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.

Captain's Log, Day Twelve

The ship keeps sailing but the lack of destination seems to wear on all occupants.

The natives might end up being jack-of-all-trades; they used colored writing instruments for sketching, tickled the ivories, and performed dish duty adequately. I taught the elder native how to determine the quality of scholarly essays. The younger native has been singing "One Day" from _Les Miserable_. We all cope in our own ways.

Capt C and Capt A are able to converse outside the ship consistently, but the natives clearly want to converse with literally anyone who is not related to them.

Capt A ventured to the Nourishment Leo in a rowboat while I captivated the natives by regaling them a tale of my favorite shabbily dressed, absolutely exhausted, and obviously lycanthrope professor.

Your captains will now explore a Crash Landing On You made from the wilds of Korea.

Captain’s Log, Day Eleven

My day started innocuously enough—conversing with other captains, solving puzzles, sailing proudly over calm seas.

Before our noontime fare, the natives and I went on what I’ve heard some tribes describe as a Walk-About. A jolly time was had and we were even gifted some flower bulbs. The natives rejoiced in relocating a Lumbricus terrarium to our forward terrestrial locale.

After the noontime fare was supped, I had many more meetings with captains. There was much to plan and share but some news was rather more disheartening.

In a fit of semi-despair, I chose physical exertion. I scrubbed the deck while the natives frolicked in the waterfall (and subsequent mud) below. When I concluded my labors, both natives required immersive baths. Capt A was instrumental in corralling the muddy scamps.

Your captains fed to and read with the natives. We may even have embarked on a journey to determine whether lycanthropy can survive take tales (spoiler: it can when Capt C is at the helm!).

After the natives deigned to drift off in their hammocks, your captains enjoyed a repast from Magnolia’s Tacos, delivered by an efficient rowboater.

Captain’s Log, Day Ten

The sun glittered in the sky, save for one short rain spell.

Capt C entertained the natives by having them stretch their bodies into various poses. While conversing with scholars and fellow ship captains, your captains forced the natives to explore a summer solstice adventure set in a desert featuring two young, and quite musical, paramours.

After some shenanigans kicking a round and patterned sphere, the natives were assigned to sweep the decks.

While Capt A created grub, the natives danced several jigs and then Capt C read aloud a story about an orphan child who meets an innocent criminal. Can we ever be truly innocent, though? The rats always discover the truth; or else the rats are the truth.

Capt C chose an indulgent bath for her evening entertainment. If you ask the female native, she’ll fabricate a story of hauling buckets of water up the stairs because Capt C is a taskmaster. I declare that it could be quite a fine idea!

Your captains finished their day by exploring how nothing brings a family together like murder. But there’s no need to investigate. I promise. The Captain of America (aka my other Capt A) was present.

Captain’s Log, Day Nine

Hurricane-force winds, in the shape of rascally natives, battered the ship today.

I felt under the weather today, and native-to-native kicking did not raise my energy levels. One native ripped my artwork to shreds when my vision of a rainbow did not match her own.

Capt A buffeted the winds, acted as galley chef, and deserves every huzzah under the sun.

Let’s hope tomorrow brings more sunshine, calmer waters, and friendly natives.

Captain's Log, Day Eight

Stationed in the middle of the sea, the crew saw this middle of the week as a middling day. Sensible.

While your noble captains toiled, the natives investigated how white female saviorism functions in a Nordic setting when said female savior (and her sister and a frozen stack of snowballs and reindeer and the sister's strapping mate) can sing exceedingly well. 

Sir Newton's Third Maw of Motion propelled the natives' lessons today as they experimented with balloons and varying levels of thrust. Sparring with balloons occurred later.

Capt C felt personally victimized by these natives today. The male native, while attempting to stand on his hands, requested that Capt C hold his legs. While she complied, he rudely broke wind. The female native held Capt C's head during a lengthy kiss goodnight and transferred a substantial amount of nose slime to Capt C's philtum.

The quaffing of wine will commence momentarily.

Captain's Log, Day Seven

Today Capt A began to resemble Capt Ahab...

I was locked in my cubicle most of the day discussing moving pictures with scattered scholars. So Capt A, who also had a very busy work schedule, dealt alone with the scallywagging natives for many hours.

In my cubical, I heard shrieks of laughter and running water (extraordinary ships these days!). When I ventured out to the galley, the natives chose to demonstrate their ability to fling themselves off furniture items. During rest time, the natives competed to see who could scream the loudest.

I supervised and enforced chores at the end of the day and one native thought a game of hide-and-seek would be brilliant. She neglected to tell me where she was so I had to lure her out with the promise of Oreos.

