Archive for Commercial Fishing Mom – Page 3

Word of Advice: Know ALL Of Your Home Security System Passwords & Codes!

I was on the fence about posting this incredibly embarrassing story, but in the interest of anyone who has a home security system, I decided to take the risk.

First of all, if you have a home security system, I implore you to make sure you know ALL of the codes, passwords, and number combinations. Not just the number you press on the touch screen when you accidentally set off your alarm, but ALL of them.

Somehow, that piece of the home security tutorial did not resonate with me, and I paid a very embarrassing price for it last night.

The evening started out innocently enough. I spent the day at the ice rink with my three children and a group of friends celebrating the 8th birthday of my friend’s daughter. We decided to have dinner at my house following the party. George flew out yesterday morning to Nashville where he is spending Thanksgiving and celebrating his dad’s 75th birthday, so I was on my own and company sounded great.

George and I installed a home security system after a creepy encyclopedia salesman seemed to form a weird attachment to my house and me, and also because I am on my own with the children many months a year. We have cameras for surveillance in and out of the house, plus a traditional alarm system.

The children and their friends like to use the cameras to make movies. One child will watch the camera screen, and the others will get in front of the cameras and make goofy faces and act up. It has all been pretty funny and fun for them…until last night.

Last night, one of the children accidentally pressed the PANIC button on the touch screen. The ear-piercing alarm went off. The child who pressed the button was frightened and jumped into his mothers arms, crying.

My phone rang. I answered it, knowing it was just the security company confirming all was well.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “It’s all fine. Sorry about that! My mistake.”

“I need your password,” she said.

“Password?” I asked. “I punched in my code and stopped the alarm already.”

“Right. But I need your password.”

“Um, I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “In fact, could you show me? I’ve been meaning to call about that because I’ve never understood what you mean by password.”

I walked over to the touch screen and she walked me through it. Cool! I hung up, reassured my friend’s son that all was fine, and poured myself a post-birthday party-and-scary-alarm cocktail.

Two minutes later, my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but something told me I should answer it.

“Hello?”

“This is 9-1-1. We have an officer outside your home. Please give me a description of what you are wearing.”

What? I just talked to the security people and told them all was fine! But, uh, I’m certainly not arguing with 9-1-1.

“Maroon sweater, blue jeans, white socks, brown strappy flats.”

“That’s a great description,” she said.

I decide it is not a good time to explain that I’m a writer and big on both details and description. And, wait! My friend is also wearing a maroon sweater. Maybe I should send her out instead.

“I need you to go outside and meet the officer,” she said.

Oh, no. My head spins. I ditch my cocktail down the drain and head for the door.

I step outside, but I don’t see anyone. Is this some kind of joke? Nobody is here. Visions of the fake cops that pull unsuspecting people over on the freeway visit my head. I stand on the top of my stairs, paralyzed. I decide to call George for advice and start to dial.

“Please come here,” a voice says.

I set my phone down and descend the stairs to the street and what is indeed a uniformed officer.

“Everything okay in there?” he asked.

“Yes!” I answer.

“Can I come inside?” he asked.

“Sure!” I say, heart racing.

Next thing I know, I have a 6’8” policeman standing in my doorway. Vincent walks over.

“Hey, Vincent!” I say with a fake and cheerful–and what I hope is reassuring– smile as I try to mask my panic. “Look! It’s a real, live policeman!”

“Are you SWAT?” Vincent asked.

“I am,” the officer replied.

“Wow, cool, right Vincent?”  Then I turn to the officer and for some reason decide to inquire on what the protocol is for police car ride-a-longs, thinking Vincent might like to take one.

“Well, you have to be 16,” he said.

“Ah,” I said. Maybe in ten years.

My friend and I went on to explain the alarm mistake and that we didn’t know the password. That we’d just had a birthday party and were having dinner and letting the kids play.  That all was well.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I said to the officer. “Did this go out on the scanner? Will anyone know you were here? I am so embarrassed. And I’m sorry for wasting tax payer money.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Believe me. This is not embarrassing. It’s what I’m going to be responding to the rest of this night that is what’s embarrassing for people.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He gave some advice on managing and monitoring the alarm system. He was kind and patient. He explained that having me come outside was for my own safety in case something odd was going on inside. For some reason, in my nervous state, I decide that dropping a few names of the policemen I sort of know is a good idea.

“Do you know Ty? Brock? Or Jon? Jon was a year younger than me in school.”

