I’d like to let you know about a couple of new commercial fishing-related blogs that I’ve recently enjoyed reading.

The first is called The Faces of California Fishing. The Faces of California Fishing (as it is described on the blog itself) is a new initiative to promote the real stories and people behind California’s fishing communities. They encourage consumers to support California’s commercial fishing communities by eating safe, fresh, great quality local seafood. 

This commercial fishing family-friendly group also has an extremely organized and well-done website with stories, links, tales and recipes to look over.

Speaking of great quality, wild seafood—another blog I’d like to call to your attention is the new Vis Seafoods Blog. My sister started it and although she is a little slow to post new entries (haha), what she puts up is interesting, and she has some fun photographs.

Her blog has only been up for a little over a week, but already she has received a rather scathing and somewhat ignorant comment from somebody who obviously did not read her last post very carefully. I’ve got to hand it to her. The comment was so mean it would have taken me a week to recover after reading it. I doubt she will post it, but you never know!

I am happy to announce that the joke was on me this Mother’s Day!

I placed a bet on Saturday evening that George would not remember it was Mother’s Day or have an opportunity to call from the Gulf of Alaska and wish me a nice day.

Well—I lost my own bet, and big time.

When I woke up on Sunday morning, I was surprised to discover an e-mail from George, sent via Satellite (a form of communication he rarely uses). The message read in part:

good morning beautiful!
and happy mothers day! go into my closet in vinces room on the far left you will find a dark shopping bag kind of rolled up back in the corner…i will be into seward late tonight or early monday will call you then…

Of course, I went directly to the closet in Vincent’s room and found a bag of presents, along with two cards (one from George, one “from” the kids) that were signed and sealed.

Can you imagine my excitement? (And I’ve rummaged through that closet many times since George left; how did I miss that bag?)

Apparently, before he left for Alaska, George did some secret shopping in Seattle while he was there getting bait for the halibut and blackcod season. He went to my favorite store (which no longer exists in our own town) and got exactly what I needed.

I’m also pleased to announce that I lost the “calling” portion of the bet. George called via Satellite late in the afternoon to see how my day was and if I’d found his gift.

Thanks, G!

Each morning this week, the local news encouraged its viewers to send in their “Amazing Mom” stories.

One of the first stories they read was entitled, “My Mom Saved My Life!” (Uh, how about the fact that she gave life in the first place? Isn’t that equally amazing?) Anyway, I think that all moms who raise their children and do what they need to do to maintain their homes are amazing. (I also think that “amazing” is relative. But enough of that…I’ll save that discussion for another day.)

I wasn’t about to submit a story to the news, but I’d like to tell you about an “amazing” mom that I know…my own. My parents have been married for over 40 years, and my mom has spent all of those years as the wife of a commercial fisherman and the mother of three girls.

I have a book (Old Friend from Far Away, by Natalie Goldberg) that I flip through at times when looking for writing prompts.  One of the prompts that I came across recently read, “Tell me about your mother’s hands.”

When I was growing up, my mother’s hands were always busy, especially when my dad was in Alaska catching king crab, snow crab, blackcod, halibut, or salmon. While maintaining the home front, my mom mowed the lawn, maintained her flowers, climbed ladders to clean the gutters, and could paint the outside and inside of a house.

Her hands drove our cars in to be repaired, and they rearranged living room furniture and decorated the rooms of my sisters and me. Her hands sewed clothes, stuffed animals, and dolls, and drove all three of us to gymnastics, ballet, piano, track, swimming, and volleyball.

Her hands cooked our meals, cleaned the house, and took us to the ER when we sprained our ankles or suffered bloody head wounds from crashes while roller skating down our hill. Those hands answered the phone whenever my dad called from Alaska, and they handed the phone off to each one of my sisters and me so we could talk to Dad, too.

Mom’s hands wrote checks to pay the bills when money was both tight and plentiful. They drove her to the nighttime bookkeeping class where she learned how to do the books for the family fishing business, as well as to the woodworking class where she built a new lounging chair for the back deck of our home.

To keep it real, I’ll admit that those hands were used for a few other purposes, as well. My younger sister and I shared a good laugh just last night about the day Mom chased my sister into our shared bedroom and pulled her out from her hiding place under the bunk beds to deliver a much deserved spanking. Or the time Mom flung Rolanda, my sister’s Cabbage Patch Kid, against the wall in the hallway. I understand now how things could have, at times, just become too hard or too much.  

