minnesota moments.

I had one of those lovely MN moments yesterday. I was in a small coffee shop in Pequot Lakes, visiting with a dearest friend and her new babe. The day's special was veggie chili, which, depending on the ingredients, had the potential to do some damage to my system. It's funny how easy it can be to assimilate mediocrity into one's life; for example, when it began to appear that Obama was going to win the election, I realized how little I'd actually allowed myself to hope that anyone other than a Repube was going to snatch it (though I did allow myself to fear the vacuousness that lies behind Sarah Palin's eyes). Yesterday, at the coffee shop I experienced a similar sensation of hope. When I asked the barista if she knew what was in the chili, the only response I expected, after months in Louisiana (aka customer service hell), was the LA standard: blank stare, (maybe) proceeded by a quick look around to see if anyone more knowledgeable is in the immediate vicinity, followed by an uncomfortable "I don't know." She surprised me however, and ran in the back to check, even coming back with a packet of the seasoning mix used in the chili. So sweet.

I don't feel like writing much these days. I spontaneously realized while talking to a friend a few days ago that I'm simply having an inward experience of late. I don't feel like talking about myself, or what's going on in my life, or any of it.

I would, however, love to hear all about what's going on with you ;)

time again.

2 more days and I drive away from Louisiana. At least for a few weeks, which nicely coincides with that lovely holiday of no obligations, save eating too much and being immobile for hours in front of the television: Thanksgiving. I'm not sure where Christmastime will find me, but I'm pretty excited to be back in Minne for turkey!

I'm in the last 2 days of ROV training with Oceaneering. The curriculum: 1 week Safety/First Aid; 1 week intro to ROVs; 2 weeks Hydraulics Theory; 2 weeks Electronics Theory; 1 week Piloting; 2 weeks practical (hands-on, in the yard) training. There haven't been any updates here because I haven't felt like writing. Still not sure where the hell I'm headed, and this job is most certainly not the ultimate destination, but I'm here and looking for the best in the situation, but don't really feel like writing about it much.

mini break.

Just a quick note. I'm in Florida this weekend! Gary invited a couple of us back to hang out at his place for the weekend, and to head out overnight on his boat. Unspeakable joy is my basic sentiment at this point, not to be spending another weekend in Morgan City.

I was remembering a story instructor Geoff told us once about how, when he was working offshore, he would come back from a long hitch and treat his girlfriend to a weekend in Florida. One of the guys in the class, a California native, queried how a weekend in FL could be much of a treat. Geoff, in his infinite wisdom, responded that, after living in Louisiana, FL was definitely a treat.

At this point, I would have to agree.

highest common denominator.

Here are some good things about being in Morgan City:

1. Oceaneering: is an amazing company that really, really takes care of its employees.

2. Gary & Will Ferrell (real name, Christopher): are 2 amazing guys in my class. Gary is ex-Air Force, originally from Michigan, lives in Ft. Walton Beach with his wife and son. We go to the gym weekday mornings at 6. Chris is ex-Navy (but only sort of), originally from somewhere in the Mojave Desert, more recently of San Antonio. He is the class clown, and looks like a young Will Ferrell. I think most of our class doesn't even remember his name because we only call him Will Ferrell.

3. The gym: is one of the few places I venture to outside of work and the hotel (other places are the grocery store and the laundromat). Since I have little else to do, I typically spend at least 45 minutes here before work, and at least an hour both days of the weekend. This is another perk of working for Oceaneering, as the company covers membership costs for employees.

4. Close proximity to FL: is nice because Gary has invited Will Ferrell and me out for a weekend on his boat! Plus, we'll get to meet his wife and 11-month old son, plus other friends. Need I say this will be a heavenly respite?

5. Time: is on my side, yes it is. And it's kind of awesome. I do get a bit stir crazy on the weekends, but it's nice to have so few distractions. It's been a bit of an adjustment to get back to a 5-day a week, 8-5 type schedule, but it's also nice to have some stability for a while. I'm continuing to feed myself a daily dose (or 2, or 3) of personal development/ motivational materials, and it's helping to keep my motivation high, and to keep my brain focused.

quietude.

I've become a complete recluse, but in the best possible way.

I arrived safely in Morgan City, just over 2 weeks ago. The drive from MN took a bit longer than I had anticipated, but I arrived in plenty of time. My first stop in LA was to empty out my storage unit in Robert, where everything was dry and untouched by Gustav and Ike. Everything I own here fits nicely in the bed of my baby truck, so I packed up, hit the road, and headed south. Though it wasn't as easy as that sounds. There was a moment, several of them, in fact, after my truck was loaded and everything covered and bungeed down, where the rover in me (and the part of me who, prior to my departure from MN, was struck dumb and scared at the thought of not only returning to Louisiana, but to Morgan City, no less) couldn't help thinking about getting back in the truck and keep driving... out of Louisiana... But, in the end, I couldn't think of anywhere to go (except to Chicago, of course), so toward Morgan City I headed.