The policeman was a nice guy. He showed my friend, me, and our children grace and kindness. And although there was nothing wrong at my house, I was grateful for the quick and thorough response in case there ever was an emergency.

After he left, I joined my friend in the kitchen. The whole situation left me in a minor state of shock.

And oh, no!

George! He was going to kill me!

George had been gone for less than twelve hours when I managed to let this situation occur. He might be angry…but on the other hand, he might not. I’d have to call and find out.

I call him at 10 p.m.

“Wow, so this is a pretty crazy story….” I begin.

“…and I am so embarrassed,” I finish.

“I’m sure you are,” he said.

“We need to get ALL the codes and passwords to the system,” I said.

“Yes, we do.” he replied.

What a way to cap off a tough and strange week. Can you guess what call I am making first thing Monday morning?

Go Ahead, Write Your Truth. You Are Safe.

A couple of weekends ago, I participated in a Fall Writer’s Marathon with instructor Dawn Groves and several other writers. It had been a long time since I’d connected with writers in person, and this seemed like a great opportunity to meet fellow writers in my community and get some writing done.

I didn’t know what to expect. The marathon would take place from 8:00 am until 8:00 pm. What would I write? Where would we write?

I was nervous and unsure. I hadn’t written with others in person in probably ten years. I knew George would be available to care for our children, though, and I felt a need to connect, so I signed up for the writing marathon and put it on the calendar.

At 7:45 am on the appointed date, I packed up my laptop, leather-bound journal (which I hadn’t used as a journal in years), a water bottle, a cheese stick, and headed out. 

“Where are you actually going for this?” asked G. 

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Are you taking a bus from place to place?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

I arrived to the session with my anxiety sky-high. I felt rather unfocused and a little worried.

Just prior to my participation in this workshop, I’d written a blog post about why I am voting no on the Bellingham School District bond. The hits and views and shares were coming in by the hundreds and even thousands. Although I stood by every word I wrote, I was not used to using my blog as a public platform, and I was not accustomed to this amount of publicity.  I didn’t know if the numbers reflected people who agreed with me or people who opposed me. I dreaded the possibly of negative feedback sure to come in.

In this light, I showed up to the marathon and met with Dawn, who instantly put me at ease.

“You are safe today,” she said. “Don’t let fear of what someone might say tomorrow, or worry over what somebody said yesterday, send you into chaos. You spoke your truth with strength and dignity. Respond to any feedback in the same way.”

That is how I began my writing marathon; with assurance of safety and validation. So I wrote in session one. And I wrote during session two. Then session three, and session four. And I connected with the other writers, and we shared our writing. Then we moved to the next location, and we wrote. Then we met up again at the next location and shared our writing. I listened to works-in-progress that included plays, fiction, and memoir.

As for me? I just wrote. Freehand. In my leather-bound journal. I ditched my laptop and the pressure to click “submit” or “send” or “publish” or “update.” Nope. I had my pen and book and just wrote.

I almost felt like I was hiding. It made me laugh. Nobody could find me! I moved from location to location in my corner of town and wrote in coffee bars, bookstores, hotel lobbies with fireplaces and book-lined shelves, and even stopped by a real bar.

I wrote. And wrote. And wrote. I never stopped. And during the share times, I learned or was reminded of things, like: 

  • Amazing things will happen, but you have to show up and then grab them.
  • Ignoring a passion or a need is a mistake.
  • Cut open the vein and write through the pain and hurt.
  • Don’t devalue your efforts. Small steps.
  • Connect and gather with people who actually have goals and connect with them.

The writing marathon was a gift. Dawn Groves was a gift. My fellow writers were a gift. I entered the workshop in one state and left another. All the right people, all at the right time.

Speak your truth, no matter what it is and no matter where it may lead.

You are safe. And so am I.

 

Rolling With The Punches & A Commercial Fishing Show Casting Call

I know; it has been quite a while since my last post on Commercial Fishing Mom! We have been busy getting our school routine going and as always, adjusting to change. You know that I do not do well with change and lately there has just been too much of it.

“If you could just roll with the punches you’d be a lot better off,” G said to me.

That’s true. If only I could just roll with the punches! But when the punches seem ceaseless; crew change, fishery change, school change, exercise change…the bottom line is I just prefer no change, or perhaps only one small change at a time.

We are headed out of town this weekend. I am going to the Jason Aldean concert with my cowgirl daughter Eva and my cowgirl friend Dawn Michelle. I convinced G to come with me because I didn’t want to be without Vincent and Valerie for two nights, and also because it’s our eleventh wedding anniversary weekend. Who can’t use a change of scenery and a few laughs with friends we only see once a year?