The natives did tickle the ivories well and cheerfully eat their grub. While Capt A took them on a walk, a neighboring ship called for the fire brigade! Our neighbor’s ship is sound (thank goodness!) and our natives were elated by the fleet of fire vessels sent.

Poor Capt A needs a nap. Capt C may not even make him put on his device to cease snoring! (Spoiler: She still will.)

Captain's Log, Day Six

Perhaps I’ll start writing these logs on weekend, but those holidays seem to be less tempestuous.

The seas were rough today. The Guv’ner of Our Commonwealth decreed all young natives would be tutored on board rather than rowed to and from shore each day. The captains of this ship expected the news but it still came as a blow to our future productivity. The natives mourned as well.

Capt C and Capt A tried loosening the onboard schedule today, but the loosened ropes only caught the captains ‘round their own necks.

When the natives danced jigs and puzzled, all was well, but anarchy ruled while the captains communicated with scattered scholars and far-flung sailors and landlubbers.

An early bunk time was enforced. How long until these natives become scallywags? Or are they already there?

Captain's Log, Day Five

Ten years ago, Capt A and Capt C embarked on a partnership on the high seas!

The natives volunteered to celebrate, for they erroneously assumed there would be sugarcane, but first we had to navigate a whole day.

Tossing eggs overboard amused the natives.

Playing “The Fishing Game,” though, resulted in the natives biting one another. Attempts to capture for posterity a dramatic puppet show met with failure. Catastrophic, tear-filled failure.

On my watch, communicating with other ships has the same allure as walking the plank. The ocean seems so peaceful, and other ships make me feel helpful and necessary.

Back fully on my ship, post-dinner, we played cheery games and then Capt C was tasked with clipping toenails. It’s a glamorous task, and Capt C womanfully resisted the urge to hack off the limb from the protesting native.

With the natives in their hammocks, Capt C and Capt A will shortly quaff wine, feast on salmon, and smile at each other over the candlelight.

Captain's Log, Day Four

One native awoke me early today to tell me that I looked peaceful in my sleep. Her torture skills are quite advanced.

Luckily, the other native did his chores (and the other native's chores), joyfully performed calculations and word problems, happily drew pictures, and mastered dribbling an orange ball.

Sailors throughout the world required Capt A's sailing knowledge; Capt C juggled natives and communication with a bevy of young scholars.

The natives stretched their bodies with yoga and stretched their minds by watching an Empire Striketh Back.

The sun shone forth and there was much rejoicing and even a wild rumpus in the afternoon, while Capt C scribbled suggestions on how to advance arguments to those young scholars.

Tonight, as I charted our progress by the starlight, the shore seemed so far away. But we have plenty of oranges, and I just hope everyone's ships can come safely to shore soon.

Captain's Log, Day Three

I should have sensed the impending storm. Today started off rather jolly. I slept in a bit later than normal and both natives joined me for snuggles and reading time in bed. In retrospect, I should have never gotten out of my bed.
The natives joined me in a noble quest to ascertain what makes ice melt the quickest. Elaborate charts and sets were created. Patience was taught. In my hubris, I believed the natives were better for having me in their lives.
The day began to unravel. Tasks, whether they be athletics, math, reading, art, or eating, only took 10 minutes apiece, leaving much more time for the natives to lodge complaints or duel with one another.
Schedules conflicted for Capt A and Capt C; at times, both captains were engaged in critical missions that distracted from the reality that the natives now had full control of the ship.
'Twas not all horrid, though. Commander Mo Willems masterfully distracted the natives for 30 minutes. Capt A, out of sheer determination, prepared a delicious feast. Gambling soothed the natives. And sighting familiar faces via technology restored faith and goodwill.
As the end of the day grew near, though, the ice melted. One native admitted to a theft, earlier in the day, of frozen sugar water sticks. Both natives had stored the frozen sticks in the hull, and, in a fantastic twist of logic, refused to account for melting. (Yes, even though our quest earlier in the day had focused on what maketh ice melt quickest!) Capt C, stymied by the natives’ audacity, scrubbed the hull as an exercise in anger management; the slightly calmer Capt A corralled the natives into their sleeping quarters.
All rations that have the slightest amount of sugarcane in them shall be hidden, forevermore, from the natives. Your captains are feasting on treats from the land of Samoa and PBPatty (formerly the Republic of TagALong).
My final thought: The days stretch on to infinity, and I fear the natives are only gaining strength.
#parentinginthetimeofcoronavirus