Size does matter

Carlos Slim sailed into San Carlos Harbor today. At least his yacht did. Word around here is that he comes quite often, leading people to speculate what he's up to. As the world's richest man, when he does anything, there is usually money involved.

Oddly enough, his "jumboat" (as those of us with lesser boats call the big ones) isn't all that big. Maybe a hundred and twenty-five feet or so. Heck Tiger Woods has him by a good 25 feet.

I found it interesting that the richest man in Mexico isn't Hispanic, but Lebanese. His father fled persecution in Lebanon, married the daughter of another Lebanese business man, had six kids, and Mexico slim took his inheritance and built it into a telecommunications empire.

But back to that yacht. Anchored out in the harbor, she makes the other boats look like toys in a bathtub. She's too big to come into the marina, so there she sits, accessible only by a tender larger than my boat. Does that sound like yacht envy? Dang right it does. I consider our 34'er as smallish--we downsized after our 42'er sank--but I'm perfectly content with her. In fact, she's perfect for us.

As I sit at my desk on the boat, writing this blog, I'm sure that everyone down here on a boat is happy with their choice. Shoot, we are all lucky to be here, no matter what size boat we have, and don't we know it. I hope Slim is as happy as we are, but with all those billions, why wouldn't he be?

And Slim, if I may call you that, if you are reading this blog, I have these great books that would make fab movies...let's do lunch. Aboard High Jinx, in Mexico's beautiful Sea of Cortez.

Once a ham...

Ah, back on the boat.

Thank the stars for air conditioning, cuz it is hottern' the hinges of hell here in Mexico right now. Wimpdom prevails.

Couldn't wait to tune up on the Chubasco Net (7294 at 7:30 am, Arizona time) to hear old friends, catch the weather, and local news worthy of reporting: Unusual bee activity in the northern sea.

Back in '90, when we cruised under the Golden Gate Bridge and turned left, ham radio was our only lifeline back home. We tuned up daily for rather sketchy weather reports and those marvelous guys and gals back home who made phone patches for us.
'Course, we had to make those calls collect, so some relatives and friends preferred to get the occasional letter.

Blissfully cruising the Pacific, ham radio was all we had. Imagine our surprise when we arrived, in January of '91, in Cabo San Lucas and learned we were at war. Happily, it was not with Mexico.

While we cruised, the ham nets' weather reports became more accurate, cellphones began to replace those dear phone patches, but we remained mostly in the dark regarding world events. For example, we were driving up the Baja after nine months in the Sea when I turned on the radio and picked up a San Diego news station.After listening a few minutes, I told my husband, "Gee, it sounds like maybe O.J. Simpson killed someone."
I was the knock-knock joke:
"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"O.J."
"O.J. who?"
"You're on the jury."
Don't I wish!

Now we have wireless Internet on the boat, cell phone service, Skipe to make calls out, voice mail to forward our calls from home. We are infinitely in touch.

And what do I long for? Getting out to sea, with only ham radio to reach out and touch someone. KC6YMJ, in Mexico.

Dial S for Sloooow

Ever notice how, once you've gotten something you never thought you'd never need, and then you lose it, how much you miss it?

Slow and crazed, that was me, last week.

We moved to a new area of the county and for one solid week, I was reduced to (oh, the injustice!) DIAL UP Internet access.

Taking that giant leap backward, bellyaching all the way, it finally occurred to me that it wasn't all that long ago that I was thrilled to have dial up, or any other UP. Heck, I can remember sending an entire manuscript to my publisher on FLOPPY DISC!

This little exercise in patience, of which I am way short to begin with, brought to my attention how quickly I have become dependent on machines. What would happen if, heaven forbid, I actually had to write a book with a pen? Edit with a bound dictionary and Thesaurus? Write and mail, with a SASE, queries? Receive same SASE, with rejection letter included, via snail mail? Okay, so that last one isn't all bad; being rejected instantly and electronically smarts a mite.

All this set me to thinking on the future of writing, and where it is headed.

Envision this: I get up in the morning with an (brilliant, of course) inspiration tweaking my neurons, and instead of heading for the computer, I speak my idea into some ether-based doodad.

I dictate genre, plot, character names and descriptions, geographical and historical setting, a beginning and end, et voila, faster than the speed of light, a book is written.

And if I can do this, will I then take all that saved time to clean my house, cook, exercise and all those things that seem to fall by the wayside while I toil over a hot keyboard?

For my part, I'd prefer to get up in the morning and speak the words, "Clean house, cook lunch, tone me up," et voila, it is done.