Bags are being packed and stationed by the door as I write, but I wanted to post this before we left because I also have a couple of reminders for you.

The first is that my fellow anthology producer, Amanda, and I want to encourage and remind you to send us your stories for the commercial fishing families anthology! You absolutely do not have to consider yourself a “writer” to submit. We want all stories pertaining to the commercial fishing family lifestyle. They do not have to be perfect. For more information on story ideas and submitting your work, please click here.

In addition, I recently received word that a new commercial fishing TV show is currently being cast. This sounds like a great opportunity for one of you; they are looking for a family that has a son or daughter that is on the boat learning how to be a commercial fisherman. My children are too little so my family isn’t a good fit, but maybe your family is a great fit for the show! If you would like more information on this opportunity, please contact me through the contact form or visit my Facebook group, Commercial Fishing Families & Friends.

My son, Vincent, lost his third tooth this week. He was eating dinner when he tasted “a piece of metal” so he spit it out. Turns out, it was his tooth! This little guy is too funny. He doesn’t even know where the first tooth he lost went; we noticed he had a gap in his teeth but he had no idea where the tooth was or when it disappeared. He literally “lost” it. Another tooth came out on the way to his own birthday party.

Anyway, we are soldiering on, and G is starting to prepare for the crew to come up and start gear work on the upcoming Dungeness crab season. Oh! One more thing. Don’t forget to check out the Commercial Fishing Wives presentation at Fish Expo in November. Details are being finalized, and I will keep you posted.

Jason Aldean, here we come!

When Are You Supposed to Let Go? Ever?

Happy Labor Day to you all.

“It’s Dad’s day,” said my son, Vincent.

“What?” I said. “No. Father’s Day was two months ago.”

“I mean it’s Dad’s day because he is the one who works,” said my little guy.

“Oh, no,” I said. “It’s Labor Day. This is a day to celebrate all who work.”

“Isn’t Dad the only one who works?”

“No.”

I went on to explain that no matter what work one does, it’s all work and it counts. In home, out of home, for money, or no money. It’s work.

“What if I worked at the dump?” asked Vincent.

“Well, there is nothing wrong with that,” I explained. “There is no shame in any job. As long as you are working and doing your best and earning your pay, there is no shame.”

This photo doesn't even require a caption.

This graphic doesn’t even require a caption.

Ah, Vincent. My only son and a little guy with enough questions to keep one busy a lifetime. This one is starting kindergarten this year. For those of you who know us or have followed this blog, you know that Vincent also attended kindergarten last year. You also probably know that Vincent was diagnosed with childhood hearing loss last year and had surgery to correct a variety of problems. He went on to attend private kindergarten and speech therapy throughout the last school year.

This year, Vincent is going to public school and will be at the same school as his sister, Eva.

This last couple of weeks has been a time of reflection for me. I remember a year ago when Vincent had surgery and the drive we took home from the hospital following. He heard his father and I talking in the car.

“Mommy?” Vincent asked meekly from the back seat. He looked confused and nervous. “Why are you talking so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I said, choking back tears. “I’m not talking funny. You are just hearing me correctly for the first time!”

He came home to recover and we set up camp for him on the fold-out couch for two weeks. He rested there and snuggled into his dad for comfort whenever new sounds became scary and unfamiliar. One night, Vincent asked me to put him in my bed with a pair of earplugs and the rain machine turned on. He wanted the safety and security of familiar sounds, not new noises he could neither decipher nor understand.

Okay, there is a part of me that feels like this.

Okay, there is a part of me that feels like this.

Snuggling with Dad. Sounds are new and scary.

Snuggling with Dad after corrective surgery last year. New sounds are unfamiliar and scary.

After requesting earplugs and a rain machine for comfort, my boy fell asleep holding my hands.

After requesting earplugs and a rain machine for comfort, my boy fell asleep holding my hand.

Best big brother

Best big brother helping his baby sister down the stairs.

I spent five years being overprotective of Vincent. I raced to explain to all who wondered why when they spoke, Vincent may not have understood what they were saying. Conversely, I often rushed to explain what Vincent meant when he spoke. From the time he was born, I just knew Vincent needed me in a special way.

