Clothes

Clothes. They mean a lot to some people, very little to others, and the world to yet others. To some people, clothes are like breathing. Necessary, taken for granted, and rarely thought about.  To other people, clothes are like food. Thought about a lot, needed, wanted, and in an excessive supply. Shopping is the favorite passion for most teenagers, but I wonder if all of them actually like clothes that much, or are just shopping because that seems to be what everyone else likes to do.

I for one like clothes, but until recently have thought very little about how I look in them.  Now however, I'm becoming increasingly aware of how I look to everyone else, and I've changed my dressing habits because of that. I'll never be as crazy about clothes as my older sister though. Jaime adores clothes, especially clothes that show off large parts of her body, and her closet and room is positively stuffed with them. My little sister Aeron is a completely different kettle of fish. Aeron picks a favorite outfit monthly and wears it EVERY.SINGLE .DAY. By the end of the month the poor clothes are in tatters, and she has to pick a new outfit.

My parents are the type of people who clothes are like breathing. At home, they wear basically what amounts to do day pajamas:  scruffy, comfortable, and boring. My Dad does have to wear nice clothes to work every day, but even then I don't think he ever thinks about what he's wearing. Still, on the rare occasion my parents do dress up nice to go out, they look great. Hunh. 

           There are a few people that I believe go completely overboard with clothes. I have a friend,( whose name I won't mention for her privacy), that to this day I believe has never thrown away a single article of clothing. Not one. Sure, she might have given away one or two, but I don't believe she's even gotten rid of her baby clothes! She has a whole wardrobe of clothes she never even looks at for petes sake. She is about my age, and still has a lifetime ahead of her to hord clothes packrat like till she has a whole department stores worth.

Jeez.

Junk

This is my first blog for 2011! (No, really, I'm excited)

During the past I haven't been very faithful and regular with my blog. I couldn't be bothered to go on the computer, I wanted to read, I'd already wrote everything in my diary, I couldn't think of what to type, so on, so on. For one reason or another, I never really liked or wanted to write in my blog. Last year, I did only one blog for the entire year! Kind of embarrassing really. However, this year, I have no choice as Mom is VERY serious about making it a weekly school check. So you will probably be hearing from me every week.

This weeks topic is about junk. Literally. I have managed to pick up an astounding amount of useless crap magpie-like throughout the year. Stuff I kept because I thought I would use it sometime or later. Stuff I did use and kept because it had minute sentimental value. Stuff like that. I have already thrown away what seems like a whole garbage cans worth of plastic things, paper, and other assorted garbage, and I haven't yet seen the size of my suitcase. Yikes!

A few things I have had particular trouble with throwing away are my school things. All those notebooks and folders and spare bits of paper represent a years worth of work. Not exactly a hard years worth of work but still. I was very nearly ready to keep it and throw away a few of my clothes so it would fit when common sense rudely intruded. When I looked at them again, I knew that if I stored them or even kept them with me, I would never really look at them again. Neither would anyone else. (sigh) So I kept a few things that were really important to me and handed the rest off to Mom to see if she needed or wanted anything. As of yet, she hasn't even glanced at it. ;)

My clothes I haven't even had the nerve to look through for fear of finding something in them. A rat perhaps. A spider den. Or perhaps an ant nest. Who knows. I have used my clothes very little this past year. I have practically lived in pajamas and my school uniform. That is another problem I have to deal with. My school uniform. What the heck am I going to do with it? Obviously I am going to keep that fabulous polar fleece. Mom suggests I sell my uniform on trade me, or perhaps sell it back to the school. Mmmm. I like the sound of getting money for my uniform. Ha!

Altogether however, throwing away my stuff myself is a lot better than having it stolen, which is what happened in the beginning of the year. Lookout room, I'm doing a major spring cleaning!

It's Been Awhile

Hi everyone, its been a while since I last posted a blog. (THATS an understatement)

My family and I are in New Zealand now, though, sadly, we had to leave our boat behind in Mexico. We've been here for about seven months, only a few more till we can leave and live on our boat again. The general plan, I think, is sail back here after we get the boat ready, and live in the Auckland area for another year.

