Ransom

Yeah, and when a crew member gets really annoyed if she is poking her head in their business, they could yell, "Would someone please get THIS WOMAN out of my hair!" As a bombadier, I'm going to have a special bomb site device that I carry with me, and then set in place during battle. The bombs would just be in racks, but this bomb site would be a fragile instrument, that I would guard with my life. It would be something that if Dot ever messed with it, or touched it, I would go balistic, since it would be something hard to replace, and expensive. I'm even thinking of giving it a special history...like it came from a guy I was in love with, who was also a bombadier, and was killed in some battle, and left me the site as a momenteau. So it would be even more precious to me, and I would be even more protective of it. BTW, I really like how this whole story/mystery of the invisible captain evolved—mainly because none of us wanted to be captain! LOL It's just so perfect.

RATS

Ooo, Jill, I don't know if that's such a good idea. I'd be afraid of what he might do with me.....He might come up with something worse than cannibals — like make me go to a pyrate Barbie Doll convention.

Sounds good to me! I quit buying stuff from Ebay, unless the seller will let you pay by money order. I HATE Paypal, and refuse to use it. At this stage of my venture, I could only accept money orders or checks as payment, and I'm even leery of checks, as I've been stiffed before with ones that bounced. Wish you could demand cash only, but that doesn't work through the mail. Dang it.

1. I think everyone, at some point in their life, asks that question. Should I be doing something more important? Am I being all that I can be? Am I wasting my life? It's a hard question to ask yourself, because there is no easy answer. If you are horribly unhappy then that might be a sign that you should reevaluate your situation, and take a new step. I like the saying, "For every door that closes, and new one opens." We're just never sure what's behind the new door. 2. Unless you can do something that the whole world is going to thank you for — like cure cancer, invent affordable alternative energy, etc — few if any of us will be remembered beyond our life span and the life spans of the people who knew us. Even those with huge amounts of money and have their names emblazened in marble over some library they have paid for, are forgotten eventually. Then, those using said library look up and wonder, "Who the heck were they?" The name means nothing. 3. I like Salty's comment, it's what you do with the time between birth and death that counts. And as for near-death experiances making everything suddenly clear, it doesn't. I nearly died. Afterwards, I expected I would somehow instantly know what was important in my life and what wasn't. I would have some kind of grand epiphany. Didn't happen. What I learned was, life goes on. My crisis was barely a blip on the radar of life. So I quit worrying about. What it did teach me was to treat everyday as if it was my last — and to tell the people I love, that I love them. Every chance I get! Because they can be gone in the blink of an eye.

I agree with the idea of keeping the Captain totally invisible and mysterious — just a voice. That way the crew couldn't verify whether Nell was the Captain's wife or not, but wouldn't want to upset the guy, just in case she was. But, she'll still need to be a crew member in the sense that she would have to have a job on the ship doing something. I don't think just being an invisible captain's wife would be enough reason to keep her on board. Even if she was only a deck hand, she'd have to pull her own weight with the rest of the crew. Still doesn't mean she can't be kinda half crazy, and ranting all the time. That could be fun to play against. :angry:

Great stuff, Rumba. :angry: Is it hard to set up an Etsy site? I've thought about that as well, and have gone there, but there is sooo much stuff posted, I wondered if my work would just get lost among all the other jewelry makers. It would be nice to have a link to an Etsy site in my signature on the few forums I post in, and maybe on a business card, when I finally make one.

I will bet that if you leave Candy on the island, she will charm the cannibals and become their queen. Think, Miss Piggy, in Muppet Treasure Island. She's a pyrate, after all. Pyrates don't get eaten, they get even!!!! As for you two, well.....ever heard of Lucretia Borgia? Might want to hire a taster for those drinks you intend to buy! :angry:

SLOG

NOW WAIT JUST A FRAKEN MINUTE!!! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO LEAVE CANDY TO THE CANNIBALS! NO, SORRY, CAN'T LET THAT FLY. I MEAN WHO IS THIS CANNIBAL CRISPY GUY, AND WHY DOES HE GET SAVED AND NOT CANDY? I PROTEST!!!!!!!!!!!! GET CANDY OFF THAT ISLAND, OR....OR...OR I'LL DO SOMETHING...DANGEROUS. I'M NOT KIDDING..... REALLY...

I've had her other three since the mid-eighties. My SCA costumers and I used to refer to her first one in reverential tones as just "The Book." Thanks for the heads up on the new one.

Oh, I love the tankard, and don't mind the dent. But I really mind when it tips over and spills a full tankard of wine I've just paid for! My husband did a little work on the dent, as it was much worse when I bought it and wouldn't stand up at all. That helped, but it doesn't take more than a heavy breath to knock the dang thing over. Losing booze is NOT fun. LOL

Here's mine. Found it in an antique/junk store. It's got a neat shape, and an ornate handle, but...since it has a dent in the base, it has a tendency to tip over, so I'm on the lookout for another, more stable one. Oh, and that's my good buddy, Jacky Tar, standing with me.

Last night...G&Ts to accompany the oyster shooters, and spicy salmon dip and crackers we had as an appetizer before dinner. This morning...English Breakfast Tea.

PLOW

Shucks, I was looking forward to using words like...croisanritto, chapeauraro, refried harricots...