But he’s now had a year of hearing, kindergarten, and speech therapy. I dropped him off and picked him up at school last year with the best teacher he could have had: Mr. Ron, who before the operation, would bend down and rest his hand gently on Vincent’s shoulder to get his attention, and then speak clearly into his left ear, which was the better of Vincent’s two ears. To this day, Vincent pulls out the “Get Well” card Mr. Ron and friends made for him and asks me to read it with him.

Now, I have to let my boy move onto the next phase in his journey as he goes to his next school. I still want to reach out in warning and offense.

“Vincent might not understand!” “He’s just learning to communicate!” “Please call me if you don’t understand!” “Don’t hurt his feelings!”

I want to step in and hold Vincent’s hand and coddle for every step of his journey. My heart tells me that’s fine; my mind tells me it’s not. I know what’s right. I just think it’s going to take me some more time to get there.

 

A Great Day for Local Jazzercise

I’m pausing from regular Commercial Fishing Mom programming to write about how lucky I feel to be a Jazzercise instructor at my local studio.

Our Jazzercise community is incredible. From customers to instructors to class managers, we have an amazing family of women (and one man) that I feel lucky and grateful to be a part of.

This morning, we celebrated my friend Meghann’s fifth year of teaching with what we call a “team teach.” A “team teach” means that during the course of a one-hour aerobic set, a variety of instructors each teach three or four songs. Team teaches are fun for instructors and customers alike, especially when you are celebrating an event or holiday like the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, or someone’s Jazzercise anniversary.

Later on today, I attended an incredible event; the farewell concert of one of our Jazzercise customers. Our Annie, who would have been a Jazzercise instructor save her career as a Mezzo Soprano in Germany (ha!), put on a beautiful concert that left me and everyone else speechless. She sang pieces from Gustav Mahler, Richard Strauss, Mozart, Alban Berg, and Leonard Bernstein before concluding with the most heartbreaking, beautiful version of Over the Rainbow (Harold Arlen) that I have ever heard. I had to be stern with myself in order to hold it together as she sang.

What else about Jazzercise at my studio? We celebrate and support our customers with cancer and participate in Relay for Life. We host Mother & Child Jazzercise and donate diapers to the food bank. Twice a week, I say hello-and-goodbye to my own sister as she leaves the 8:25 a.m Jazzercise class and I arrive to teach the 9:35 a.m. class. Just today, I watched a new instructor teach a solid four routines during the team teach and felt both pride and respect for her and our studio. I laughed throughout class thanks to the blessed good humor of our friend and fellow instructor whose five-year anniversary we celebrated.

I see Jazzercise friends at the pool, I watch them perform in theater productions, and I chat with them at school board meetings.

No, I’m not as young as I was when I first started taking Jazzercise twenty years ago. I’m nowhere near the weight I was when I started teaching seven years ago. We don’t always all get along and we make mistakes and feelings get hurt. But when I see my fellow Jazzercise friends, I also see the infants we nursed in the studio childcare that now attend elementary and middle school. I see a shared past and I see a future.

If you wonder why Jazzercise still exists, this is why. We not only dance and lift weights to awesome music, we create a community. It’s a thriving community of friendship, mishaps, forgiveness, talent, and growing. I wouldn’t trade my Jazzercise family for anything. If you like good music, exercise, community, friendship, and joy, I recommend checking out your local Jazzercise center. You won’t be disappointed!

 

Some of my friends and fellow Jazzercise instructors!

Some of my fellow Jazzercise instructors after a 4th of July team teach!

More Jazzercise friends/instructors.

More Jazzercise friends/instructors.

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Mother–Child Jazzercise

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Two of my three children playing in the studio childcare.

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Some post–workout fun for the little ones!

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Wapato Point. Who Knew?

George and I try to get back to Florida every few years for vacation and to visit his dad and some friends. Last summer, we packed up all three kids and flew across the country to Anna Maria Island and enjoyed every second of beach and condo life. Once G got home from longlining this year, we sat down with the calendar and planned this summer’s trip to Florida. We rescheduled dentist and doctor appointments, worked around swimming lessons, and I found subs for two weeks’ worth of Jazzercise classes.

But then, we took an impromptu week-long trip to my parents’ beach house out on the coast of Washington. We have been going out to my family’s beach house for the past twenty years, in all seasons of weather and life, and almost always have a good and relaxing time. Our  most recent trip out there, however, is where we discovered that traveling with a walking, teething, grumpy, and curious eighteen-month old “might” be considered less than pleasant. (Why we didn’t realize this after our first two children, I don’t know!)

