The Art of the Magazine

I am super excited to announce the launch of my new project, Art Strolls, an interactive online magazine on the arts in all it's glorious forms. I hope to do these for regions, counties, towns, around the country. These magazine will have limited, appropriate advertising,  I am taking this approach because I think most magazines have way too much advertising and it overshadows the content.  The first issue is on the arts in Delaware...small state, big arts. How to work the links? It's easy, hover over the name (if it's linked it will be underlined), a trio of symbols will pop up, click on the RIGHT hand symbol that looks like a chain and voila, you are taken over to the artist/gallery/organization's website or facebook page but you don't go off the magazine. Enjoy and let me know what you think

Art Strolls in Delaware

The Art of Letter Writing

It's been a while ... I know, I know. Life got in the way. New Projects and ucky colds zapped my strength. Not really making excuses... it just was so.

On my art page on Facebook a while back I wrote about a wonderful book I'd seen, "More than Words" - a collection of artists illustrated letters. It looked beautiful and I had to have it - so I said I was saving my pennies to buy it. Well, a couple of weeks later a wonderful friend showed up and gave me the book saying, "I didn't think you should have to wait!"

I could hardly believe my eyes. What a treasure my friend in and what a treasure the book is. I love illustrated letters. I like letters of all kinds and I still do actually write thank you notes and letters. It is fast becoming a lost art.

So I dug around and found a letter written to me when I was 8 years old and got mumps at Christmas! My friend who wrote the letter, lived on a mission station in a remote forgotten valley in the wilds of South Africa. I lived not too far way in another remote location and was shortly about to head to boarding school for the first time.

The letter is precious and a joy... so I thought I'd share it. It really speaks volumes about the person who wrote it and the care she took to pen it.
I still pick up the new book and look through it with awe .. it will be a joy to read for a long long time. Thank you my kind and thoughtful friend.

The Art of Treasure

As I sipped my tea this morning - earlier than usual because there was a very early delivery scheduled at the office - I thought of how lucky I am in life...and it made me think of some of my "peace & security" nic-nacs... so I sketched them quickly. My Turkish "Nazar Boncugu" - the evil eye bead... they have to be given to you, not bought by you and a precious friend gave me this... and my rough welcome sign a folk artist friend made for me just because...and my Indian candle holder has given me the comfort of soft light when disaster struck in the past. Nothing is expensive or elaborate but they are all priceless

The Art of Cold

I am about to bust a gut or something with this freezing weather... so to cheer self up, I did a quick sketch of some of my favourite pottery fish... they normally hang on the walls ... in sunny Caribbean style water. Bah Humbug..

The Art of Food

So, I think we need a break from trucking - I will get back to it. 
So.. on to food. I love food. I love cooking. And I love eating in restaurants - anything from street food to posh. Just love it. But I struggle with sketching or drawing food. This year I decided to make an effort to conquer this problem. Sometimes I do a sketch of food and it's great, other times it looks like a mess. Now after a few weeks of doing a daily quick sketch I see improvement. It's fun however the drawing turns out. Here's a couple of examples from 2015 start to conquer sketching food!! Bon appetite! and remember - visit my website

Superb Korean "dim sum" at Mandu's in Washington, DC

Exquisite De Brand truffles from Sugar Bee in Milford DE

My lovely wonky pottery bowl full of fruit and veg

Coddled Eggs, a favourite winter breakfast

the best yoghurt in USA is Chobani, it's the closest to the real Greek & Turkish yoghurt. And Nutella - have loved it for years

My little Prague tin cup, a gift from a dear friend some yeras ago, filled with garlic

The Art of Truck Driving 2

Last week I wrote about trucking boot camp and it got quite a lively discussion going on facebook. It seems lots of people are interested in the trucking life, or think it's a crazy thing to do.

We drove all over the Lower 48 and Canada for 2 years, it was a fascinating experience. We met some of the nicest people around, we went to areas of the country that take your breath away with it's loveliness and we went to places I never want to see again.

I gained a great respect, and a different perspective, of the truckers themselves. I was your average ignorant four-wheeler when it came to trucks, their drivers or their lifestyle before I started driving a big rig myself.