In French Mexico, would they speak Franish? Be kind of a fun dialect to invent. Sorta like the Portugreek in the movie Water World? BTW, it would be fun if Nell "thought" she was the Captain's wife, but since no one knows where the captain is, or ever sees him, she could be constantly looking for him, and when she hears his voice, runs off, yelling something like "I know your in here somewhere, you scoundrel!" She could accuse us all of hiding him from her. However, she would have to have some job on the Columbia, otherwise, we'd get tired of her and just toss her overboard (as we hovered low over some town, naturally. We're pyrates, not heartless brutes).

Withoutaname's book will be going to Patrick either tomorrow, or no later than Monday. BTW, it has been such a joy to see all the artwork in these books as they come through. All you guys are awesome!

HOPS

I'm with Blackbead, in that my true artistic side is devoted to my writing and artwork. However, I do think it takes a certain artistic ability to think up and execute designs in jewelry. The whole idea of what will sell at what event is pretty fascinating...and frustrating! I've had a little experience selling things at Christmas bazars and on consignment in shops (which never really worked out very well), so I understand that something may sell like hotcakes one event, then be dead as a door nail at another. Interesting that the sets of earrings and either bracelet or necklace sell so well. I thought all of that matchy-matchy trend was long gone. Something to keep in mind, for sure. All in all, great advise, Blackbead. So, here, let me fill your cup with more coffee...and would you care to spice that up with a bit of rum?

How incredibly sad for your father, to be that close to being able to say his good by. Coming from a somewhat disfuctional family myself, you have all my prayers that this new year may bring your family, if not close, at least to civility and respect.

Thank you, Mission. As ever, you are a font of knowledge. I had rather suspected that would be the case, as the only thing I found in reference to dealing with vermin or lice was when they fumigated the entire ship and then scrubbed it down with a mixture of water and vinegar. With that quantity of lice covering and feasting on each man, I would think anemia would be added to their long list of woes. Pour souls.

I LOVE the Patch Monkeys. Sort of like House Elves, only in the air. Great idea, Patrick!

PORTSMOUTH, ENGLAND September 1720 Simon Millechamp stood, water dripping from hat, cloak, and shoes, in the common room of the King’s Head. He’d just spent several murderous hours cramped in the public coach which had brought him down from London. It had rained the entire time. It was raining still, a downpour of epic proportions which seemed determined to wash the port town back into the sea. On the floor next to him squatted a large portmanteau packed to near bursting with everything he thought he might need. He had no trunk, as he’d been advised to pack lightly, for his new quarters would allow no room for extravagances or creature comforts. Despite this, he’d managed to shove a half dozen of his most favored books into the portmanteau, leaving behind one of his spare shirts, a fine pair of boots, and a box of sweetmeats his sister had made as a leaving present. “How many nights will you be staying, sir?” The innkeeper, a scrawny man missing several teeth, examined Simon through eyes inflamed by infection. “Just tonight. Tomorrow I board the Terra Incognita.” The inn keeper shook his head. “Hope you’ve provided well for your widow.” “I’m not married. And why do you say that?” “Well, stands to reason, don’t it? Most of them that has sailed away looking for strange lands never come back to tell the rest of us what they saw. The last ship to sail from this harbor looking to find the Northwest Passage was never seen nor heard from again. Others ‘ave been gone for years, and come back with less than a handful of men, and them all looking like ghosts.” He cocked a crust-rimmed eye. “You take my advise, and go back home. That ship is a floating death trap.” Simon was already quite terrified of this trip, so the keep’s recitation did nothing to ease his mind. It still bewildered him why the financiers of the expedition had chosen him to represent them on the voyage. He was not a sailor, he was a clerk, and knew nothing of ships or the sea. The only time he’d experienced life on board was during a crossing to France to conduct business for his employers. The trip over had been uneventful, but the trip back had been a nightmare. The ship had been caught in a storm. For three days it had bucked and reared like a wild horse, and around him fellow passengers spent most of that time spewing over the rails. It had been small consolation to Simon that he’d not been afflicted with seasickness himself. When, battered and bruised, he was finally back on solid land, he’d vowed never to step foot on a ship again. Yet here he was, standing in a cheap common room in Portsmouth, away from the warm hearth of his parent’s London townhouse. Instead, he faced the sobering prospect of three, possibly four, years at sea, cooped up with men who would no doubt look upon him as a spy, reporting their bad behavior to his employers. Which, if he thought about it, was pretty much the truth. It would be his job to look after the financiers money, how it was spent, how life was conducted on the vessel during the voyage, and, when possible, sending reports back to London appraising their Lordships of such. He was also to keep a written record of the voyage, especially his observations on Spanish holdings in the Pacific, to be examined along with the ship’s log when and if the vessel returned. It did not help that he’d heard horror stories of ship’s factors being tossed overboard in the dead of night. “Please, just give me a room.” Simon was not altogether successful in keeping his voice from quavering. “All right, young sir, but don’t say ye weren’t warned.” The innkeeper handed Simon a heavy key, rusted with age. “Second room on the right of the stairs. I’ll have my girl bring you up some hot water directly.” “Thank you.” Simon took the key, grabbed the handles of the heavy portmanteau, and trudged up the staircase. Much later, after he had eaten a light supper, and crawled into bed, he lay awake long into the night. Staring into the darkness, his heart thudding against his chest, every emotion he’d felt since being assigned to the ship tumbling through his being — surprise, anticipation, curiosity, and most of all, fear. When he at last fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamt he stood at the edge of a great high cliff, below him a roiling, stormy sea, and the vast sky before him a starless black void....

BEAT