George and I don’t agree on a lot, but following that trip, we readily agreed that traveling across country on an airplane for six hours with a young toddler was not something either of us wanted to experience. Now, Val is a sweet, smiley, adorable little babe. However, she isn’t nursing anymore, she’s walking, she has teeth coming in, and she does not yet talk or in any other way listen to reason.

Florida trip: CANCELED!

Where to go, then? We decided to stay in-state. We consulted with my friend, Leanne, who also wanted to get out of town, and we eventually settled on Lake Chelan. Specifically, Wapato Point at Lake Chelan! This turned out to be the best Florida replacement we could have come up with.

First of all, it was HOT. Not mediocre Western Washington heat; true Eastern Washington heat. That’s what I wanted! To soak up real sun.

We got a three-bedroom condo for four children and three adults and although the condo featured the exact same 1984 kitchen cabinets as the ones in my own home, I didn’t care. I felt right at home! The overall space was open and inviting, clean, and easy to maneuver. The resort features a family–friendly beach, a huge grassy field, and playgrounds strategically placed around the property. Also strategically placed around the property are several “mini–pools.” I loved this. Wherever I was and no matter how long I pushed Val in the the stroller in the heat around the resort, I could stop off and jump in one of the pools to cool off.

G rented a pontoon boat and we took the kids on a four–hour cruise around the lake. I was shocked and nervous when the inflatable tube came out and I realized the kids were to sit in it while G towed them behind the boat, and I admit I was not at all pleased with this activity. I also didn’t realize we were not going to be stopping for lunch and we’d all be near famished before we docked the boat and all but ran to the Beach Shack for some good old–fashioned beach eats.

However, the children had a blast on the boat and so did G. In fact, I think G had the most fun on that boat of everyone!

Anyway, Wapato Point in Lake Chelan is awesome. It’s big, yet has a small feel. You feel safe with your children running around, and there is plenty to keep your family occupied and happy. We found the families on the beach to be courteous and friendly, and the restaurant on site offered child–friendly spaces for kids to run and play while you participated in wine tasting or waited for dinner to arrive.

Val slept well each night and the big kids wore themselves out with swimming, walking, playing, and fresh air.

I can’t wait to go back. If you are looking for a family-friendly place in the sun to have a nice time for a week or two, I recommend Wapato Point!

 

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Submit Your Commercial Fishing Family Story!

I have some exciting news to share. After nearly three years of talking and planning, Amanda Babich and I are pleased to announce the very first call for submissions to the commercial fishing families anthology we are publishing.

That’s right!  For the first time ever, among the many books and television programs about commercial fishing, comes a nonfiction anthology that will feature the behind-the-scenes stories of commercial fishing families!

This anthology will feature the stories you don’t often read; accounts from the wives, mothers, fathers, girlfriends, and children of fishermen from their unique on-shore perspectives.

Do you have a story to share? Write it up and send it to us. This anthology will include tales of the great and joyful, as well as the challenging and heartbreaking. This nonfiction collection of essays will be an original and groundbreaking look at real life inside the modern commercial fishing family.

We encourage you to submit your true story even if you have limited writing experience. What matters most is the story you have to tell, not how many times you have been published or whether you even consider yourself a writer.

Think about a commercial fishing family story you would like to share, a tale you like to tell, or advice you’d like to dispense. Deadline for submissions is December 31, 2013. Of course, no essays denigrating commercial fishermen or commercial fishing families will be considered.

Prior to publication, submissions will be posted on the Commercial Fishing Mom blog.

For specific submission guidelines, please click here.

Amanda and I look forward to hearing from you and reading your stories!

Hello, Again! Testing the First Post on Commercial Fishing Mom.

Welcome to my new and updated blog! As I mentioned last week, before officially making the switch, you may not notice a big difference between the former Highliners and Homecomings and the new Commercial Fishing Mom. Most of the blog changes are internal and unseen. Please let me know if you come across any links that do not work or any other kind of glitch. This site has been rebuilt from scratch and we worked hard to bring over all the posts from the past six+ years, but there are a few that did not make the transfer, as well as most of the comments and “likes.”

If you are just joining me for the first time, thanks for visiting! I am a freelance writer, mother, wife, and Jazzercise instructor who has been blogging about my multi-generation commercial fishing family for six years. Here’s a little bit about my philosophy and why I love writing this blog, as told to Christina Katz during the Every Day In May Book Giveaway:

“I try to be honest about my life experiences and share them with my readers, whether those experiences are considered “good” or “bad.” Every inch of my being believes that it is our responsibility as human beings to share what we have lived through and learned from. Whether our path has been filled with joy or pain, or some of both, it is our obligation to share what we have taken away from the journey.

