUSBAND STITCH by Carmen Maria Machado (2014) (link) - tw: body horror, medical and sexual abuse

I don’t know what deviant pleasure she asked for, though I desperately wish I did. What magical thing could you want so badly that they take you away from the known world for wanting it?

THE REDOUBTABLES by Premee Mohamed (2020) (link) - tw: death

Still rising, the edge of the thing reveals itself. No chaotic meteor-strike with lacy edges of ejecta but a smooth dinnerplate of a crater, whitely bereft of life, and in the center a darkness so profound that it seems astronomical rather than nautical, a black hole from which no light can escape, nor the grains of sand or stars.

[fisherman-fight]

ROUND ONE

ANXIOUS ANGLER from SKY: CHILDREN OF THE LIGHT vs THE WELLERMAN from THAT WHALING BALLAD

HERE'S WHAT THE SUBMITTERS HAD TO SAY ABOUT OUR CONTESTANTS:

ANXIOUS ANGLER - "Part of a pirate crew!! Know how to hide from dangerous sea creatures!! Anxious but they don't let it stop them from fishing!! Hat!!"

THE WELLERMAN - okay. actually? pollrunner here. this was submitted to me as "the weatherman from that sea shanty tiktok" and i thought it was funny but. i'm also a big nerd about nautical history and the age of sail so. i feel compelled to use my platform here to inform you that despite their inclusion in this poll, the titular wellermen from the song were not necessarily fishermen. whalers definitely count as fisherman for the purposes of this tournament, but "wellerman" was just slang for "guy who worked for the weller brothers". the weller brothers owned a lot of supply ships and sold provisions to whalers ("soon may the wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum"). they weren't whalers themselves. okay that's the end of my infodump. shoutout to the longest johns, stream between wind and water (the album their recording of wellerman is on)

nobody bully the person who submitted "the weatherman". they shouldn't be made to feel ashamed for not knowing something, especially something that can't really be considered common knowledge.

[tigerballoons]

Hello, my nautical consultant! I have been pondering over this for a while, but I was wondering if you could throw any light on this quote from The Charioteer, when Ralph is talking about that fateful crush on his sub:

"He was a sub of mine. If he'd been a matelot it would have been all right; I could have put it out of my mind because I'd have bloody well had to. But he was round my neck all day. He wanted to learn everything I knew except what I wanted to teach him."

So I've been trying to get a proper definition of "matelot" - is he distinguishing between someone who is not an officer, or someone who is his equal rather than his junior? It doesn't make sense to me because I don't see how 'I'd have bloody well had to' refers any more to a 'matelot' than to the sub. I get that the guy is around him all the time, but then why wouldn't he just say it was harder because he was around all the time. OK, might have answered my own question because that could be a Mary-ism couldn't it, Ralph could never admit to not being able to do something, and he often says things that don't make any sense.

But anyway, I thought you would probably have a better sense of how he is using that word than me! Thank you in advance 😊

Hello hello!

So I think this does have some element of it being harder to ignore having a crush on someone you are with all the time, yes. But I think it's also about the power dynamics.

Matelot means an ordinary sailor, one of the regular crew. The power difference between a lieutenant and sub-lieutenant is nothing compared with that between a comissioned officer and an ordinary seaman. Ralph is the captain. His word is effectively law on board. If he did start acting inappropriately, an ordinary crewman wouldn't have been able to say no. Ralph would have been in trouble for the abuse of that power, as much as what he did with it. So if he'd fallen for one of the crew he would have had to get over his feelings or risk being court martialled and locked up.

I think also, there's some disgust because he's not the kind of person who would take advantage like that anway, especially as he's seen this from the other end during his early career. Think about his comments in the party scene, too! It's clearly a topic he has strong feelings about.

[akechisjustic]

[Open Starter] A Childish Dream

"So a few things off the bat, right now you're standing in the dream of a child. As you can see from the nautical theme, this was the dream of a child who longed to sail the seven seas with his trusty clock to guide him, heehee. Since it appears you are stuck in this dream, I can only assume that your heart secretly longs for the same thing as the one who made this dream, or there's something in here that you need to find.

I'll give you a few hints since you seem to be lost. One, like any good seafaring adventure, there's treasure! But the treasure itself is a trap, sometimes true treasure isn't something hidden in a box that refuses to be found. Two, you may have heard the saying that the real treasure is the friends we find along the way. If you help those in need, I'm sure they'll find a way to help you back. Third, you might have wondered to yourself 'how does a clock guide a sailor'? Weeelll it might not be exactly a clock, but it is round and has symbols on its face and a needle that moves around. Close enough to a clock for a child to think of it as one, no?

Anyway, good luck, and, don't worry, I'll be sticking around if you really need help, but I have a feeling you won't."

He had woken up in this so-called child's sea-faring theme with only a cheerful, feminine voice to guide him. The voice had departed not too long he had woken in what looked to be a hotel corridor covered in a hazy blue. Akechi frowned. Honestly, this entire place was too hotel-like for him to guess this was supposed to be nautical themed. The only thing that vaguely reminded him of the sea were the transparent blue fishes that kept swimming past him. Oh and the bubbles, why were there so many blue bubbles?

