call me Ishma...oh, never mind

I don't know why I haven't felt like writing lately, except to say that I haven't been doing much creatively at all. Things have been busy, it's true, but not all that busy. I could have dropped a note, a letter, a phone call; some tiny proof of life. A whisper, a shout, a sigh. But each time I even thought about writing something, whatever vague, uninspired little notions floating around my head fizzled, fell flat and fluttered away. I seem to be the victim of a serious malaise, and until I work my way through it I've simply run out of things to say.

It isn't as though I've been sitting moping around the house. Just a couple of weeks ago, Robbie and I spent a bright, blustery day out on the sea, searching for whales on the third round of what has become an annual event. Our sail was accompanied by the non-stop narration of an adorable little towhead whose name escapes me now but whom I have come to think of as Charlie, as no other name could suit him so well; a blond, blue-eyed all-American toddler of a boy if ever there was one. Charlie perched next to me and sat, tiny legs stretched straight out in front of him, earnestly calling out sightings at every opportunity.

"Get outta the way, Mommy! Mommy, get outta the WAY!" he cried once, as his mother blocked his view of the vast, empty waters.

Her eyes widened. "We say excuse me," she admonished. "We do NOT say get outta the way."

"Excuse me, Mommy." he replied. She smiled and moved away.

"Those are just rocks," his father told him.

"I'm sorry. I thought they were whales," Charlie said sincerely. Well, they looked like whales to me too. I gave Charlie a broad grin and a wink. I loved Charlie.

Charlie's pint-sized traveling companion was every bit as cute as he was, a dainty brunette with elfin eyes who never stopped smiling out from under her red knit hat even as the winds grew cold and the day long. The captain came on the loudspeaker to inform us that we were in pursuit of a giant blue whale spotted on an earlier cruise just a few miles away. We've been down this road before. Robbie laughed.

"That's what they all say," she said. "It's just like those ghosts on the Queen Mary; oh, man, you should have been here on the last tour..."



In the end, we didn't see any whales, which was OK with us. As always, the captain lingered around the buoy-cum-flophouse of the local seal slackers, who regarded us with their usual disdain. For all I know, they're the same group that have been ignoring us for the past three years running. It's good to know the locals. As we disembarked, we collected our ticket for another free sail and counted ourselves lucky. Watching as Charlie and Little Red Whaling Hat headed off into the chill, content in the warmth of their mothers' arms, we put up our collars and headed off in search of a little warmth of our own. The balcony of a nearby tavern beckoned with promises of hot toddies and sunsets. Happy hunting.