However, when I think of what my mom was expected to do, had to do, and wanted to do for her husband and children during all of her years as a commercial fishing wife and mother, I am in awe. Hers are a pair of hands that have never stopped working for her family.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

I want to give my best wishes for a peaceful Mother’s Day to all the mothers who try their best each day to be the best moms they can be. A special shout-out to the mothers married to commercial fishermen, traveling salesmen, doctors, military men, truck drivers, or any other husband who is away from home as much as he is around.

I commend us all for our efforts in trying to write, quilt, scrapbook, exercise, take classes, or accomplish whatever it is we are trying to accomplish while also caring for our children without relying on babysitters or having the luxury of husbands around to “co-parent.” Last, but definitely not least, a very special shout-out to the truly single mothers who have all the weight of the world resting on their shoulders.

Late last Friday afternoon, the last of the construction workers was leaving our house for the weekend. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he shouted to me as he prepared to get in his truck and drive away.  “It’s your day! George will call, I’ll bet.  He probably calls all the time, right?”

I paused from my task loading Eva and Vincent into the stroller for an afternoon walk and looked up with a chuckle. (My answer to the inquiry was “not likely,” and “no.”)

So here’s the bet–will George call tomorrow,  on Mother’s Day? I’m going to bet no, but certainly not because George doesn’t care or is ignoring the day. I’m guessing “no” because I have a feeling that, being out at sea in the middle of Alaska with his focus on landing some fish (to pay for this construction), that George will not even realize it’s Sunday, much less Mother’s Day.

It’s a fun bet–any takers?

I’ll let you know by the end of tomorrow night who the winner is.

“Families involved in commercial fishing are familiar with change. In fact, many fishing couples enjoy the changing nature of family life that accompanies the fishing cycle. Husbands enjoy their connections to the sea and a sense of self-sufficiency that comes with fishing. Wives enjoy a sense of accomplishment and independence by running their homes….”

(Adapting to Change–The Ebb and Flow of Fishing Family Life–Oregon Sea Grant)

I went shopping with Eva and Vincent yesterday. In addition to our other groceries, we bought a couple heads of purple cabbage and a few carrots. We got sweet potatoes and some chicken broth. When we arrived home I cleaned the carrots and sweet potatoes, cut them in quarters and put them in the crock pot. Next, I layered several pounds of sockeye salmon from Vis Seafoods. I poured chicken broth over the whole thing and set the crock pot to cook on high for four hours. By 4:30 p.m., the smell of a comforting dinner filled our home and it was time to lift the lid and begin scooping it out.

Does this sound like a wonderful dinner?

It was— but it wasn’t Eva, Vincent, or me who ate it.

Upon scooping the meal out of the pot, I filled our heavy-duty blender and ground it all up, and then poured it into storage containers for Toby. Toby, as you know, is our 4-year old pitbull who has cancer. Special meals like this are part of his treatment plan. At meal time twice a day, I go downstairs and fill his bowl with homemade food. Next, I add a scoop of powder here, a tablet there, a squirt of this, a dash of that. I mix it all up and set it on the ground, petting Toby as he eats. Mandy, our healthy border collie mix, gets a little of the food mixture so she doesn’t feel left out.

I also give the dogs vitamins twice a day and Mandy her thyroid pill.

Next on the list—and I really do keep a list—are Vincent’s daily meds for the terrible virus he caught. Antibiotic twice a day, inhaler four times a day. Flouride at night, vitamin drops in the morning. Eva gets iron and flouride at night, and a vitamin in the morning.

Mom gets…well, you know what I get. When 5:00 pm rolls around (four hours from now, but who’s counting?) I mix my own special meds. Not too much, because since George is in Alaska getting ready to set gear and get some fish on board, I’m on solo duty. I’m on point 24/7 and must keep my wits about me at all times.

When George leaves, I assume all of his duties in addition to my own. To accomplish all of this, I get up at 5:30 in the morning. The little ones and I are pretty well on our way by 8:00 a.m., when the construction crew arrives with five or six of the biggest trucks you’ve ever seen, 75-foot long steel beams, and tractors to work on our house project.

Now, I’m not the sort of mom who simply takes things as they come, one at a time, or stays especially calm. I get stressed out quickly. I depend on George far more than I should for mental and physical support when he is home, because I get anxiety attacks from just looking at a table that needs to be wiped down or a floor that needs to be vacuumed (and then mopped).

I mentioned to my parents last night that I have been in shock over what my days have been like, as well as the fact that I’ve been getting through them reasonably well. In addition to the rest, I finished writing two new stories and submitted them (cross your fingers!) and returned to Jazzercise for the first time since Vincent and I became so ill.

George made it to Alaska on Tuesday, but he still has about four more days of travel until he gets to the first halibut/blackcod fishing grounds. When he called from Sitka, I filled him in on the kids and our week, the way I always do. Only this time, when I finally stopped talking, he said something I rarely hear because George is a man of few words.