I discovered drivers are grossly underrated, stereotyped and deserve more respect from the general public for their skill, humour and poorly paid professionalism. There certainly are any number of bad eggs but there are just as many, if not more, bad eggs who are lawyers, doctors or Wall Street moguls.

Much to my surprise trucking is a total equality job. I was trained the same, paid the same and treated the same as my male counterparts. When I pulled in to truck stop to refuel and opened the hood to check the insides of the engine - you have to learn every single part of a truck engine and name them ALL to pass the driver's license - or I crawled beneath the trailer to check couplings, other drivers never offered to help "the little woman." They would usually just say something like, "Good morning driver, which way you headed?"

So, to all the ladies, especially the little girls who got so excited, who cheered and waved encouragement when they saw a woman driver - you can go and have one of the great adventures of your life. It's just fine.

When I say we saw the country, I mean we saw it. Over the 2 years we travelled more than 500,000 miles, on interstates and small country roads, through all kinds of weather and traffic. We trundled through Texas - does it ever end? We admired the Teutonic neatness of Wisconsin. The tangled spaghetti of freeways in St. Louis, Mo., got us confused and the sheer cliff one descends near Laramie, Wyo., was nerve wrecking. And that long, long steep climb down in Montana. It's so steep you have to stop at the top and check your brakes and read the instructions for descent. There is the Grapevine in Southern California truckers talk about in hushed tones. And the "She Bear" who terrified us all with her strictness in the towering mountain passes through the Cascades in Oregon. From the raw vast beauty of North Eastern Oregon and Washington State, the Colorado River Gorge, the beauty of the desert in Nevada to the flat emptiness of Oklahoma, on to the densely crowded East Coast or over the bridge at Detroit in to Canada - we discovered America.

But, I am getting ahead of myself ... before all this we had to get our commercial drivers licenses. We passed the first company driving test in Fontana, Calif., and in November we went to Bradford in upstate Pennsylvania on the border of New York near the Great Lakes to drive with our training engineer This was to prepare us for life on the road and to ensure we passed our CDL. We arrived thinking it would be the usual orange company truck but discovered our engineer had the biggest truck in the fleet - an old fashioned monster. The green meanie.

We drove her through tiny Amish settlements with buggies all around us, had to get through tiny little towns with narrow streets and cope with tiny East Coast rest stops. All in the green monster. I nearly had heart failure on an hourly basis. She was huge but remarkably easy to drive once we got used to her.

Our trainer, Lou, was a delightful soul with a quiet sense of humour. If I were to draw a cartoon or a caricature of a trucker - he would fit the bill. Shortish, large stomach, grey beard who always wore denim bib dungarees and a baseball hat. He told tall tales with panache and we enjoyed being with him.

Bradford is a small town 'famous' as the home of the factory of Zippo lighters. To relax on our day off we toured the factory and had a good meal in a delightful restaurant in a converted Carnegie library. We only had the one day off in the 3 weeks. Other than those 2 places I have no recollection of Bradford at all. Must have been the fear factor!

We headed home to Nevada to do our final state test. And we both failed. We passed the eye test, we passed the naming every part of the engine test but no one had taught us how to serpentine backwards without hitting a single cone. It's required in only 2 states out of the whole 50 - Nevada and Arizona. So back to Fontana in Southern California we went and a couple of our old instructors worked with us to learn how to do this. They had never done it either! But they enjoyed the challenge as a break from their new students.

One night during our time working this problem out, the instructors decided it would be fun to go practice at the LAPD skid pad. "It's really good experience for you," they happily said. If you've ever been in a bad skid on the road or on a skid pad in a car, you know how scary it is. I can testify that in a rig it's the most terrifying thing. We had to do it 3 times. In a rig.

You drive up to the pad and launch on to it, you have to be doing 40 mph, then whenever the instructor feels like it he hits the hidden brake by his seat. And off you go in a horrid skid. The first time out I screamed so loud they must've heard me in Phoenix. The crowd of trainees and instructors watching were falling about laughing, including Lee. He didn't laugh so much when he hit the skid pad next. The second time was better. By the third tride on the skid pad I was enjoying myself. That's when I thought, "I can do this." Or maybe it just proved I am certifiable.