He shook his head and continued walking down the corridor, hands trailing the wooden banisters and the ignoring the shell shaped lamps that were not doing their job of lighting the place up. he had woken up in what seemed like a child's playroom, but the corridor that the door had opened up to- Akechi frowned. This kid wouldn't have happened to have grown up in a hotel would they?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and kept walking down the hallway. There seemed to be an elegant door at the end (were there stairs?) and he was sure wherever the exit was it was beyond that door. Inside him, he could feel the rumbles of power from both Robin and Loki but strangely not H//er////ewa///rd, however, his outfit hadn't changed and his phone didn't have any suspicious red glowing eyes.

Maybe the voice was right and this really was a dream? No matter, if things got dangerous, and he was sure it was going to, he had his personas to rely on. It was going to be okay. (He wasn't certain.)

[twothpaste]

Howdy there, any headcanons for Lighter? -Scrib

I like Lighter. He seems like a good dad. The fact he ends up being a better dad than Flint (much better, I'd say) is maybe a bit sad, given how close they are. I love how in Chapter 1 his ruthless work ethic gets him outta bed when he oughtta be resting. And how in Chapter 4, he's clearly been singlehandedly rebuilding his lightning-struck house. Dude's self-sufficient, eager to lend a hand, and resilient as all hell. I've gotta respect it.

It's sweet that Lighter's been Flint's bestie for as long as either of 'em can remember. I like to think that's real shit, not just somethin they fried up when they scrambled their brains with the Egg of Light. If folks recall my hc that a lot of Tazmilians used to be nautically inclined - Lighter's among the boat-buildin' folks. Probably used his lumber guy talents to help construct the White Ship (I picture it being made of equal parts wood and metal, 'cause that motif makes my brain light up like the fourth of July). And I have an awfully particular vision for pre-game Flint, practically the opposite of the gruff cowboy persona he crafted for himself (but that's a whole other can o' worms!). I like the thought of a feeble-willed young Flint befriending someone with reliable skills, lookin' up to him. Lighter bein' a close pal who's always respected and tried to support Flint over the years, no matter how weak or strong he might be. I do kinda prefer to keep my pre-canon headcanons fuzzy 'round the edges, though. Perhaps I'll cook somethin' cool with 'em someday.

One thing that bamboozles me about Lighter is the absence of his wife / Fuel's mom. I've seen a lotta folks try to wrangle how she might've died, but on a thematic level, I have a really hard time imagining another dead parent story that doesn't undercut Hinawa's death. So much of the story we get hinges on Tazmily being unfamiliar with sudden tragedy. But if young parents of small kids have died there before, it really loses that impact. Nana's mysteriously absent folks are already seriously pushin' those limits. EB64 offers some lost secret sauce - Lighter's wife Tobacco disappeared at sea, much like Nana's dad. Could maybe swing somethin' like that. Maybe it's somethin' mundane but taboo - Lighter slept around, and Fuel's mom's one of the other villagers, and no one likes to talk about it. Or, fuck it. Maybe Lighter's a happily single trans dad. Who's to say!

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 152

Adjective: Infinite

Noun: Eye

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Infinite: limitless or endless in space, extent, or size, or impossible to measure or calculate; very great in amount or degree; (mathematics) greater than any assignable quantity or countable number; (mathematics) (of a series) able to be continued indefinitely; (grammar) another term for nonfinite

Eye: each of a pair of globular organs in the head through which people and vertebrate animals see, the visible part typically appearing almond-shaped in animals with eyelids; the corresponding visual or light-detecting organ of many invertebrate animals; the region of the face surrounding the eyes; used to refer to someone's power of vision and in descriptions of the manner or direction of someone's gaze; used to refer to someone's opinion or attitude toward something; a thing resembling an eye in appearance, shape, or relative position; a rounded eye-like marking on an animal, such as those on the tail of a peacock, or an eyespot; a round, dark spot on a potato from which a new shoot can grow; (US) a center cut of meat; the center of a flower, especially when distinctively colored; the calm region at the center of a storm or hurricane; (nautical) the extreme forward part of a ship; the small hole in a needle through which the thread is passed; a small metal loop into which a hook is fitted as a fastener on a garment; (nautical) a loop at the end of a rope, especially one at the top end of a shroud or stay

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Now, I'm in England with a house I absolutely love, and found that it either didn't sell, or is on the market again. I LOVE this home. Note the 2 statues on the columns playing a game and you drive under it.

This estate is in Dorsington, Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, UK, has 6bds, 6ba, £3.65M / $4.319M

Do you like the look of beams? This home's ground fl. is completely open concept, but the beams offer a clear view while still marking separations for each area. Here in the living room there's a lovely brick fireplace.

There's a nice round railing in the middle of the floor. Note the exposed brick walls.

The home has a nautical theme. The unusual round kitchen island has nautical accents. I can't make out what the graphics on the walls are, but they must be ship-themed.

I must say that this is some architectural design. It's amazing. I could be very happy here. It gives off a feeling of tranquility.

Also, beyond the kitchen and living room, there's a gorgeous indoor pool and spectacular acquarium that takes up a whole wall.

I like the way the inside of the pool is painted and look at the stained glass window with an ocean scene above. Also, take note of the beams on the left that are carved to look like palm tree trunks.

The hot tub at the end of the pool lit up at night. How romantic is this?

