All make holes in the boat. They're not all the holes, mind you, I've never actually counted all of them, but there must be almost twenty. I'm filling five up and have created one new, enlarged one and am stuffing one more after having stuffed one today. It is absolutely amazing that we haven't sunk yet, and I sometimes dream about that. I used to think we were sinking after we bought the new anchor chain which made the bow drop several centimeters. I still sometimes fear one of the through hulls will fail, and there are so many of them.
No wonder I sometimes check on my three bilge pumps, to see if they're working properly.
But now the boat's on shore, and the risk of sinking is minimal. Quite fortunate, I must add, for there are very big holes in the bottom which still need filling, stuffing and a new through hull and seacock.
But the log and depth sounder work.
It's work. All that matters now is work.
I'm at the point when the work is actually starting to show a pace and a rhythm. I'm a big believer in the specific nature of work, that it requires us to feel its needs. Some work needs to be done instantly, but there is work that can only be done right after careful consideration.
One of the jobs I've always felt to be entirely autonomous is taking pictures. I don't mean the everyday pictures we all take, of people and places and situations. There are a kind of pictures which call for us to take them serious and they qualify as work. Photography is not really a hobby of mine, so I take pictures and sometimes they constitute work, as in, choosing the position and frame and timing and respecting these to create something.
So after my working day, I used the evening light and took some photos of dogs and their surroundings.
It wasn't exactly work, but it was fun. Who said work can't be fun?
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