The school I go to is Pukekohe Intermediate School, a few blocks from the house we are renting. My teacher is Ms.Guise, and my best friend is Katie. My classroom is Room 31, the accelerant year 7 class. The curriculum we do is pretty simple, but mixed up a bit, cause its pretty hard to teach 32 students. Our main subjects are Math, Reading, Writing, and Other. The "Other" is awesome stuff like woodwork or music or sewing. You know, life skills. What astounds me is how little regular science or history my school seems to do. The stuff we do get is in odd bits.

A few weeks ago, my school did its cross country race, all the students had to participate. We, meaning the students, trained for a couple weeks. At first, I was doing really good, getting 11th, then 9th place in the practices out of almost 120 year 7 girls. Then, in the last practice before the race, I had an asthma attack halfway through. My asthma made it extremely difficult to run as hard as I had before, so on the day of the race I scored 61st. BOOOOOOO.

I'm in several sort of extra-curricular groups, none of them sport. One is choir, led by Ms. Griffin. The other is Kapahaka. Kapahaka is a maori dance and song group for kids. Its very fun, the boys get to learn a haka, which is generally a war dance, and the girls get to learn a poi, a very cool dance, that involves balls attached to ropes that we have to swing around. My last extra-curricular thing is after school, and doesn't directly link with the school. I do Drama right after dinner. Drama is my favorite, and usually my teacher is Melody, a really nice lady.

Still, even after all this excitement, life here doesn't seem to be as rich or entertaining as it was on the boat. Everything, even Drama, seems to fall into a pattern that can get exhaustingly boring. One other thing, I miss my pet Dulcinea. We had to leave her with a friend in the US to save her from having to go through a 6 month quarantine.

Well, thats it for this year folks! (just kidding)

Literatopia

Hi everyone! I'm starting to write a new book. It's called Literatopia.
I'm sending you the World Description of Literatopia. I hope you like it!

Hurricane insanity and Santa Rosalia calamity

Hola amigos, this is Mera from Mexico. I'm here to tell you about the
whole hurricane disaster. We heard about the hurricane first on our way
down from the states.
We arrived in Santa Rosalia after a *long* trip, just in time for it.

The next day and a half were a scramble to provision before all the
shops were blown away. (Luckily this didn't happen to most of them). It
was also a frenzy of preparation for all the boats.
The Singular dock there wasn't a very good dock, so we all tied
ourselves to the breakwater and pylons. There was another kid boat there
called Ocean Blue, friends of ours. Steve, the captain,
and his wife were an inexpressible help to us during the hurricane.

The night before the hurricane was supposed to reach us, we received a
very nasty chubaska at 4:00 in the morning. Just to to top
it all. Indeed, the chubaska was so nasty that for a moment, many of us
thought the hurricane had come early.

A few hours before the hurricane, Ocean Blue and the Don Quixote crew
brought everything that was absolutely essential for our survival. Like
our computers, some clothes, legal papers, passports, Mommy's wallet,
etc. This was hauled up to the Cool Room in the marina. The Cool Room
was a large room with air-conditioning. It was essentially the cruiser
common room. Set below the office, it was entirely for marina
inhabitants use.

The most important thing was our every-3- hour update on the hurricane.
It showed us which way the hurricane was going.

Once inside the Cool Room, we were not allowed out. The people over 115
pounds got to go out, but not us. Then the hurricane set in and we,
meaning th kids, were quite glad that we didn't have to go outside.
It rained buckets, then it rained cats and dogs. Then it rained horses.
(so to speak). Wet everywhere. It seeped through the windows, it dripped
from the *ceiling*, it washed in from the door. The floor quickly
covered itself in water an inch deep. If one of the kids even so much as
hinted he/she was bored, they were quickly set to chasing the water out
through the door.

Very soon Mom brought up what was possibly the unhappiest, wettest, most
sulky looking cat that was ever born, ours, Dulcinea. She found the
driest spot in the room, than began washing herself, ignoring
both the hurricane howling outside and us.