We went back to Nevada, took the test again and both passed. The company rewarded us with a nearly new Freightliner to propel across the vastness of the USA.

Our first instructor, John, had told us, "Your training engineer and I can teach you 'til we're blue in the face, but believe me, nothing will teach you like your first couple of weeks on the road alone."

Boy, was he ever right!

Me and The Green Meanie in Bradford PA

Lou explaining to Lee how to do what he had trouble with - backing

The Art of Truck Driving

Back in 2000 I drove a big rig on the first day at the US Truck Driving School during rush hour traffic in Rialto, near San Bernardino, California. After wards, it took them about 2 hours to pry my fingers off the steering wheel.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I yelled to myself as I realized I'd gotten in to one of those, "well, it seemed a good idea at the time," heart-sinking moments. Only this time I didn't have a hangover.

It all started with a simple concept. Lee & I decided it'd be an adventure, and great fun, to haul freight all over the Lower 48 and Canada for the biggest trucking company in the nation.

We just had to learn to drive a truck.

Next thing I knew, I sat drenched in sweaty fear, in charge of an extremely large truck in dense Southern Californian traffic. I believe it's called a blast of reality.

Somehow or other, after a couple of days, my competence improved. Marginally.

One of my minor hitches proved to be getting the 450 hp truck up to a respectable speed. Ants overtook us as we watched the grass grown on the sidewalk.

John McDonald, my long-suffering driving instructor nagged me constantly in his slow Alabama drawl, "Anne, you gotta go a little faster.:

Bravado took over and I pushed down on the throttle - straight in to the arms of a red light. Instinct took over and I slammed on the brakes. The cars around me were enveloped in thick smoke from my locked wheels. One joker lent out his widow coughing loudly in my direction.

"You shouldn'tta done that," was the laconic comment from McDonald as he got back in his seat. Come to think of it, he said that quite often.

"Yes, but rather effective, don't you think?" I snapped.

"If it'd been raining, you'd be jack-knifed," he shot back. "Yessirree."

McDonald thrived on having the last word.

He is also a brave man. I believe this because he took me through the excitment of the freeway tango. It goes like this.

I take the truck down on to the freeway, cruise up to 55 mph then race off the next exit and immediately tear back down on to the freeway. It's teaches you how to get with the traffic flow. I rather enjoyed the freeway driving. It was the street traffic that scared the wits out of me.

Lee and I were not alone. We'd joined 27 colourful characters at the truck driving school for 11 days of intensive instruction.

People from every walk of life sat in that room - like multilingual Lee with a master degree to independent Audra, a pizza delivery lady with lots of silver in her nose and ears. There was Bryce, well, Bryce is Bryce with his tattoos, rude T-shirts and a big, soft heart. And we all bonded without a hitch as we faced the prospect of driving a big rig.

Each day we re-enacted High Noon as the class stepped out into the dusty parking lot and faced the trucks lined up on the opposite side. You could almost hear the twanging guitar in the background. I drove truck 359 and hauled trailer 4585. Numbers indelibly etched on my brain.

We ground gears trying to double clutch our way through the 10 gears. The intricacies of air brakes and power divider started to make sense. Squashing orange cones became the norm while learning to back and wiggle in to docking spaces.

Heart failure was a common occurrence, for us and the anonymous driver of the car waiting at the light as we cut corners too tight. Backing, coupling and uncoupling trailers, pre-trip and post-trip inspections of the tractor and trailer became part of every day life.

During class time we did fun things like trip planning exercises. Less interesting is learning the endless federal rules and regulations.

Did we have fun?

You bet!

We had to pass a test for graduating. How I passed I have no idea. Perhaps it was my explanation to the examiner on my way out to his truck.

"You need to understand something. I'm British and when I'm tense and under pressure I revert to my own language. If I tell you I'm checking the petrol with a torch, don't run away in blind panic. I actually mean checking fuel with a flashlight."

He probably decided on the easier route - pass this crazy lady and get as far away as possible from her.

