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I can imagine this is what the landscape looks like on another planet. Life –– but not green life.  I took this picture in the Galapagos thinking that my sister Sarah, an artist, might be inspired by the palate of colors. The image isn't manipulated. The island really is grey and tan and scarlet and black. And full of cool reptiles.
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For being a team sport, sailboat racing is made up of such individual experiences. It's a team, and you're all together on a small space against the raging elements, but still...
Then someone shouted from on deck: "What the hell are you doing down there? Come on! Jaysus! Get the 'chute! Pull the motherf#$ker! NOW!"
Oh, yeah, that. The team. Thanks for the many suggestions for what to name Mr. Linton's new creation!
Because we are flitting about on the road for some weeks, the contest is still open and my blogging will be intermittent. Hoping everyone is having a wonderful July...
That boat was followed by Mousetrap, another Moth. Several of that design were constructed in a porchlight frenzy in the boat-yard. I believe there's a pupal stage Moth in Rod K.'s garage, and some others in hibernation here and there. The Mousetrap attempted to self-destruct via heat-lamp that first winter –– an unsuccessful effort, for which the house was especially thankful –– but has since gone on to numerous Midwinter and North American victories. A decade or so later, Frankenscot came to life in the boat-yard. The reanimated corpse of an elderly Flying Scot, Frankie won its division in the Everglades Challenge, gave a few thrill rides to some lucky sailors, and then sloped off the pages of history. Now, there's the new boat, which I have been calling "the new boat" or "Frankie's Spawn" "The Yet-Unnamed Boat" or "Child of Frankenscot." All names that seem clunky, imprecise, and unimaginative. And confusing.  The contest portion of today's blog: name the boat. The boat is
Make your suggestion below, please, so I can keep track of who said what. There's at least one prize in it, and I can tell you the word "fabulous" nearly always goes next to the word "prize" in my world. Fabulous prizes to be awarded utterly at our discretion, though we are pretty free and easy with the loot of questionable value (just ask any of the previous prizewinners). 
She's no Cujo: she's smaller than a breadbox and she frequently slides off-task, distracted by a swarm of something only she can see. We think it's floaters, because she gulps at them and then gazes loopily into the middle distance the same way she used to do when hunting lizards. Something else she doesn't do any more. To be fair, the panting works for her: Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! is like water torture to me, drip drip dripping on my ears. Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! gets a biscuit, a walkie, fresh water in the dish. She still has a kick-ass sarcastic blink, however. I don't understand how she does it, but in addition to the normal blinking done by any buggy-eyed dog, she has a special blink, heavy with irritation and impatience, that says, "By all means, take your sweet mother-f*^ing time." Especially when I have neglected to biscuit her promptly. I've tried to video the blink, but of course she refuses to perform for the camera. Come to think of it, the camera tends to make her stop panting, too. Just as –– back in the day –– she would wake up and assume a less ridiculous sleeping pose, or shake off the cute crown of flowers, or jump down from her weird perch just as soon as I got the camera ready.  That hasn't changed.
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