Captain’s Log, Day Twenty-Two

A ship’s chaplain once confided in me, “When the world sinks into darkness, may love light your way.”

Here at HMS Copeland, we had relatively calm waters. An electrical lapse caused Capt C a jolt of anxiety during a discussion with scholars. And the natives worked in equal parts to terrorize and heal one another.

Capt C joined the Sorensen18 Fleet for a Captains’ Quorum this evening. Conversing, swilling grog, sharing laughs—it was a ray of sunshine. Thank you, Admiral Hazard, for convening us.

The stories from other ships are what matter. When a fellow captain is hurting, I want to tack starboard, bring supplies, watch natives, deliver hugs. In the absence of normality, though, glimmers space. If we choose, every day dawns with new ways to connect, to care, to create.

Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay distant. But love creatively.

One of my favorite ships in all the ocean is in rough seas. I’ll be praying for their captains and crew. I believe that light is still present in the darkness, and love doesn’t see light or dark. Love is more like ocean water, surrounding all and connecting ships even when the lookout in the crow’s nest can’t glimpse a single thing on the horizon.

Captain's Log, Day Twenty-One

Capt A deemed today Pirate Day, and the natives were tasked with constructing a brig, building a (safe) campfire, designing cartography to result in treasure, composing jaunty sea shanty, and swimming with crocodilians.

The natives unwittingly locked a door leading to the ballast room. Capt C cast dice to resolve who would unshackle the door. Though it required prodding, a systematic exploration occurred, and the natives achieved success.

Both captains performed multiple ship-to-ship calls, but this also meant a lapse in maintaining discipline aboard HMS Copeland. The female native donned warpaint from Capt C's stores; much scrubbing was required for her ablutions.

Afternoon sunshine and mandatory calisthenics, delicious suppertime grub, and marvelous novel ended the day on a positive note. The captains' work, though, is not yet terminated for the evening.

Captain’s Log: Day Twenty

Capt A labored in his quarters for many hours this day. As a result, Capt C scampered between all the ship’s levels, balancing ship-to-ship calls, scholar queries, and the complaints of natives.

The natives, garbed in nightshirts throughout the day, are equal parts restless and reckless. Raucous actions hold more allure than complying with standard nautical hierarchy and regimens.

Essential supplies from an InstaCart Rowboat arrived to replenish our stores. Despite the collapse of our ship’s social order, we appreciate our good fortune to have supplies and maintain our health. Wishing every ship out there fair weather and safe passage during this turbulent time!

Captain's Log, Day Nineteen

Mutiny afoot!

The natives spent the afternoon packing sundry trunks due to their desire to exit this ship posthaste. The male native concentrated on gathering garb, writing utensils, and animals of the stuffed variety. The female native planned for more permanence; she gathered water casks, utensils for cleaning dentition, and her winter coat.

Laboring long hours and connecting with too many other ships while being marooned on a single ship has walloped the captains indisputably this week.

Captain’s Log, Day Eighteen

Today’s lucky number was eight!

The male native celebrated his eighth year navigating this wild world. He enjoyed trinkets, pure sugarcane, moving pictures, and parties (via a wonderous technology called Zoom) with friends and family.

Capt A negotiated a bustling ship, deftly balancing his labor tasks with pleasing the male native. By day’s end, Capt A needed forty or forty-two winks.

Capt C chose to commemorate a hectic day by watching a favorite tale of a knight, strangely dressed and bearing the name of a canine, finding salvation with his father. Superb!

Captain's Log, Day Seventeen

A midday thunderstorm raged outside our ship but the natives aimed to match the sound and fury inside as well. Capt A deems them to have succeeded in that endeavor.

The Commander of the HHS Wanker instructed me in graphical design, though we used tools slightly more advanced than my trusty sextant. The Commander pronounced me ready to solo-fish, at least when I'm in MS Word Bay and similar bodies of water. Trawling in the open ocean is still best left to true professionals.

Preparations for the male native's natal day celebration included disguising trinkets in festive garb; creating a concoction with sugar, flour, eggs, and cacao beans; and garnishing said concoction with more sugar and glitz. The celebration will commence, I've been warned, at precisely 0700 hours.

Captain’s Log, Day Sixteen

The days blur. Multiple ship-to-ship communications combined with the female native’s desire for dominance combined to result in exhaustion. It’s also why this Captain’s Log suffered a delay.

The weather, at least, remains sultry. Capt C rejoices; Capt A grumbles.

The natives eagerly anticipate the fourth month of the year because, for both, it represents another concluded journey around the solar sphere. It may be a ploy to gain bestowals and sweetmeats. Tomorrow, the male native declares his commemoration must occur.

Captain’s Log, Day Fifteen

In an effort to stem the discord of yesterday/week/month/2020, your captains instituted a multi-bipedal physical fitness requirement for the natives. The results were mostly impressive—less animosity, though still considerable sass (possibly a personality attribute).

For supper, Capt A rowed to the Galley of AdamantineBorough. ‘Twas delicious and the natives, who had scampered from the victual area prior to being dismissed, were denied morsels of peanut butter pie. Infinitesimal victories (plus sweets) provide blissfulness.

Enjoy your weekend! We shall be here, moored at the top of the Nelson Triangle via the Port Republic Channel in the Sea of Harrisonburg.

Captain’s Log, Day Fourteen

I know what banshees sound like.

The natives can sense the tension onboard. The male native yelled that Capt C wasn’t his instructor of record. The resulting conversation ended poorly for all parties.

Nature provided some respite. Capt C and the natives planted hyacinth bulbs in the forward deck. The natives created a game that involved running down a steep hill. They aided Capt C in replenishing the land desecrated by our mangy cur, Miss Penny.

Capt A decided to host a wrestling match with the natives. He boasted that they tried to bring him to his knees, but he never wavered. According to his verbal log, all parties emerged with feelings and limbs intact.

Capt C talked with scholars late into the evening, yet still found time to plan for the natives’ birthday celebrations, both happening in the fourth month in the 2020th year of our Lord.

Send strength. And fermented grapes.

Captain’s Log, Day Thirteen

Teeth have begun to jump overboard. And, honestly, I am enameled of their ability to disengage from the gumline when prodded by a nearly-8-year-old native.

Beyond dentition, we maintained the status quo on board today. Natives ran the captains ragged; work seemed plentiful.

Though my labor intensifies every day, I also feel as though I’m paddling in circles. Luckily, the waters of Korea have provided needed respite for Capt A and me. Both of us eagerly await the natives’ bedtime so we can delve into the glory of Korean cinema.