We both passed and then had to head out on 3-weeks over the road training with a trainer before going for our commercial license.

But that, as they say, is a WHOLE 'nother story.  

Instructor John McDonald watches one of us has another go at the orange cones during boot camp.

The Art of Ideas

It's a snowy day and the winter landscape looks lovely. I am a little sniffly and under the weather with a flu bug... taking lots of rest, hot tea and aspirin.  So I will not be venturing out in to the snow to see the lovely sights. But it's a perfect lead in for a plug for my latest art trails article in the travel ezine American Roads.... it takes you to the sun!!   Enjoy
and let me know what you think! 

I am working on a couple of new ideas. I should know quite soon if they'll work or not. Sigh, Always trying something new. Well, it sounds aslightly better than a bad case of ADD. 

To cheer you up, here's a lovely cardinal visiting our feeder. The birds are flocking to it now the food supply has dimished since autumn. We get a steady stream of sparrows, cardinals, blue jays, gnat catchers, nuthachers and some I have no idea what they are even though I frantically look them up in my bird book. The 6 feral cats next door also take lively interest which leads to some concern about terrority from my two princesses inside. It's all go on the wild life channel on our back porch. Who needs television?

The art of a New Year

As 2014 fades away and a bright new shiny 2015 waits to leap in the door, I am in a happy frame of mind. At the end of 2013 I had a terrible fall and it took me most of 2014 to recover. It was only in about late October early November I felt my stength - physically and mentally - was back on track. I am very grateful it is, although I realize I'm wandering deeper in to the old fart category age wise, my mind is still thinking young. Every so often my body has to go "Whoa there kid... remember your age."
Every New Year I reflect on special friends I've met around the world and I always have a quiet toast to them to say thank you for being in my life and for your friendship. ANd I hope to see each and every one of you again sometime soon. There are those I'll never see again. But what joy they were to know and there's a few I know have got together up there and are having one hellva party.
So - to my old friends and the new ones I'll meet soon... here's my wish for you.

The art of love for family and friends

Every Christmas Eve my family - where ever they are in the world - lights a red candle and, with bubbly, toasts our family and friends who are far away from us on other continents. Got my candle set, the champers chilling and thinking of you all with love.
                                            Cheers to us all....and big hug

The Art of Christmas Tree ornaments

It's the week before Christmas and we got the tree up early. I am not in the least bit religious but I do love my angels on the tree. We collect ornaments as we travel and I thought I would share a couple of my favourites with you. Part of the fun for us are the memories as we decorate the tree. We have some funky ornaments - like the decorated shotgun bullet from North Carolina mountain country or the drunk bourbon swilling guy from Kentucky and the swinging ring within a ring from North Pole, Alaska! But it's all about the angels this time. 

My very favouritest of all is my delicate cotton beauty from Prague. I bought her in the Kafka House up behind the imposing castle. His tiny home now houses a shop selling handmade goods by physically and mentally challenged crafters.

The lovely tree top angel has been with us since we lived in Nevada. We bought her at a Christmas market and she is made with shaded handmade glass.

The white beaded Zulu angel from South Africa takes pride of place each year. I love her billowing dress and gold headdress. This year the new African angel joined her. She is very mod - all red patterned and angular.

 After Hurricane Katrina we lived in the North Carolina Smokey Mountains for 5 months courtesy of very kind friends. We went to a quilt show by the Smokey Mountain Quilting Guild and picked up two delightful handmade angels, this is one of the sweet faced angels.

When we lived in Georgia we went to a Christmas market and couldn't resist this folk art angel - her base is an old fashioned clothes line peg. The lady who made them was a character of the first order.

Our angel from Istanbul was made for us by a dear friend who also lived there. She's sassy and quite the loud dresser with curly locks. My friend said she used me as the model - at the time I was sporting wild curly hair. The first and only time in my life my hair had any body to it!