A magnificently carved custom made bed in a child's room. Look at the mermaid with the trident. On the other side there's a pirate with a sword. Is that a canon in the middle? I think that there's also a way to climb up on top of the bed, too.

From the cupola in the eaves there's a pirate ready to swoop down and he has a long sword on his belt.

Now, out here they cheated. That's book shelf wallpaper.

The primary bedroom is very large, and a little too beige.

The home theater has an Art Deco flair. Look at the little side tables, for snacks and drinks.

What an incredible bar. The floor, the lights, the walls. Even the pool table lights up.

Outdoors there's a nice little terrace and what a colorful anchor.

The big chess set.

Gorgeous gardens.

And, as if all of this isn't enough, there's a fairytale cottage with a thatched roof.

Isn't this a cozy living room? Love the red wood stove and Marilyn Monroe above it.

Nice semi-circular kitchen. The extra touches in these homes are so special.

What a lovely sunroom.

https://www.knightfrank.co.uk/properties/residential/for-sale/dorsington-stratford-upon-avon-warwickshire-cv37/STR012428564

[teabooksandsweets]

A City of Bells

Chapter VII — Part IV

At ten minutes to three Grandmother was sitting in her pew in the choir with the children one on each side of her. She wore her Sunday clothes and carried her best umbrella, that she never used unless it was sure not to rain. She had three umbrellas; one for rain, one for uncertain weather and one for fine weather. Henrietta wore her new red winter coat trimmed with beaver, with a round beaver cap on her head and a little muff hung round her neck on a chain. She was much too hot, but she did not mind because she knew she looked very sweet. Hugh Anthony, in his new nautical overcoat with brass buttons, neither knew nor cared what he looked like, but was comforted in his heated state by a whistle on a white cord. For years he had been telling his grandparents that a whistle should always accompany marine attire and now at last, just in time for the festival, this remark had sunk in. With his lovely eyes fixed on the altar and an expression of great spiritual beauty on his face he was wondering just when to blow the whistle. Should he accompany the last hymn on it or should be blow one shrill blast in the middle of the Dean’s sermon? It was difficult to decide. He must, as Grandfather said one should, wait and be guided.

The ladies of the Close had their pews near the altar and these were always reserved for them. Lady Lavinia had the front pew on the right with the Palace pew opposite her across the aisle. Behind these were ranged the pews of the Canons’ ladies in order of seniority. Barleycorn, the second verger, attired in his black gown and carrying his wand of office, was in charge of these pews, and it was his business to see that no presuming stranger dared to sit itself down in the seats of the mighty. It sometimes seemed to Henrietta that Barleycorn thoroughly enjoyed the ejection of a stranger. He would wait until the poor wretch had lowered itself, very tentatively, on to the square of wood sacred to Lady Lavinia and then he would glide swiftly forward with an expression of horror on his face, his gown floating behind him and his wand outstretched like the neck of a hissing swan. There would be a whispered colloquy, and the poor stranger would get up and creep away as though detected in the act of shoplifting, leaving its umbrella behind … On these occasions Henrietta detested Barleycorn, for she hated to see people made to feel ashamed.

But to-day no one sat down where they should not and very soon Barleycorn hurried away, a bell tinkled, they all rose to their feet and far away the choir were heard singing a hymn, “Ye holy angels bright,” as they came in procession from the vestry.

And now they had reached the entrance to the choir and were passing under the carved angels of the screen, the sound of their singing swelling gloriously.

Henrietta, her muff swinging and her hands holding her prayer-book upside down, forgot all distractions in her excitement as the procession came up the choir. First came one of the masters of the choir-school holding the great golden cross and after him came the choirboys singing fit to burst themselves, and then the choirmen singing more moderately but yet with extreme heartiness:

“Ye blessed souls at rest,          Who ran this earthly race, And now, from sin released,          Behold the Saviour’s face, His praises sound, As in His light With sweet delight Ye do abound.”

After them came another choir-school master carrying the patron saint’s banner, a needlework picture embroidered in blues and greens and pinks and purples. It showed the saint, attired in his swineherd’s get-up, sitting beside the holy well and brooding sadly over the sins of the Torminster valley. At his feet flowers grew—pansies and violets and cowslips—and behind him were the blue hills, and up in the sky the Angel Gabriel was sitting comfortably on a cloud and holding an architect’s model of the Cathedral on his left palm. It was a beautiful picture, but by some extraordinary oversight the pigs had been omitted.

Behind the banner came Peppercue and Barleycorn, the vergers, followed by the Dean and Canons and the Archdeacon.

The combined ages of the Dean, the four Canons and the Archdeacon at this time came to four hundred and eighty-four, but it was marvellous how they got about. First came the two juniors, Grandfather and the Archdeacon, aged seventy-eight and eighty, who walked quite easily without sticks, then came Canon Allenby aged eighty-two, who used one stick, and Canon Roderick aged eighty-six, who used two sticks, and behind them came Canon Elphinstone aged eighty-eight in his bathchair, pushed by his gardener.

The Dean, who was only seventy, came behind the bathchair and was apt to complain to his wife that shepherding his Chapter in a procession made him feel exactly like a—er—nursemaid … The Dean never used strong language, but in conversation he quite unconsciously left expressive pauses where he would have used it had he not been a clergyman.