The next few hours were a dull lethargy punctuated with spurts of
low-grade frightenedness. It's not a word, so I'm making it one. I
watched as my friends and Mom came in soaked and left marginally better.
There was a point in which no-one could go outside. We were afraid of
losing the boat. The hurricane, instead of veering west, headed straight
for us. Fortunately, instead of being a Cat 5, by the time it got to
us it was a Cat 1 and a half. Still, 90 knots is not a laughing matter.

There was a momentary lull in the hurricane. That is when the roof in
the Cool Room decided to fall. I'm not kidding, it actually fell in. The
roof was made of soft plaster and had been gathering water in the middle.
It then decided enough was enough and nearly landed on top of Skyler, a
kid off Ocean Blue. Another mad scramble, and everyone ended up in the
girl's bathroom. The girl's bathroom was large and its
roof better suited with water. No time for sensitivity in the middle
of a hurricane. Also, bye bye went the office upstairs.

The hurricane passed us and headed north. Everyone received a few hours
of respite, then the little bugger turned around and headed towards us
/*again. */By this time everyone was more that a little
pissed off and tired. Fortunately we hadn't moved anything from the
girl's bathroom so we spent another night sleeping in the hot,
uncomfortable room. The cats, Ocean Blue had one too, had passed
pissed off and headed towards absolutely furious. Not to mention bored
and refusing to use litter that had gone beyond foul to something that
resembled a badly gone wrong science experiment.

At last, the end of the hurricane. A day after it we had a huge party.
During the hurricane I had composed a song on my recorder called the
*/lull/*aby. Everyone thought that it was beautiful when
I played it at the party.

I have only one more thing to say. *NEVER AGAIN*.

Honorary Uncles

Honorary Uncles is a title very few men deserve or get. You have to be very close friends and give us lots of gifts. (I'm kidding about the last part.) I can count on one hand how many men have made it to this esteemed level. I won't name any names in case people get jealous. Honorary Uncles are (usually) men, who have become very close friends. Three so far have made it to this level.

You have to have a few important qualities, 

One: You have to be able to laugh and have a good time with us. No serious men allowed.

Two: You have to adore us at least a little bit, if you show no signs of even liking us, you get scratched off the list.
Three: You have to be capable of withstanding our overpowering charm and incessant chatter.

Four: You have to be capable of being a jungle jim and giving us piggy-back rides.

Five: You have to buy us ice-cream once a week.(I wish)

    All in all, its a very challenging job and not everybody is up to it. Don't sign up if your not ready.

Now, some of you may be thinking, where are the Honorary Aunts? So far, we have only one and she is AWESOME! When I have more honorary aunt examples, I'll write a blog about them.

So remember, if your ever in the need of a challenge, we'd be ready to give you one. 

Mera Conger

s/v Don Quixote

The Zewotinejoh Zone

 My tired family motored into the Zewotinejoh Zone and plumped down in to the Playa de Ropa at 7:30-8:00 at night. All I saw was hundreds of twinkling multi-colored lights that spread their colors onto the rippling waters. The atmosphere was quiet, sleepy, and humid. I liked my first impression of Zewot. 

In the morning, the dawn sun turned the water to gold on my first day at Zewot.

Despite all the beauty around us, we couldn't fully enjoy the afternoon because of one nagging little thought, the reason we were here. I've long since known my family wasn't rich and that money doesn't last forever. In three days time on January 13, my dad was going to leave us for work in Seattle, to plump the cruising kitty. He had made a contract with the owners of a medical clinic that every 3-4 months he'd come back to work for about 3 weeks. No-one liked the idea. 

After seeing the sunrise, we all went into town and explored. All dinghies apparently drive up on a beach and are watched over by a short mexican man named Nathaniel. The town is kinda scruffy and the shops kinda dirty. However, the major town had a certain appeal and bustle. Near the beaches where all the cruise ship's passengers go, the shops were charming. Around that area we found a pancake house. I ordered waffles. The pancake house was reasonably filled and the food delicious. Our serving lady was kind and the chairs comfy. I have a feeling we'll be going there again. After breakfast, we found the market which I will describe in a later blog.

Though I will have to live here a few more days before I decide, I think Zewot will be livable until daddy gets back.

Mera Conger

s/v Don Quixote