Last but not least is our Babushka doll - not really an angel but why not include her. She's lovely. The Russian dolls are ubiquitous and hardly a novel item but we bought her at a Russian market near the Georgian border on the Black Sea. It was when the Soviet Union was crumbling and Russians poured over the borders in to Turkey selling all kinds of wares. We picked up a lot of really pure caviar for a couple of bucks a jar and a set of the dolls featuring Russian heads of state from Lenin to Gorbachev and Yeltsin. We also bought this sweet wee doll all on her own - no doll within a doll. She is an individual. That market was fun - and sad. Some of the vendors were desperate and selling anything they could. We saw one selling just one shoe.

So.. these are some of my Christmas angels - may your holiday ... whatever you celebrate ... be joyous and carefree. I wish you all the best for 2015 - may be it a good year for all of us.

The Art of an e-Book

I'm proud to announce my, well, Chaussette's really since it's in her voice, first mini e-book in the series of living with cats, The Toe Terrorist, has been published by Smashwords. It has now been approved for sale on the online stores of Apple, Barnes & Noble, WH Smith's in the UK, iBooks, Kobo and many more. 
It's a 35-page illustrated book and a percentage of the profits will go to no-kill animal rescue shelters. The first shelter I will donate to is the Georgetown SPCA in Delaware. They do amazing work and have incredible success in getting dogs and cats adopted. They work closely with Just Us Cats & Kittens from Lewes, Del., the group that rescued my Chaussettes.
I gave a large donation to Just Us Cats & Kittens this summer. The second book (if this one sells enough!) donation will go to the rescue group that train the rescued dogs as therapy dogs for the Wounded Warrior program.
It costs $3.99 - less than a low cost bottle of wine... but you get to enjoy it for a whole lot longer and never get a headache!! Please help me help the animals by purchasing one and encouraging others to do so.  If you want to search, the ISBN # is ISBN: 9781311280992
You can also buy it directly from Smashwords... click that link and off you go.
THANK YOU!

The art of giving and receiving

So... I had a short break from just about everything with a marvellous trip to Puerto Rico and St. Croix, USVI. I loved PR... we were in Isabella on the N shore on the Western end and drove all over that area which is not touristy and was a delight. I especially loved Ponce. It's got the charm of a European city, is laid back and beautiful. The Puerto Rico people are just delightful and friendly. The island is clean, relaxed and beautiful. St. Croix was like going home for me - it reminded me so much of Durban .. the vegetation, the climate (except it's more comfy because the trade winds keep the himidity down). We ate too much, relaxed and enjoyed ourselves at both airbnb 's we stayed at, nice places and nice folks.
And then after that trip, Thanksgiving arrived and I decided to extend my holiday!! So.. I am back! Fat and happy.

And now some exciting news... Book 1 of my mini book series on living with cats  is out today... all the news is in my new magazine! Also.. some of the profit from the sales of these books will go to animal rescue and shelters. Chaussettes and Geordie give us such joy, so we feel we have received and thus must give back ... please help me spread the word. Thank you.
                               Click here to link to the magazine

And,finally, here are a couple of sketches from our trip to Puerto Rico and St Croix

Arts & cultural center in Ponce, PR

The pilots of the Caribbean. We flew from PR to St Croix in a 6 passenger Cessna with 2 character pilots

Villa Morales, nice restaurant near Fredericksed, St Croix

The Art of Life

So, I can't find my journals from the Central American trip.. I saw it a couple of weeks ago. I know it is in my writing room somewhere buried. I have been on this 'tidy up my notes, photos and stuff' voyage for a couple of months and ofcourse now I can't find a damn thing. Except photos or scribbles I had totally forgotten about, I look at them and go, "Oh yes! Look! I remember this!" and off goes my brain in another direction of memory...good and bad. It is actually really fun but I am not being terribly organized about it. I should be disciplined and have boxes to put things in based on years or countries or some logical thing. I suppose? I am a total pig-pen.

For some reason both the men I married are tidy, organized and practical individuals. My first husband was an accountant. You can't get much more logical, picky and practical than an accountant.

Lee is also practical and very tidy. I drove #1 crazy and I do the same to Lee - he does roll his eyes a whole lot. When he asks me where something is and I reply, "It's in my drawer/desk/whatever." he almost always replies, "oh no, I'm not going to go there... it's too scary."