Behind the Dean came the Bishop’s chaplain carrying the Bishop’s pastoral staff and behind him came the Bishop’s cope with the Bishop just visible inside it, limping a little because his sciatica was bad that day. Spiritually the Bishop was a very great man, but physically he was not, being small and thin and lacking that autocratic bearing that made the Dean such a fine figure of a man at dinner-parties. The Dean and Lady Lavinia always patronized the Bishop a little. The man lacked private means and as a result the soles at his dinner parties were lemon, not Dover … But it was noticeable that people in difficulties always went to the Bishop for help rather than to the Dean.

“My soul, bear thou thy part,          Triumph in God Above, And with a well-tuned heart          Sing thou the songs of love: Let all thy days Till life shall end, Whate’er He send, Be filled with praise.”

They all filed singing into their seats and knelt down to pray and Henrietta found to her delight that she was feeling good, a feeling she adored. Tears of happy emotion pricked behind her eyelids, her throat swelled and she was certain that she was never going to be naughty any more. God and His angels were near and one only had to be absolutely good and everything would be perfect … It was all quite easy.

“Shall I blow it now?” whispered Hugh Anthony, nudging her behind Grandmother’s back.

“Blow what now?” demanded Henrietta, opening her eyes.

“My whistle.”

“You dare blow your beastly whistle! You dare!” she whispered savagely. She was in an ugly rage that tore at her. She stretched across Grandmother, dragged the lanyard roughly over his head and buried it and the whistle in the depths of her muff. “You beast! You beast!” she panted.

“Here, give me that back,” said Hugh Anthony loudly. “It’s my whistle.”

Lady Lavinia, Mrs. Elphinstone, Miss Roderick, Mrs. Allenby and all the ladies of the Close raised their bowed heads and gazed at the couple more in sorrow than in anger … Really, if Mrs. Fordyce must adopt children at her age she could at least make some attempt to keep them in order during divine service.

Grandmother made it, for she was very angry. Her eyes were shining quite dangerously and her mouth, until she opened it, was a thin line. “Be quiet, children! Henrietta, give me that whistle. One more word from either of you and you go straight home. I never saw such an exhibition in all my life!”

The whistle was placed in Grandmother’s bag, which was snapped to with a resounding click, and everybody’s heads were lowered again. But Henrietta no longer felt good and the tears that trickled down behind her fingers were those of rage instead of sweet piety … How dared Hugh Anthony! … Little beast! … Just let him wait till they got outside and she would show him!

Hugh Anthony was not at all angry, for he was a firm believer in destiny. Things happened because they were ordained to happen. It was interesting to find out by what sequence of cause and effect they did happen, but useless to try to avert them. His whistle was gone and he was unlikely to see it again, but never mind; he would now be able to use on Henrietta, in punishment for her theft, a new booby-trap that he had recently invented but lacked opportunity to put into action. During the prayers and psalms he employed himself in working out a few minor touches that would perfect perfect its mechanism … By the time they got to the first lesson he had decided that when he grew up he was going to be an inventor.

The Dean’s high, nasal voice piped out from the lectern. “Let us now praise famous men, and our fathers that begat us … Such as found out musical tunes and recited verses in writing … All these were honoured in their generations, and were the glory of their times … And some there be, that have no memorial; who are perished, as though they had never been; and are become as though they had never been born … But these were merciful men, whose righteousness hath not been forgotten … Their bodies are buried in peace; but their name liveth for evermore.”

That penetrated Henrietta’s rage and she began to feel less wicked. She whispered the words to herself and they were so calming that by the time the final hymn was reached she had quite forgotten what it was she was going to do to Hugh Anthony when she got him outside.

This hymn was the climax of the service and lifted her up into the seventh heaven. The choir, followed by the whole congregation, sang it in procession, going all round the Cathedral and passing by all the decorated graves, leaving none of them out, so that everyone who had loved Torminster, alive or dead, was gathered together in one company.

“For all the saints who from their labours rest, Who Thee by faith before the world confessed, Thy name, O Jesu, be for ever blessed.        Alleluia!”

They were singing that verse as they passed Sir Despard Murgatroyd’s chantry, though he hardly deserved it, and Henrietta stood on tiptoe trying to see the dog with his wreath round his neck, but she could not.

“The golden evening brightens in the west: Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest; Sweet is the calm of paradise the blest.         Alleluia!”

She did so hope her little dog was in Paradise, lying curled round in a ball in a bed of lilies, sleeping off the fatigue of following Sir Despard through purgatory.

They sang the end of the hymn standing in a group by the west door.

“From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast, Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host, Singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost.          Alleluia!”

Then they bowed their heads and the Bishop blessed them. “The peace of God which passeth all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God.” Then for a few moments there was silence, a deep, cool silence like the inside of a well … Peace … Henrietta was not quite sure what it was, but she knew it was very important. If one wanted it, Grandfather had told her once, one must not hit back when fate hit hard but must allow the hammer-strokes to batter out a hollow place inside one into which peace, like cool water, could flow.

The festival was over for another year and they drifted out through the west door on to the Green. It was dusk now, a smoky orange dusk that made the universe look like a lighted Chinese lantern swinging in space.

“I think I should like to go and help Uncle Jocelyn sell in the shop,” whispered Henrietta to Grandmother.

“Aren’t you coming to the Deanery tea-party?” whispered Hugh Anthony in astonishment. “There’ll be iced cakes, and cream in the tea.”

