essays by shé

bookshelf

Tag: womenwhosail

  • Solo

    Four foot waves at the narrow mouth of the channel into the marina. The depth sounder seems to be measuring them — oops, five feet — instead of the distance to the ocean floor. Habibi’s draft is six feet and we haven’t run aground, so I’m guessing. I’ve joked that, since she is fiberglass, I’ve…

  • Making It

    “You bought a boat, then advertised for sailing lessons?” Not quite, Mister Skeptic. You may go now. But, yes, I am taking lessons again, after putting up a notice in the marina office. Docking was on the agenda for the first one, very different from catching a mooring ball. Concrete to ram into, for one thing. Which I…

  • Women

    Happy International Women’s Day! Yesterday after a swim near La Playa Las Brujas (Witches Beach), I ambled around an older part of Mazatlán. Women sold me eggs and pomegranates, cut a length of yolk yellow fabric, and served me tacos carne asada. Women directed me to the ocean, a bakery, and bed sheets. I chatted…

  • BeLoved

    Quizá puedo ir a conocer Habibi cuando obscurezca, wrote a friend. Maybe I can get to know the Beloved when it’s dark. At first I didn’t understand. And then I realized that he really is an angel, telling me the truth of life, whether he knows it or not.  I came to know the Beloved when my life was…

  • Olas

    “Surfer dude!” said a woman as I walked back from a session, board on head. I smiled. Mazatlán has waves. Olas, in Spanish. Which sounds like Hola. Which means hello. Hello, waves! It’s been a while. “Te quiero,” I texted recently. I love you. Radio silence ensued, yet I’m glad I sent the message. I…

  • Night Sailing

    I did not know I would love sailing at night. No fear, just endless sea and stars. The sound of Habibi’s hull parting the ocean into bioluminescent waves. Wind filling the sails. Learning the navigation system. Keeping watch. Singing. Resting in the cockpit, swaddled in blankets, supremely content. I have always loved the peace and…

  • 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…

  • Playlist

    I’d been hearing the opening riff to “Hello I Love You” in my head for days, so I finally latched onto a friend’s Starlink and YouTubed it. Followed by “Sledgehammer,” of course, and “Come Out and Play.” Danced my ass off in the cockpit. To top it off, I played “Ya Habibi” and floated around…

  • 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,…