“I’m proud of you, hon,” he said.

Thanks. The feeling is mutual.

I found something special last night while conducting my rounds of “favorite blog reading”.

On the Mommy Writes blog, I discovered a link to a very well written and moving essay that Mommy Writes wrote and had published over at Mothering Heights.  The essay is about how quickly the time we have to mother and enjoy our children while they are so small goes by.

I’ve read much on this particular topic before, but nothing quite as well done as this. The essay even brought a tear or two to my eye–a sign of solid writing, if I do say so myself. Link over to the essay and see what I’m talking about firsthand, if you’d like

Eva has started sleeping in her toddler bed at night, but she likes to get up three or four times and come find me before finally settling in for good. Her bedtime is 8 p.m. While I was reading the essay by Mommy Writes, I heard Eva’s door open and shut again, then little feet making their way down the hall. It was 10:00 p.m.

I turned on the light and found Eva sitting on the floor of the hallway, smiling up at me. She was dressed in her green-and-purple flowered blanket sleeper, headbands still on top of her pretty blonde head—three at once, the way she likes to wear them.  Instead of chasing her back to her bed with another warning, I picked Eva up and hugged her extra tightly as I carried her back to her room. She rested her head on my shoulder and we sat together quietly on her bed for a little while.

As I held Eva and gave her kisses, I reflected on the essay I’d just read.  I thought of my 2-year old angel and the way she loves for me to paint her nails bright pink, yet how she can also point to and say “tractor” whenever she sees one. How she says ”Love you, nigh-nigh,” at bedtime, and the way she silently hands me one diaper for Vincent each morning.

I thought of Vincent, asleep in the next room, on antibiotics for an ear infection and using an infant mask and inhaler for his breathing because he caught the nightmarish virus I had, but it hit him even harder. I thought of the way he still greets me and everyone else with his signature bright smile and twinkly eyes in spite of his feeling so terrible.

Eva was asleep in seconds. I tucked her back in her little bed and felt like the luckiest mother in the world.

Clockwise: Bryan (standing), Brett, George, Kelly

The boat got underway about 4:30 p.m. today, Alaska-bound for the halibut and blackcod season. Everyone was all smiles and seemed especially relaxed–everyone but me, that is.   

For the first time in eight years, I did not pass through all of my normal “George is Leaving” stages of grief. When I became aware of his impending departure a couple of weeks ago, I went into my “panic” phase, and then stayed there until today when I transitioned into just plain sad.

So, I will just leave it at that and post some pictures. I have to get to bed early as I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow…and of course, have several more weeks of long days to follow! Thank goodness for grandparents, aunties, uncles, friends, Jazzercise, books, writing groups, babies….

The very best of luck to George, Bryan, Brett, and Kelly. There couldn’t be a better Captain or Crew heading out to sea this evening, and I am so proud of them all. I’m also proud of all of us left behind–wives, mothers, girlfriends and children–we can do it!

Happy May Day.

Here’s George saying goodbye to Mandy and Toby.

I never get sick.

I don’t work in an office (does my bedroom closet count as an office?), don’t fly on airplanes very often, or hang out in schools. I exercise a lot, eat well most of the time, and have taken prenatal vitamins for the past three years.

I carry Clorox wipes with me to clean off restaurant highchairs before placing Vincent in them. I carry hand sanitizer in my purse, shopping cart seat covers in both the car and truck, and usually bring my own bags inside the grocery store so I don’t have to touch the shopping baskets.

(I never used to be quite this bad. My sister, Stephanie, however, is this bad–worse, actually–and her ways have had an impact.)

Anyway, I’m sick now, and I know why.

I taught Jazzercise this week at a facility I’d never been to, as a favor to the regular instructor at that gym. Unfortunately, my own microphone did not work in their (in need of repair) sound system, and I was forced to use the “gym mic”. As a result, I now have swollen throat glands, an ear ache, congestion and small cough.

George has been busy on the boat, taking care of a few loose ends before the crew gets here and they start the real work necessary before leaving for Alaska to catch the halibut and blackcod quota. He spent the week working on the starter for the main engine, repairing the fuel pump for the main engine and generator, and replacing the hydraulic motor for the longline hauler. (The longline hauler is a piece of equipment, similar to a crab block, that brings in the hook-and-line longline gear.)

A friend remarked that it seemed George was leaving for this season earlier than usual. She’s right. The price of halibut is good, and he’d like to get up there and wrap it up before the price drops. The price of marine diesel is incentive enough to get up there and get it done. It will take about 6000 more gallons of diesel to top off the tanks, and at $4 a gallon…$24,000 right off the top is a good motivator to just get going.