“I want to show Uncle Jocelyn my muff,” said Henrietta.

“Very well, dear,” said Grandmother, slightly relieved … One child alone at the Deanery party would probably behave itself, but with two together you never knew.

[mineralsurfaces]

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[seabreeze2022]

Wales day 6 and 7, August 2024.

Today we trek to a Castle in Caernarfon on the Wales mainland. Neil and Beverley have seen this multiple times so they did some shopping in town while Nancy and I did a 1 hour self guided tour.

Neat little town, this was a four day weekend and it was busy.

You can’t go to Caernarfon without going to the “Black Boy Inn.” As the sign says, built in 1522. Making it one of the oldest pubs in Wales. To pit in perspective, 254 years before America was founded.

This is the front door.

Neil and Nancy bellying up to the bar while putting in our order of Guinness.

Round two….

Wales is known for their love of poetry. They have a yearly competition where the winner is presented with a one of a kind hand built chair. Here I am sitting in one from a bygone era.

From the “Black Boy Inn” we headed to a great Indian food dinner. I thought it a bit strange that a sign in the entry said “no personal sodas allowed.” Turns out being muslim they did not sell alcohol. So you were allowed to bring in your own beer, just not sodas.

Day 7 morning walk. One of many wild flowers, vines and blackberries along the walk.

Neil’s twin sister Janet and her son’s dog joined us for the walk this morning. The day prior we ran into one of Neil’s neighbors near Saint Ceidio’s Church. She mentioned she had the key to the church and helped keep an eye on it. When stopped at her house and retrieved the key that day. She was kind enough to invite us in. She and her husband had taken an old water mill that was in ruins and rebuilt a beautiful house out of it. So today we will get inside of the church.

This church is a 19th century church built on a site that may have been used as a church as long ago as 630 ad. This church was rebuilt using the stones from a 14 th century church previously sitting here.

West wall with its bellcote.

Neil with the key to the door. The round headed doorway may be from the 14th century.

This church has not been in use for many years. So we had to knock down several spiderwebs. Neil made himself at home in the pulpit. Which he had also done in the church in New Bedford, Mass. Which was featured in the movie Moby Dick.

In the back of the church was a stretcher used to carry caskets to the graveyard.

An inscription on slate in the memory of a 21 year old who died in 1802.

Dropped the key off at the old mill which is now a house.

Janet, Charlie and Nancy checking a pasture on the way home. Hurry up we don’t want to miss tea time!

After lunch we drove to the north shore of Anglesey to look at this lighthouse on the point to the right.

Point Lynas lighthouse is very unique. Since it is plenty high to see from the sea. It is built into the wall of the building with light only visible for 180 degrees.

The walk to the lighthouse.

The gate leading to the lighthouse. There are a couple of rooms that you can rent here. Not sure how nice those expensive rooms would be when the fog horn sounds.

Here is the actual light. There is a modern radar antenna, and anemometer on the roof. The ship pilots used this point to help ships getting to Liverpool. The pilot station was built in 1776. This light was built in 1835 which is visible for 18 nautical miles.

A heather covered hillside leading to the water. One seal was visible nearby.

Windy out here on the point.

View from the point back towards the lighthouse.

Neil in the heather.

Neil working the lath in his shop, which he let Nancy try her hand at. One more night watching “Rawhide” then we leave on the ferry the next day for Dublin. What a great vacation, thanks to Neil and Beverley Gadsby.

[ahleecollaborations]

Sea To Sea

    There’s this vastness to the sea. A vastness in the silence. Miles upon miles of open waters that any sailor could lose their mind in, if they were so inclined. Water ripples in a slow roll some days; choppy breaks that rock to and froe other days. That’s the nature of the North Sea. No two days are the same. Dark waters, almost pitch, go further than the horizon. The bottom never to be seen.

Light doesn’t go that far down.

Even five nautical miles off the coast of the Shetlands we could get lost out here.

Callum and me. If we aren’t careful.

    We don’t though ‘cause we’re skilled enough, the two of us, not to get lost. Not on accident least aways. Callum, he’s of good sort. A bit nosy. Or talkative, yeah. But of the good sort. He’s been a sailor, a fisherman, twice as long as I have; and I’ve been one most of my life. He took me on a bit over a month ago as his first mate, which is a bit silly really. It’s just the two of us. He doesn’t have the same qualms about having a woman aboard, though, like some do.

     It’s quiet most days. Just us and the sea. Only our own tales break the silence. I like the quiet. It helps one’s mind to think and just breathe. To just be.

      Callum, though, he hates the quiet. He’s always bursting with questions and tales. Like he can’t sit still if he doesn’t speak. Today’s one of those days where he’s more talkative than most. He’s curiouser than a dang cat near an open flame. He hasn’t been deterred yet by any of my cutting glares – like he’ll never get burned by it.

     He’s persistent; I’ll give him that.

      “Bit odd don’t ya think?” He sits further up deck, checking over nets for holes or knots. Weather worn hands, twisting and untangling a blanket of rope. It’ll be cast tomorrow on our rounds to replace one of the filled nets we collect. “All these stories of fae, water people…cities in the deep. Monsters to come snatch sailors off their ships in the dead o’night.”

