Circular Breathing

Google Street View Image - 
The Market Cafe in The French Quarter, New Orleans

We sat at a corner table on the outside patio, munching muffaletta sandwiches, soaking in the humid rays of the New Orleans sun, and watching our fellow tourists take in the sights of the French Quarter.  A live band was providing the soundtrack to our first afternoon on vacation.  The bass thrumbed a mellow rhythm while the keyboard punched out a few punctuated and irregular notes, and the saxophone moaned harmoniously. Overall, the scene was languid and satisfying.  Glenn and I chattered aimlessly for a while, but our conversation faded away as another sound dominated the scene.  The moaning of the saxophone had turned into a lament. One long note, lasting well beyond one minute, insisted on our attention.   

The Power of Possibility

Dreams are possibilities imagined... 
Goals are possibilities sought... 
the Adventure is in striving to make those possibilities real... 
Joy comes from sharing the adventure.

Four years ago, on a beautiful lush summer day in Seattle, surrounded by family and friends and evergreen trees, Glenn and I were married.  That was a possibility I think neither of us had imagined on the summer day eight years earlier when we met in the scuba shop in Friday Harbor, Washington.  I had just gotten a seasonal retail job in the store and Glenn was one of the most avid divers on the island.  He taught scuba courses, acted as divemaster for tourists, volunteered for the sheriff's department search & rescue team, and spearheaded the local scuba diving club.  In other words, he was "Mr. Scuba," and very intimidating.  I was in my 3rd year out of 6 years in college, with maybe 20 dives "under my weightbelt" since I started diving when I was 16.  But, I had just taken an intensive quarter-long field course in zoology and botany at the local marine station, and that seemed to boost my credit as a potential dive buddy.  I knew about stuff.  I was also very comfortable in the water, having been a lifeguard and swimming instructor also since I was 16.

Columbine is a flower... and our lovely sailboat.

We have gotten some very mixed reactions to the name of our sailboat over the years.  While living at the docks in Friday Harbor, we overheard quite a few idle conversations about our boat as the weekend dock-goers stood within a foot of our bow and discussed the merits of the boat, and its name.  Frequently, they mis-read the name... "Concubine?  Who would name their boat Concubine?  Sheesh."  Or, they read the name correctly... "Columbine?  Who would name their boat after the high school?  That's terrible!"  I always preferred the more positive response of... "Columbine?  There's got to be a story behind that name.  I wonder what it is..."

Yes, there's a good story.