But I manage to muddle through life. I guess my approach to life can be described as messy. I don't always think things through. I have instant reactions, gut reactions, to things. Sometimes it works out magically. Sometimes it's "What was I thinking?"

But I firmly believe I would not have lived the varied life I have if I thought things through. I've hardly ever been able to afford all my travels but I did them anyway... if you wait for everything to be in place, you might never do what you were planning. The rewards far outweigh the lack of funds or insecure future I constantly face.

The second secret is I rarely question whether I can actually do something. I have embarked on any number of projects, careers or ideas without the faintest idea of what I am doing. I try my hand at it, work out - sometimes - how to do it and go for it. It's part of the excitement - if you "teach" me how to do something I get bored. If I have to work it out for myself, I enjoy it.

So this blog merely and briefly makes two points - don't over think things and take chances. That is my advice - if it works for you, go for it. And good luck!

The Art of Ignoring Advice

Back in 1996 our lovely old VW pop top camper proudly displayed her license tags in a holder that read "Old Volks Home" and was registered in Santa Cruz, California, which was very fitting for two old hippies heading out of the USA for all points South.

And practically everyone told us not to go. "It's too dangerous." "The roads are appalling, you'll break down and get attacked." "Do not go anywhere near Chiapas whatever you do."

Well, thank goodness we ignored all this advice.

The roads were perfectly fine. When we did break down, we were helped.

And we absolutely adored the whole Chiapas region. We camped amongst lush green trees and walked all over the town of San Cristobal for over a week. We explored the large market and ate street food. The local vendor selling Zapata freedom fighter dolls was a humourous soul. It was a beautiful and welcoming place.

Before we got to Chiapas though, we travelled all over central and eastern Mexico... with some adventures with howler monkeys and drug runners around the Sian Ka'an Biosphere on the Yucatan peninsular. After Mexico we drove through Guatamala, Honduras, Nicaragua, El Salvador and Costa Rica .. it was a spectacular 7 month trip.

I am going to be courageous and delve in to the utter mess in my writing room - I hope I emerge intact - to find my journals from the trip. It's all clear in my mind but I want to be sure of my facts before I write. Then I will give you some highlights over the next few weeks.

But here's a couple of photos of San Cristobal, the main town of Chiapas ...

the Zapata dolls, not sure when I lost mine

local family at San Cristobal market, the colours of their traditional clothes are fabulous

the market San Cristobal

getting some good food on the streets of San Cristobal

The art of tranquility

I am not having a good week. My computer crashed. Which is a disaster. So I am not going to write any observations or reminiscences. I will just wish you peace, light and love for Diwali.

The Art of Impromptu Concerts

Life on a sailboat revolves around weather, sails, the best dinghy, finding safe anchorages, provisioning and all the nuances of daily life on water.  A highlight is the people you meet, invariably they are characters of the first order. There is a certain amount of insanity involved with boating types, and if you are lucky, they can sing.

While we were anchored off Formentera we heard of a new harbour being built on Ibiza. You could tie up there, get fresh water and stay a while for free since it was under construction. It was a perfect spot to spend a couple of days while we re-provisioned at the local street market. The half built pier we were tied up to with one other boat was a jumble of huge boulders and a grand spot to celebrate the 4th of July  before heading over to Mallorca.

In the late afternoon we got our little hibachi set up on the rocks, got out the deep yellow chicken pieces, salads and wine all set to toast the 4th. While we got cooking and talking a guy jumped off the other boat and strode down to join us, large bottle of vodka in hand.

"I am Sasha," he said as he took the top off the bottle and threw it away. He looked at Lee. "You are American, I am Russian. Our countries are not friends but we can be."

Without further ado he plopped himself down to join us, our self-invited guest, and told us about himself. Sasha was an opera singer, had misbehaved too many times and got thrown out of the Moscow opera company. It seems it was politically difficult for him to return to Russia and although much of what he said wasn't very clear, he was entertaining.

The level of the vodka in his large bottle sunk steadily. He told outrageous stories before laughing heartily, then while telling another would get weepy and wail, "Oh Sasha! poor Sasha!" as tears poured down his cheeks. Then he started to sing.