      A soft snort escapes me before I can stop it. As well as being talkative, he enjoys telling tall tales of sea creatures and monsters. His smokey voice, gruff from years of abuse on the high seas, tells slow rolling tales even slower than calm waters. I never ask him to sing. His rough timber would put me to sleep in an instant.

      “You don't believe in such things, do ya, lass?”

      “Mer-people and monsters?” I scoff and adjust my position behind the helm. I steady my footing for a second. “Just hokum and fairytales.” His aged blue eyes furrow a bit.

    “Strange that is, lass. I heard your family was fearful of the water people.”

      “My family? Sure. Me? Not so much.”

       “Why’s that?”

     “Seems a bit stupid, innit? We’re an island race. To be fearful of the sea when we’re surrounded by it. Even my great grandad on mum’s side came from an island, all the way in the Mediterranean. If you were tryin’ to get away from killer sea people, why not go more inland? Not to another island surround by the sea.”

    I can see the questions churning in his mind as he contemplates that illogical solution to an even more illogical fear. I grew up hearing stories…myths…legends, whatever you call ‘em. And it seems to be another of those things.

            Stories.

     Just stories about fairies or mermaids. Entertain the kids, yeah. Nothing more to it. But somewhere along the way. Dehydration? Hallucinations? Hell, probably pure boredom, maybe. The stories stopped being fairytales. Started being a real fear.

     “So youse not afraid?” he asks me while he sets aside the nets. Final checks complete. We move about the deck, checking sails and lines. We prepare for the storm that’ll reach us by nightfall. It doesn’t look to be too bad, but better to check than be sorry. I think about his question a bit before answering. My folks’ fear of the sea has followed me for years and I never understood it. There’re far more immediate things to fear than myths and legends.

     “There’s a lot to fear about the sea. Lots of real things. Things we can touch, see, and hear. Storms and sea predators. Things that’ll getcha long before some imaginary monster.” I say to him.

       He chuckles, “Already preparing to get a bit taken out of ya by a shark or somethin’?”

      “Just being realistic. I only worry about what I can control. Everything else, well…don’t worry so much about that.”

     He leaves it at that for time. Our attention is drawn to the tasks ahead of us. We come across some buoys of ours and haul our catch in. It’s laborious work that doesn’t leave much room for chatter. It’s sometimes the only breaks I get from his questions. Once our catch is stored away in the hull, we’re back on deck. Callum has a couple of salmon and herring on a block between his knees. He fillets them for our dinner while I’m back at the helm keeping the boat steady on course.

       So, what is the story then? Why ya folks don’t want ya out at sea?”

       “Like I said, fear of an old story.”

       He glares at my non-response. He gestures with his knife as if to say well go on. Tell it then. It’s ridiculous how persistent he can be.  

      “Don’t have much else to do?” He finally barks out.

      I sigh at his impatience. Might as well. “Mum’s grandad came over years ago from a little island, not much different from ours. But over that way by Greece. They spoke the language too you see.”

        “Do you still speak it?”

       “A little, mostly at home with Mum and Granny. Made it easier when all the grandparents were alive; call them by their Greek names.” He gestures for me to continue the tale before he tosses some of the fish guts over the side.

      “The island was little, yeah. Nothing well known. Old. Like going back in time to the days of Odysseus and Penelope, old. Stories of cyclopes, Achilles, and tricksters followed their childhood dreams. Just slow island life, ya know?” I breathe. “The main trade was fish. Tourism didn’t come until later and it was never that big.”

       That’s the way Granddad tells it. Those who did come to the island liked the soft beaches with crystal-clear waters. Perfect for seeing the marine life and coral reefs that surrounded the island. Hills and small mountain trails were good for hiking. It was a place to get away for a while. Little to no technology. No distractions. It was a peaceful place; I’d like to think. Granddad was hellbent on leaving there and never returning though.

       “The people, Granddad said, were good, kind people. A bit nosy,” I say with a little grin. A lot like Callum, I think. “A lot superstitious. But still good. They told this story called the Song of the Gorgóna.”

      “The gorgo-hoo-a… what now?” I laugh at Callum’s twisted up face. Completely incredulous over such a strange word.

      “Gorgóna.” I repeat in between giggles. “It’s just the Greek word for mermaid. The Celtics call them Merrow or Selkies. Every civilization has their own myths about mermaids. The Romans sometimes called them Sirens. They’re known as Aycayía near the Caribbean islands. All are just the same name in a different language.”

            He huffs at me, annoyed with me. “Well, what’s this island’s story for ‘em?”

            “Yeah, yeah. Sorry side-tracked a bit there. The Gorgóna were a civilization that lived off the coast of the island, between them and the mainland. Deep in the depths of the sea. So far down that no mortal could ever reach there in one breath. They were so big they could wrap themselves around the island and grab ahold of their own tails.” I make a large circle with my arms to show him how the mermaids would themselves around the island’s coasts. “Mermaids as big as the ships from the mainland.”

      He flashes me a juvenile grin. “Were they beautiful? You know it’s the pretty ones that tricked them sailors off the ships.”

     “That’s sirens, Callum,” is my deadpan reply. “Or drunkenness. Or just plain delusions. Same difference really.” His deep bellow of a laugh rolls across the deck.

