I’ve mentioned The Wandering Monk. He’s a handyman recently in our area who came well recommended and is living up to his reputation. He’s more skilled, conscientious, and reliable than Handyman Mike and charges substantially less. He makes difficult things simple and is pleasant to have around. Quite full of himself at times. But a really decent 39-year-old guy with a lot of experience behind him.<\/p>\n
I plan no big house projects this year, but I’ve been bringing the Monk in on a number of small ones — partly because I can afford him, but partly (alas) because he is<\/i> a wanderer and it’s been clear to me from the beginning that he’s likely to wander out of the area just as suddenly and capriciously as he wandered in. I want to get as much from his talents as I can before he drifts away.<\/p>\n
He’s very religious and talks a lot about God. But being Catholic, and being kind of a happy wanderer, his approach is very different than some I’ve run into (who all too often figuratively slam me against the wall and threaten me with “Jesus or else<\/i>” — and seem to enjoy the prospect of “or else” far more than a decent person should). I enjoy talking with him. Mostly.<\/p>\n
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A few days ago, though, he announced his tentative plan for wandering. Just as God sent him “west” a couple of seasons ago from Michigan, God has now told him “south.” (I suspect that dreary winter we just finished said “south” more loudly than God did, but then, I’m prejudiced.)<\/p>\n
But not just “south.” He described a detailed plan to sail<\/i> south. From here to Baja California. And from Baja (depending on what God says next) either through the Panama Canal, across the Atlantic, and into the Mediterranean or across the Pacific. Maybe to Bali.<\/p>\n
“Have you ever done any ocean sailing?”<\/p>\n
“No. I’ve read seven or eight books, though. And the friend I live with has a boat. I’ve been on that.” (I got the sense, though I don’t recall him saying it directly, that he’d buy his friend’s boat for this venture.)<\/p>\n
I told him about friends and acquaintances, serious, experienced ocean sailors, who still either damn near died or were forced back to port by anything from curious gray whales to malfunctioning machinery. People who knew what they were doing and ended up defeated. Or at least scared out of their wits. (I know some of you readers are experienced ocean sailors; feel free to chime in in comments.)<\/p>\n
“But I have faith,” he said. “So God will take care of me.”<\/p>\n
As to preparation, he opined that he’d probably take a month off and get used to living on the boat in the local harbor before heading south. Crossing the bar from there into the ocean would be tough and scary, but after that …<\/p>\n
He went on to explain that as long as he left here in time to make it to Los Angeles by Thanksgiving, he’d be traveling in a window where there were almost never any storms. I was too gobsmacked to think of asking if he’d ever heard of the Columbus Day Storm<\/a>, which no northwesterner can escape knowing about, even though most around weren’t alive to be blown by it.<\/p>\n I knew I couldn’t talk him out of it. My guess is that one bad day at sea — or even one not-so-bad day where he realizes he has no idea what he’s doing — will do all the talking needed. I know he’s going to follow his inner voices wherever they lead. I told him I’d throw flowers in the ocean for his memorial when they lead him to the bottom of the sea.<\/p>\n