The sun sank below the horizon, the sky a soft palette of magentas tipped with red, and the sea softly lapped the giant boulders. We sat entranced as Sasha's powerful voice filled the night with aria after aria. Our very own private opera was a night of pure magic before Sasha suddenly got up, thanked us for inviting him and staggered off. We never saw him again.

A year of so later we anchored in a small bay on the Eastern shore of Mallorca. There is a small village tucked in the far end with restaurant tables lining the quay. Once we were settled we heard this voice calling, "La Rochelle! La Rochelle! Come and join us!"

At water's edge was Barry, a Welshman we'd met a few months earlier. We hopped in the dinghy and rowed over to join him and five of his friends. They were all old friends  visiting him from Wales. The meal was delightful. The dishes got cleared away, more wine was ordered and then they all started to sing in their lyrical native tongue. The Welsh are rightly famous for their magnificent voices and as the sound swelled over the bay in the hush of the evening, I thought, "this setting, this chorus, like Sasha's solo performance, can not be planned. The glorious spontaneity of times like this remain with you for ever."

And it has remained with me. I can close my eyes and the magic returns clear as a bell. It always makes me catch my breath with the same joy and sense of privilege that filled me at the time. The art of music is a gift to be treasured. I wish I had it but am so grateful to those who do.

Ibiza Sunset © Anne Jenkins

The art of struggle and perfection

Well, this self-publishing saga surely takes you through a very steep learning curve. I uploaded the book and it got rejected twice... leading to more investigation and scratching of head. It seems I really, REALLY, need the one program they've mentioned about a zillion times. So, if all else fails, read the instructions and carry on. I have ordered said program and will cut and paste book to it, make the adjustments I think is needed (from what I can understand of the technical gobblygook) and will try again. Please send me more good vibes... it will work eventually!!

So while I wait for all this to take it's course, I got to thinking about my sailing blogs so far. They've all been about bad weather and learning experiences. And I thought I'd share a few brief thoughts about good weather sailing.

Sailing in good to perfect conditions is about the closest thing I can think of to describe heaven. There is a silence that isn't silent, a peacefulness that envelopes your whole body and soul, a joy that bubbles up and makes you grin at nothing in particular. Even as you surrender yourself to the joy of perfect sailing conditions you scan the horizon for shipping, keep an eye on the weather just in case and fiddle with sails but it does not dampen the joy.

The best thing about good sailing times is you feel all is right with the world.

A few of my perfect sails stay in the top part of happy memories of a lifetime. One was a sail we did from the mainland of Spain to the Balerics. The sea was calm, the wind steady and light but strong enough to keep us at a good clip. We put the auto pilot on and absorbed it all.

One of the best places to really revel in a perfect sail is the pulpit... the stanchions and stuff at the bow for those that don't know all the terminology. You sit down on it facing the boat and give yourself up to the motion of the boat. You can't see when it's going to dip or twist you just feel the flow and listen to the sound of the water rushing over the hull. Lee took this of me in the pulpit en route to the Balerics in 1986.

Another super cool experience is leaving a harbour with all the winds aligned and putting up the cruising chute .. this is a cruising sailors spinnaker. Racing spinnys are just too temperamental. A friend took this photo of Lee and I taking La Rochelle out of the glorious deep Mahon harbour on Menorca and heading out to sea.

It makes me happy just to look at these two photos. There have been many more wonderful sails but both of these were stand outs. The perfect sail. A treasure.

The Art of Courage to Face Publishers

Oh! my ... big week for me this week. And I am a little nervous. I think I have finished, polished, formatted, edited and tweeked some more, the first of my cat book series. I am trying to get up the courage to upload it to the e-book site for scrutiny by the experts. I fear they will spit it out with many, many corrections to be done. But I must be brave and do it.

I decided to concentrate on this cat series to start off and to learn the ropes. I have to go the e-book route first due to image sizing. I would do IPAD sketches for the first book ,wouldn't I? Couldn't just do the easier route now, could I?