       “But yeah, I suppose some did say they were beautiful, in a monstrous way. They had iridescent scales in shades of aquamarine, sea moss, and agate. Some were like those rare kinds of opals. Pink and purple mixed with the blues. Pearlescent that’s what they’d say. Their arms and bodies were covered like the ocean floor. They’d masquerade as the coral reefs around the island in their sleep, you see. Helped them hide so they wouldn’t be hunted.”

       “Doesn’t sound like a monster to me.”

     “Except they were as big as a battleship.” I remind him before continuing. “Other’s spoke of the monster. How they’d have talons for fingers, as sharp and long as a marlin’s spear. Rows of razor teeth, like a shark’s. Eyes, too. Cold, calculating. They’d hunt like those killer whales, fast from the deep.” My hands slap together, the sound cracking across the deck. “Hit you before you’d even realize you were the prey. A pure predator in its element.”

      “What’d they hunt?”

     “Long ago, in ancient times, they’d hunt the bigger things in the sea, I reckon. Protect the sailors from the more monstrous creatures of the deep.”

     “Like what?” Good lord, does he ever stop with the questions? I can’t help but point it out.

      “You’re a bit like a kid, always interrupting with questions.” He mimes zipping his mouth shut. Yeah, like that’ll ever last.

      “Krakens, sharks bigger than ships, you see. If you sang the Song of the Gorgóna, that song, they’d come protect you. It was a bit beautiful. And sad, I think, in a hopeful way. You’d sing it and the Gorgóna would come to find you. They’d protect you from those creatures or from raging storms. But it changed.”

      “What changed?” Never mind, he’s worse than a kid.

      “The world I suppose.” I sigh. “Those creatures either died off or went so far into the deep. Then the sailors became the hunted. They became poachers, whalers, those who hunt sharks for just their fins. Maybe even those ships that dump the trash in the ocean, choking the smaller creatures that live there. It made the Gorgóna angry. So, people came to fear the song. It stopped being hopeful.”

      He pulls out the cooking equipment to grill our dinner. I keep us steady with the starboard side facing windward, keeping one eye out for any more of our buoys. I continue with the story while he adds spices to each fish. For once he waits for me to finish the tale.

      “Over time the world aged. The Gorgóna dwindled. There the stories changed with it over time, person to person. Some tell the tale that to change with the world, the Gorgóna traded their tales for legs to walk among the islands. The songs were to call their kin home to the sea or to remind them what they gave up. Others tell it that the only way the Gorgóna could have young was by taking the young of the islanders. If a child sang the song and a Gorgóna heard it, then that child was meant to live amongst their kind.”

      I catch Callum shudder at the second option and stifle a laugh at the older man’s obvious revulsion. Loves his twisted stories, but only if he can tell them, eh?

     “Well, which is it?”

    “Which is what?” I ask like I don’t already know what he means. It can be fun to mess with him. He gives me a look that tells me he knows what I’m doing, but I just grin back.

      “Which one is true?”

      “The first one? The second one? A bit of both, maybe? Isn’t that the nature of these stories?” I shrug, “to be one or the other. Both or neither one.”

     “What made ya family jump ship, so to say, all the way over here?” he asks. I not just notice he’s finished up cooking and puts our food on plates. He hands me mine and I answer him.

      “Oh yeah, that bit. Yeah, mum’s Granddad, he was a small boy then. He’d go out with his mum. Family of fishermen, that was their trade for years and years. Yeah, he saw one, a Gorgóna one day while out with his mum.”

       “Really?!” Goodness, the little kid grin is back.

       “So, he says. Doesn’t like to speak about it much unless he’s in his cups.” I say, but then I can’t help myself and continue just as Callum is about to take a bite. “He claims that’s the reason why he came back to the island after four days without his mum.” It’s comical how Callum pauses mid-bite, incredulous glare pointed at me.

       “What? Now lass, youse can’t go sayin’ something like that without tellin’ us more to it!”

       I put my hand up, placating him a little. “There’s more, there’s more. Slow down, I guess I best tell it from the start, or thirty years before that with his mum.”

      “Yeah, best do that!”

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    Grandmama’s manoúla said…

            “Ma-mana?”

            “Manoúla, Callum. Her mama.”

   Grandmama’s manoúla said that the sea was once our home; that the islands were temporary. For a long time, she thought it was silly because her manoúla left. Left her with Pappoús and never came back.

            “Now what’s that mean? Make some sense, lass.”

            “Grandfather, he was Grandmama’s grandfather. Now shush, Callum.”

       They were fishermen by trade too. Her manoúla was drawn to the sea, almost hypnotized by it in a way, unnatural. She’d tell tales of the Gorgóna and how they were there to guide the fishermen home at the end of each day with gentle waves. They Gorgóna with their massive bodies and tails would make the waves of the sea. They always came to you if you sang their song.

      One day, long after her manoúla left, she was with Pappoús on their little gaffer. The waters were gentle that day, the sun shining clear. Pappoús wasn’t a strict or cruel man. But he did have a rule. No singing on the gaffer. Grandmama would try to get around this, you see. Hum a little tune here and there. She believed if she sang the Song of the Gorgóna at sunset then they would rise out of the water to greet her. She never gave up on that belief.

      That day she sang the Song of the Gorgóna before Pappoús could stop her. Out of the depths rose this creature, dark green eyes, darker than any sea moss. A body that climbed higher above them for miles. Its skin was made of scales in blues and greens that would twitch in the wind. Grandmama was triumphant that she was right, that the Gorgóna did make the waves. She never realized the cost.

