Okay so this isn't
the third in the series of Arctic trip posts but I'll get back to
them, I promise. This morning at 6:30 my eyes popped open and I
couldn't get back to sleep. (Stop laughing all of you larks who love
to mock my night-owl ways!) I lay there for a while and had a lovely
think which usually sends me right back to sleep. Not this morning.
After about an hour I decided to get up and make some tea. I thought
about writing a blog post and then realized I was a bit chilly and
what I really wanted was to put on the puffy vest I bought aboard the
Ocean Endeavour this summer. The vest was downstairs sitting on the
desk beside the sewing machine.
It's a bit of a
story. I've discovered that aboard a ship the crew is always painting
something. I don't think there was a single day that passed that I
didn't see a crew member, paintbrush in hand, touching up railings or
trim or something. Most of the time there were signs posted or areas
were roped off, that is unless you happened to inadvertently get into
an area you weren't supposed to be in. There were sliding glass doors
on either side of the reception area which led to the stairs when the
ship was docked. When the ship wasn't docked the stairs (gangway?)
were stowed but you could still get out the glass doors. I had seen
other people out there admiring the ice as we went on our way and I
was in need of some fresh air so I went through the automatic doors
and onto the small platform.
I took some photos
and, when I'd had enough fresh air, turned around to go back into the
ship. Nothing happened. I waved my arms around, tried standing in
different places. Still nothing happened. By this time I was
getting a wee bit chilly and I also felt pretty stupid. There were
people roaming around on the inside of the ship so I tried to get
someone's attention. No luck. I didn't want to knock loudly on the
glass and attract everyone's attention. I just wanted one kind soul
to notice me and walk towards the doors so I could get in. Knocking
on the glass was definitely an option but I decided before I did that
I would try to see if there was another way in.
I left my post by
the door and walked toward the bow. Dead end. I walked back to the
door and walked toward the stern. This was a bit trickier since the
gangway was folded up and there wasn't much space between it and the
side of the ship. I went as far as I could to another dead end. On
the way I must have brushed against something. I went back to my
station outside the glass doors and before I could knock, someone
stepped into the magic zone that opened the doors for me. I walked
inside trying to look nonchalant. No one took particular notice.
After dinner that
night I noticed there was something white on my vest. It didn't seem
to want to brush off. No worries. I'd wash it out in the basin and
all would be well in the morning. Nope. The substance on my vest
wasn't coming out. When the vest was wet it looked hopeful but as it
dried the white splotches where still there. I tried again when I got
home pre-soaking the stain first. No luck. It must be white paint and
the only place I can think of picking that up was on my little
adventure outside the glass door.
When I was in the
library in Pond Inlet I picked up a patch to sew on my pack. It was
bigger than most of the other patches and I wasn't sure where I'd put
it. When I realized the stain wouldn't come out of the vest, I tried
the patch to see if it would cover the white marks. It did so I
pinned the patch on and then got distracted by something else and
left the vest by the sewing machine. This morning when I was debating
about what to do I decided it would be a good time to sew on the
patch.
As with most things
the process wasn't straightforward. The patch needed to be sewn on
above a pocket so I had to be careful to just catch the top layer of
fabric. Also patches are nasty tough things and hand sewing isn't my
favourite indoor sport. I started in, had to pull out several
stitches several times and eventually got the patch on the vest. The
house was quiet and as I sewed I thought about building the ukulele.
How many times did I have to redo things? How many times did things
actually got smoothly? Now many repairs have gone into it so far? I
realized that I wasn't cranky when I had to pull out stitches. If I
wanted the patch to lie relatively flat I had to fix the mistakes
when I noticed them. It would take the time it would take.
I don't know if I
was a patient kid. I've long known I have patience for some things
and not for others. What I realized this morning is that, on a good
day, I can be patient when my usual response is irritation. On a good day...
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