essays by shé

bookshelf

Tag: art

  • Capitana

    “¿Capitana?” asks Guillermina, the manager of Marina Mazatlán. Are you the Captain? “Sí,” I reply, yes, and she smiles widely. A man comes in the office while I am signing the docking contract. “She is the Captain,” she brags, and he gives me a thumbs-up. Role model! Because I am doing what I am supposed…

  • Surfing Concrete

    I did not know that bringing the RipStik on board Habibi would make me so happy. Like the wetsuit, it’s a reminder of surfing, of fun. You can’t carry groceries on a waveboard. Its only purpose is happiness, flow.  A small skateboard with only two oscillating wheels, riding it replicates surfing. The same muscles engage,…

  • Perfectly Imperfect

    “I am not perfect,” wrote a friend of mine, and I responded immediately with, “You are perfect. Perfectly imperfect, just like me.” By which I mean, to hell with perfectionism. It gets in the way of Happiness, every single time. I know, because I’ve been in the grip of it for decades. Last Sunday I decided to hoist the…

  • Tea with the Bottom Cleaners

    Initially I hired folks to clean Habibi’s hull so I could learn how to do it. Then, the next month, I wanted to learn how to replace the sacrificial zinc (the anode becomes corroded instead of the propeller shaft). Then I was injured and wanted to keep Lefty Foot clean and dry.  They are friendly,…

  • A Home for the Holidays

    For years I looked for land near the sea, finding nothing from coast to coast to coast. Living on an island wasn’t enough. Little did I know that a sailboat was patiently waiting. She is the second home I’ve bought myself, the first being the cheerful yellow and silver Tiny House on Wheels. But I…

  • My Left Foot

    I once gave myself permission to say anything to anybody at anytime. It has not been rescinded. I also recently granted myself permission to screw up, even big time. As everyone does. My injured foot smashed into the staircase this week and tore open the wound on the sole. To distract myself from the pain,…

  • Branded

    I’ve got it bad. I took a Sharpie to the pale blue hoodie and wrote Habibi’s name on the back, adding silver spritzes to the i’s. Retrieved the freshly washed cotton dresses — one grey, one black — and did it again, adding a red heart to the grey one. Some folks doodle their first…

  • The Journey

    Habibi came with a mug that encourages me to enjoy the journey.  I’m not always able to do this. Some days, say, when the engine is leaking saltwater and the cockroaches are jauntily taking over the boat, I say to that cup, Fuck you! Other days, say, when there’s a rainbow or I’ve just met a…

  • Friend or Food?

    The more I snorkel, the fewer fish I eat. Yes, I know, fish eat fish. But after meeting an octopus, I was distressed to see her on the menu of a local café. Such grace and beauty, fried on a plate? No way, man.  I am not a fan of ‘catch and release’ either. If…

  • Poetry Prompter

    An assortment of job titles over the years: mussel farmer, ghostwriter, roving flower seller, guerrilla-art-instigator, body double, phone book deliverer, pâté promoter, attendance goddess, canine physical therapist, living sculpture, Ferrari driver, Instant Poetry Booth operator, Literary Lounge host, neighborhood association president.  But my favorite title by far is Poetry Prompter. Hired by the Washington State…