It's not long, just 38-40 pages of text and sketches. I am channeling Chaussettes, my black tuxedo rescue special needs cat as the voice. I hope to make it a series, a wee book of her musings and sketches and giggles every year. If I can sell a whole bunch, I will donate some of the profit to cat and dog rescue shelters.

Just Us Cats - the group that rescued Chaussettes' mother and her three kittens from a barn, suggested I also do a print version for older animal fans who don't do computers too well. I am looking in to it - given the image sizing, it is tricky, but, I believe I will find a way.

I intend to do my children's book on trucking once I have this under control and have learned a whole lot more. It was too difficult to try and do both at once. So my cats are my guinea pigs! And it is a fun way to experiment.

I finally built up the beginning of my books website. It's only 3 pages, but it's a start. I have 2 of my older books on it and I hope you will check it out and give me some feedback.

So, I think I'll just go over the draft one more time.... take a deep breath and sign on to the publishers. EEEEEK!

Send me positive vibes, okay?

© Anne Jenkins All Rights Reserved

The Art of a Dark and Stormy Night

I lay in bed last night listening to the wind and rain thinking, "it's a dark and stormy night alright." I actually like wind and rain because it always gets me thinking. Let me clarify that... I like it when I'm safely tucked up in bed and not out in it. Rainy nights are always good for a trip down memory lane.

My days of sailing usually are at the top of the list. The basic rule of thumb when living on board is, "I'd rather be in this harbour wishing I was out there, than out there wishing I was in here." Bad weather is part and parcel of sailing but if you can avoid it, so much the better.

I've been through way too many 'will I survive this?' storms or bad conditions at sea but a few are up in the top 10 of bad. This is one of them.

On a moody January morning in 1986 Lee and I set sail from Morocco bound for Tenerife in the Canary Islands on a delivery of a bare bone Swan 37. They are Swedish built and one of the best sailing boats in the world. The weather was threatening but we were on the clock, which is never a good thing when sailing. The weather worsened steadily and soon we were barreling along under storm sail over raucous waves. The heavens just opened and belted us with heavy rain every time I went on watch.

It stayed bad for nearly three days, really bad. We had some scary incidents with unidentifiable ships and a few other mysterious, but quite funny, happenings. We were exhausted and very wet by the end of it as we had to hand steer the whole time. Water leaked in to our lockers and we had absolutely no dry clothes. Lee gets seasick the first couple of days out - he's fine when on the helm or flat out in his bunk. It's the in between bits that are difficult for him. I strapped myself to the stove a couple of times a day to make hot chocolate and a simple version of French toast. This sustenance was about all we could manage because the boat was bashing around so much.

I was on watch as a dull dawn broke, the wind started to lighten and the rain became a drizzle. The Atlantic swells were enormous. You had to steer up at an angle and then run down the other side at an angle. I was doing the wave zigzag when I saw dolphins playing in the big swells in the distance. I was just delighted. Dolphins make you feel safe and happy. My cheerful state of joy dimmed as we drew closer and I realized it wasn't dolphins, it was a pod of whales. The swells were so bloody big, they made the whales look small. I remember my heart sinking as I wondered, "Will this never end?" It did eventually, a weak sun came out, the sea calmed and we shook out the sails.

Later we festooned the railings with our clothes to dry. We sailed naked and free and laughed loudly at the exhilaration of the storm ending. A big school of dolphins - really dolphins this time - joined us and started playing across our bows. We were finally able to put the auto pilot on before we both rushed to the bow. It was a spectacle of fun. The dolphins rose out the water on their tails and chattered at us before diving and racing through the bow wave. It's one of the most wonderful sights in the world. Their happy faces and antics drove away any misery and fear.

Dark and stormy nights often bring that trip back to me and I still wonder about that ship we couldn't identify...what it was, it's size or the direction it was going. And I am always very grateful indeed to be snug in my warm bed thinking about being out there, rather than being out there wishing I was in here.

At the start of the trip as the weather was starting to build. No time to take photos after this till the end of the trip! Lee should have had his safety harness attached to the wheel...he got yelled at.

Finally dry-ish and heading in to Los Christianos, Tenerife