I spent some time this week continuing to read and work through a little book I’ve found to be very useful. The chapter I worked on was called “Endurance.” One of the prompts asked me to list all of my daily activities and the goals they fulfill. If there were activities listed that didn’t line up with my goals, the suggestion was to eliminate them.

“This will be easy,” I said.

“My kids are so little that we aren’t a part of the soccer/softball/ballet/piano lesson circuit yet. We just hang out here at home. We don’t run all over town, trying to get here and there. I don’t have anything to eliminate.

“Hardly relevant to me,” I assured myself.

I began my list with “Breakfast for Kids.”  The goal: feeding and caring for my children.  Nothing wrong with that, I assume. Next up: “Make bed.” Hey, I’m making my living space clean and tidy. Next:  ”Go to Jazzercise.” Exercise for Mommy, play for kids, socialization for all three of us.

So far, so good.

But then, “Clean kitchen” came up. “Vacuum floors” appeared. “Mop.” “Filing and bills.”  “Clean kitchen,” again. I even entered “Misc. household things,” as one of my activities.

It was obvious: I spend too much time cleaning and organizing my household and everyone in it. It’s where I lose my endurance. And that’s with George’s help! If I try to keep up this pace up while he’s gone, I may not have the endurance needed to make it successfully through each day.

Lesson noted.

In other news, we put Eva and Vincent in the sit-’n-stand stroller and walked to a family festival in our town today. Eva found a hoola hoop and chased after some bubbles that a nice lady blew over  the community green. George kept his eye on Eva while I listened to a folk trio on stage and kept my eye on Vincent, who sat contentedly in the stoller.

The individual voices of the trio were decent enough, the harmonies almost pleasant.

“Closer to Heaven everyday,” the trio sang to a crowd of mostly children and parents.

Not bad, I thought, when the song ended.

“That song wasn’t about Jesus,” one of the singers announced when it was over.

Oh?

“It was about beer!” she called into her microphone.

George looked over at me then.

“Isn’t this Family Fun Day?” he asked.

Blog business is pretty interesting. Sometimes there’s so much I want to write for Highliners and Homecomings that I don’t know where to start. Other times, the well feels pretty dry and I panic a little. I’ve learned, however, that if I just relax, a subject always presents itself.

That’s what happened for this post. Yesterday was a full day that included attending a memorial service and spending an hour at the home of my parents baking a treat, because my own oven was busy roasting the turkey that George was making for dinner. Eva hung out with Grandma, Vincent hung out with Grandpa, and we all met up later on to eat George’s wonderful dinner, which he kept calling “Thanksgiving in April.”

I should have gone directly to bed after kitchen clean-up, but I didn’t.

Instead, I made the mistake of checking this blog one last time.

To my surprise and disappointment, I found that I’d received my first negative comment since starting Highliners and Homecomings. I’ve always sort of expected to receive one, but I assumed it would be from any number of people or groups opposed to commercial fishing. I never imagined it would be one accusing me of a free speech violation.

The comment read, “When you fail free speech, you lose me.”

I may be wrong, but I believe the writer was most likely referencing a comment that was posted and then deleted, or perhaps it was about a different comment that required some small editing. Each of these situations had technical blog-related explanations, which I’d have been happy to explain if given a chance.

Instead, I received the aforementioned comment that I now believe was uncalled for and even a touch snide.

“When you fail free speech, you lose me.” Any analytical reader can see how the words “you fail,” and “you lose,” tend to stand out in the sentence.

Those aren’t words I particularly like to read, especially about myself.

And anyway, I’ve never said this was a blog about free speech, because it isn’t. Most of the blogs that I visit also reserve the right to moderate and edit each comment that comes in. The topic isn’t one that I have the time, energy, or desire to debate.  There are lots of hypothetical comments I wouldn’t post: comments vicious in nature, that contain foul language, or that are elitist, offensive or insulting.

Highliners and Homecomings is a blog that celebrates the life of commercial fishing families. That includes a lot of different things, to be sure–same as in any other life.

Although I take the content and the message seriously, the blog is something I do for fun. When my 2-year old and my 8-month old are fed and sleeping, when my household is in order and I have a moment of peace, it’s something I enjoy working on.

It’s not something that exists to stir debate, create strain, or to offend. I don’t like confrontation or tension. I’m simply someone who’s proud of her multi-generational commercial fishing family, who loves to talk, laugh, tell fishing stories and stories about her family, and to write.

It’s that simple.

And now, I have a dishwasher that requires emptying, a baby who needs his jammies on, and a toddler who needs her dinner started—so this mommy has to get back to work.