FEET DRY

Well, kind of! We left Miami in a downpour and came back in another. Now the sun has come out and there is a blazing humid heat that makes Maine seem cool. Everything here is airconditioned, but as I go from the heat on the street to another too cold store, taxi or building, I am not sure that is entirely a good thing. My glasses fog up, I get a chill or the Irish sun allergy sneezes as I go from one extreme to another. But I love it, every minute. As I complain, don't think for a minute I'd rather be doing anything else. The alternative would be sitting in my big green recliner dozing over a ball game. Now I have the Mets beating Atlanta on the TV and I'm thinking about where to go for dinner.

Feet Dry is what carrier pilots tell their control when they cross over the beach line. My feet are not only dry but up. They hurt so much. The swimming and the constant motion of the ship and climbing three decks from the dining salon to the observation bridge multiple times each watch did a number on my feet and my leg muscles. I still managed to take the tour of the engine rooms yesterday. I was very impressed, but I was reminded why I wanted to be a deck officer and not an engineer. You can't complain about the heat, because like the song says "It's my own damn fault".

I loved the little trip and it was too short. I really didn't start to unwind and relax until Wednesday and then spent most of Thursday recovering from the exercise and the dancing. Maybe I should go easy on the dancing for the rest of the trip. Maybe next time I'll bring someone along to put sunscreen on my back. That is very important when snorkeling. A t-shirt has an SPF of 0.

I have tomorrow to get reorganized, repack, do laundry, write post cards and rest, then it's off to Jamaica. I do intend to make up a box of stuff to send home. I'm carrying too much stuff I'll never use and I can send some souvenirs home.

I don't know if I can get a connection from Jamaica but I will continue to write my history.