In my life, I have often relied upon the experience and wisdom of others to make me feel less alone and to find common ground. Therefore, I feel that I must also contribute to this process through my blog, my e-book, my professional writing, and even things as simple as Facebook posts.

I started my blog seven years ago because I wanted to specifically address the issues and lifestyle of the commercial fishing family and build a similar online community. Prior to launching my blog, there was next to nothing in the public realm focusing specifically on life inside the commercial fishing family. We had commercial fishing TV shows, books about tragedies and narrow escapes, and a few memoirs, but nothing focused specifically upon the modern-day commercial fishing family.

The response and affirmation from readers throughout the years has been incredible. I have a varied audience that ranges from commercial fishing insiders, to family and personal friends, to those who do not know or even care about the commercial fishing industry. The latter group connects with me through my writing on topics like “seasonally singe motherhood,” the loss of pets, childhood hearing loss, anxiety, school, and marriage.

I do this because I love to write and connect with others. Writing about one’s life is not always easy, and it can create a certain amount of fear. However, this is what I’ve been called to do since I was a small child. If my words and stories can make one person feel less alone and uncertain, it is all worth it.”

Again, thank you for visiting Commercial Fishing Mom, an updated and slightly different version of the former Highliners and Homecomings. I have some fun things planned for this blog in the coming months, so keep checking back. And again, please let me know if you run across any glitches or broken links while navigating the site!

What “Fishing Family” Means To Me

The part about a “fishing family” operation I like the most is the part about “family.”

I don’t just mean my father and mother, my sisters, my aunt and uncle, my grandparents and great-grandparents and cousins and second cousins, husband and children.

I also mean crew.

If you’re lucky like we have been, from the time my dad owned and operated our boat until the time my husband has owned and operated our boat, our crew has been more than crew. They are family. The crew has been made up of different men, but no matter who they were and when, they’ve been like family and operated like a family does in times of joy and crisis.

If you’ve been a reader of this blog the past seven years, you know how much our present crew means to me personally. Not one of these guys is new. I met Bryan the same day I met George, thirteen years ago at Fred Wahl Marine Construction. Bryan’s best friend, Brett, came on board when my seven-year-old Eva was only nine months old. Bryan’s brother, Johnny, has been with us at least four years.

We are connected by years, friendship, family, love, laughs, and loyalty. How many dinners, pizza parties, Fish Expos, weddings, births, departures, homecomings, and nights out have we celebrated together?  Countless.

We aren’t a big fishing operation in which thirty men work processing fish for months on end and nobody knows or cares much about anybody. On the contrary, we know and care much about each other and our families. When someone is expecting a baby, we rejoice. When someone’s marriage is rocky, we see it through with love and encouragement. When someone hurts, we all hurt. When someone’s demons wreak havoc, we cross fingers and hope for the best.

At the beginning of this latest crab season, as I watched the boat glide out of the harbor, I wrote that I shed tears because one just never knows whether everyone on board will return. People can die, people can quit, people can be fired. Anything can happen. Today, I shed tears because not each member of our “family” will return from this crab season. (Note: nobody has died, been fired or injured, and that is the most important thing.)

This is my family, our family. Our fishing family. And when one member hurts, we all hurt. Bad.

But like you’d expect and hope from family, we rally. We rally with love, and support, and encouragement, and hope….for all in the family.

This is, in part, what “fishing family” means to me.

Launching the Sea & Shore Bookstore!

I love to read. However, I don’t like clutter! I like to keep things moving. I read a book and pass it along. As a mother of three young children, I barely have time to read one book, much less read it two or three times.

All of a sudden, it occurred to me that I should open an online bookstore and sell my books (and music) via amazon.com.

Guess what? I now have an online shop called Sea & Shore Bookstore. I have listed many of my books (and some from my husband and sister) for sale. Soon to come is music in the form of CDs. I’m adding to the Sea & Shore Bookstore inventory daily.

I was excited to sell five books this weekend! Check out our inventory and see what you think. It’s an eclectic collection and there’s more to come, but I think this is a good start.

I’ve been a voracious reader and writer since I was young and I’ve always thought it would be fun to own a bookstore.

A traditional bookstore is not in the cards. But an online bookstore—fun!

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Four of the books I sold this weekend!