       The Gorgóna demanded that Grandmama come home to the sea. Pappoús begged and pleaded. He said she was too young, that they already took her mother from him. Grandmama was confused by his begging and his tears. She was just a child who didn’t know any better; she didn’t know what she had done. The Gorgóna eventually granted mercy with a warning that they’d return.

        Grandmama lived for many years after that feeling the eyes of the Gorgóna on her every time she went to sea.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

      “So, the gorog-who-what…”

       “Gorgóna.”

      “Yeah, those mermaids. They came back for her?”

     “Best Granddad explains it. He was just a kid when it happened. He didn’t believe much in the stories as real anyways. But his mum, Grandmama, would sing the song as a lullaby for him and his sisters when they were just babies.” Time had slipped by as I told him Grandmama’s story. It was near sunset now.

       “He was out on their boat with Grandmama on a day not unlike this one. Dark clouds rolling in. Electrical current in the air sparking along your skin, makes your hair stand on end. The water a near pitch black down in its depths, angry like the ocean floor was about to open wide and swallow you whole.” A shiver rolls down Callum’s spine. I could see he knew what I meant by a day like this. Something ominous on such a dreary day. I continue.

      “And Granddad, he was uh, just a kid like I said. He was scared, scared of the storm. Since that lullaby soothed him when he was a babe, he started to sing it. He didn’t realize he was singing it near the top of his lungs. But he was. Singing it amidst this storm.”

      “Ah that doesn’t sound like that’s goin’ to turn out good.” I roll my eyes, always with the interrupting. I grumble a bit. “No, I’d say it didn’t but that’s the either bit, yeah?”

       “Huh?”

      “Just let me finish.”

       “Yeah, o’right”

       “He’s singing this song, and the storm is getting worse. Thunderous rainclouds, thrashing waves, and so much water thrown around ya, you can’t even see much. He’s getting louder, but he can’t tell, and his mum can’t hear him.”

            “But something else does.” Callum whispers. He’s enraptured with this silly tale. Eyes alight with wonder and horror. Ears catching every morsel. Our dinner has long been forgotten now.

      “But something else does.” I repeat. “All at once the boat stops, knocks the wind right out o’em. The waves are still crashing around ‘em like a child beating against a boulder in the middle of a sea.” My own arms and hands come up, beating in the air wildly to show how the waves would meet the boat. Futile. “If they had looked, they’d have seen grey, sleek talons wrapped around the stern and bow of the boat, bars of steel. One wrong move and they’d rip the boat in two.”

       “Slowly, deep onyx pools crept from the deep. Miles of the same sleek grey trailing after it. This creature isn’t how the others were described. That’s ‘cause this one…this one was here to collect. A predator in search of its prey.”

        “Did it say anything?”

        “No.”

     Callum’s eyes widen, his breath quickens. He’s gripping his seat; anticipation rolling down his body.

      “It’s eyes, cold, deadly watched Granddad and Grandmama. Assessing… Stalking… Hunting. Granddad trembled in the presence of the creature.”

     “Yeah, no wonder.” Callum mumbles. I pretend I didn’t hear him.

       “But Grandmama, she was calm, calm as can be. She knew the day would come, Granddad says. She wasn’t afraid of the creature. She left the sails and went to Granddad. She hugged him and kissed his cheeks. All the while the predator watched them, and the storm raged on around them. It’s eyes never left her. Granddad tried to cling to her, tried to keep her on the boat. He was so scared. There was no use though. She pried his trembling fingers from her soaked sleeves and…”

       “And what?” Callum blurts out. I pause a little longer.   

        “Jumped.”

       “Jumped to the depths below. And just as seamlessly as it came from the darkness, the creature slipped back into its embrace.”

        “What happened then?”

      “Granddad says the storm went on for four more days. He hid in the hull; and when the sun finally shined on the fifth morning, he came out to find the boat just a mile off the island.” I don’t give much credit to this bit of the story. Now that I’ve finished, I collect my plate, toss the skeletons back into the sea for small critters to feast on. Callum cleans up his own meal, doing the same with the carcasses. This time around he’s at the helm and I’m leaning against the rails, gazing upon the horizon. It’s calm now. A bit of calm before the storm. After some time, Callum asks me again.

       “After all that, all that your family went through, you still don’t believe?”

      “In stories that change from one person to the next. Never the same as the one before; never knowing what’s the truth or just a story?” I can’t help but laugh a little at that. “No, not really.”

      Callum looks at me bewildered, “But what about what your granddad says, gotta put some stock into that?”

     “Oh, that? His mum fell overboard in the middle of a storm. Hazard of the job. He was a kid who needed to make sense of her death, nothing more to it.”

       “So, you really don’t believe?” He questions again, drawing out the words. I mock the idea.

       “Why go chasing ghost stories and fairytales when life’s interesting enough?”

      Callum finally, finally relents. He accepts that I don’t believe in all the nonsense. “You’re a rare breed lass. A rare one.”

      The sun slips into the ocean behind me just as silent as the Gorgóna. I can’t help but flash him a razor-sharp smile with a glimmer in my onyx eyes. “You have no idea, Callum.”

            “No idea.”

The End.