Yes, I Said "Wavebow."

The chaotic skies lately have been absolutely fantastic. Just south of
Greece I had what I have labeled "Maxfield Parish De Ja Vous," the sensation
that you're in a Maxfield Parish painting- minus the buxom, bare-breasted
Grecian women, of course. And there are no grapes. Nor fountains. But the
cumulous clouds- like so many puffer fish- skim low to the ocean and backlit
nimbus anvils surround us on all quarters, their anvils spilling sloppily
off into the upper atmosphere while their black bellies arc static
electricity against the skin of the earth. And above it all, mare's tails
and cirrus clouds (that look like a washboard of beach-sand on an out-going
tide) form a literal boundary between breathable air and near-space, more in
orbit around the planet than floating in the sky. And it all looks to me
exactly like a Maxfield Parish painting.

The seas have varied from deep blue to silver, its water consistently like
concoidally-fractured obsidian, sometimes with an indigo tint, at others
like emerald, and churning a color between the Tiffany's blue and the
Wedgewood pottery that typifies the Med. We've had steep 3 to 4.5 meter
swells and 30 - 40 knot winds, with the 50 to 60 knot apparent wind on the
bridge wings strong enough to suck the wind out of your lungs. The swells
often break and spray a fine mist into the air, each with its own rainbow
(or "wavebow"), and I saw spray-devils this morning when a squall hit.

And tonight I watched as the shimmering orange sun sank behind low bands of
clouds on the horizon and there were three - count 'em, THREE- green flashes
in a row, one each time the top of the sun fell below a cloud band. I did
not know that could happen but I saw it with my own eyes (through
binoculars) and I am now a veritable expert on the green flash, though the
green flash of the rising sun has still eluded me... but I haven't tried too
hard, lately, to catch one... 53 hours of overtime last week and 50 so far
this week have left me less than focused on the exact second of sunrise and
the sun's specific bearing at that exact moment. I'm usually drinking
coffee. Drinking it for dear life. It is my only saving grace at 0400, and
the only way I make it all the way to sunrise each morning, so if I never
see the rising green flash in my lifetime I will not feel that particular
regret on my deathbed. But it would be pretty rad.

At the last fire and boat drill I was the "missing person" and the response
team had to locate and rescue me. I was happy to act like a bag of potatoes
and not suit up for the drill in the full-on response gear, SCBA's (air
tanks) included... the gear is heavy and friggin' hot. Instead I got
dragged around from the laundry, over the step, and into the hallway while
the rest of the crew made smart-ass remarks.

The pool deck is above my room. The pool, itself, were it a room, would be
across the hall from me. The much-loathed Chief Engineer has 3 pet
projects: One, his mp3 collection; two, the elevator music (most ships do
not have elevator music, but ours does); and three, the filling-of, and
heating-of, the pool. Pulling out of Egypt, before the dock lines had even
stopped dripping, I encountered the engine cadet as he was exiting the 8th
floor exterior door at the end of the hall by my room- the door,
incidentally, that was leaking and flooding my room when the pool was being
flooded by the drunken engine department. The cadet had been ordered to
begin filling the pool, which is done by a valve outside that door. In this
case, with the foul water from Damietta harbor. I'll be skipping the pool
until next trip... I don't want that rash.

OK. We're retarding clocks and in four hours we'll be at UTC, formerly
known as "Greenwich Mean Time," or GMT, 5 hours later than Eastern, 8 later
than Pacific. And my bedtime.