As you may know, Louisiana recently weathered a few bad storms. After the water rises during flooding, it obviously returns to more normal levels at some point, and what's left behind is real, real smelly. So on that day, when I was already one foot back out of the state (or, colloquially here, "one foot out the state"), driving my little truck with the windows open because my air-con doesn't work, and it's still blazing hot and humid here, I kept smelling some very. bad. smelling. funk. and the smell lasted for most of the 2.5 hour drive. The best part was that, through only some fault of my own (I'd explain, but it would take much too long), I ran out of gas along the spillway, which is the smelliest of smelly. So then I had to wait for close to 2 hours, in the heat and the smell to wait for AAA to arrive.

Anyhoo, eventually I arrived, unpacked, and spent the following day getting to know my classmates in the various waiting rooms of the Occupational Medicine clinic where we took physicals and drug tests. Online training modules began the following day at the training facility, and last week we were occupied with safety/ certification classes.

rest stop.

I'm increasingly impressed with the rest stops I've been finding along my route. I may have mentioned in a previous post that, during the drive up from Louisiana a few months back, I stumbled upon a rest area in Mississippi with a 24-hour security kiosk allowing rest stoppers to sleep in their cars, without fear of being mungled by ill-doers or harangled by the po-po. Today, an even awesomer discovery: an Iowa rest area with WiFi. Amazing, no?

So, I'm on my way. I awakened this AM round about 4:30, after a fitful sleep of about 4 hours. One last DBC latte got me motivated though, and now I've covered about 130 miles (a scant 1,200 more to go!!).

I noticed something last night, some kind of portent, perhaps, because you all know by now of my belief in such things: the moon is just about full, probably will be full tonight. The sky was crystal clear last night, and the light from the moon shone down bright in the yard, and I remembered that the moon was also full the night I left Louisiana. I'm not sure the symbolism, but I'm sure it must have something to do with completion. Because even though I'm a bit apprehensive about heading back south, I do know that it's time for me to move on. Time for the next big thing ;)

[And here I'll quote a little Tom Petty, because the song always pops into my head at times like these:

It's time to move on/Time to get goin'
What lies ahead/I have no way of knowin'
But under my feet, babe/The grass is growin'
It's time to move on/Time to get goin']

truth.

My eye has started twitching. Just today, or maybe yesterday, but it's twitching regardless, which is never a super-duper positive sign, because my eye only twitches when I'm stressed, agitated, etc. It's funny, because the past couple weeks have been some of the most emotionally draining I've experienced, and yet the twitching only commences now that the worst is past. Do you know what's making my eye twitch? It's the same thing that triggers an extremely virile urge to comfort-eat, the same thing that's given me the slightest sensation of panic in the pit of my stomach.

I'm driving back to Louisiana tomorrow.

I've been doing a lot of thinking in these 2 months since I've been back in Minnesota, I guess the generic term would be *soul searching. I've been reading, and writing, thinking, meditating, a lot of the things I haven't really kept up on since last I lived in Minne. I've arrived at some interesting truths, and not many of them bode well for my staying in the south, or working offshore.

1. I'm a different person now than I was when I made the decision to go to dive school.

I'm fairly certain that the person or entity who made that decision was an alien visitor briefly inhabiting my body, or maybe not so briefly. It seems to me that this particular decision, and many of those preceding it (namely any decision I made in my 20s), were based on the need to prove something. Initially it's easy for me to say I needed to prove this mysterious something to someone else, but I'm actually starting to realize it was me I needed to impress. Maybe it's the product of low self-esteem, or an over-active ego, or blah blah blah, but it feels sort of finished now. I don't feel like I need to be interesting, or unique, or brave, or whatever other quality I so desperately needed to have attributed to my person/exploits/adventures. I've done a lot. And I still do want to do a ton more, but I also want to be happy, and I think that has gotten lost along the way.

2. I want to be surrounded by people like me, and by friends and family who love me.

I feel sometimes like a dancing bear when I'm out on the rig, like a horribly obvious novelty. And you know, it's not that fun, and it's not super comfortable. But at the same time, I've made the decision to be there, and I knew what I was getting into, right? It's a confusing riddle I've riddled time and again, to no discernible solution. What has been amazing about these past 2 months is that I can dress like a girl, and I look like lots of other girls around me. I can get dazzled and dress like I want to, without worrying about my pants being too tight, or my tube-a-boob sports bra not being restrictive enough. It's lovely to just be myself, exactly how I want to be, without having to run the butch-woman mind interference.

Additionally, the offshore bunch are not, not surprisingly, the most interesting bunch you might come across, primarily because they work offshore, which can be extremely monotonous. Some are very nice, with families, and pictures of their kids, kind words to say, advice to give, [offshore] stories to tell, but, by and large, not the type I'd choose to hang out with. Back here, on the other hand (and don't get me wrong, I'm not ready to move back to Minne just yet. Rather, it makes for a nice contrast), I'm surrounded by my girls (and this is a big part of it- I have FEMALE friends and relatives here to talk to, and listen to, and open up to, and share with). Again, I think it really comes back to just feeling normal, and being with people who are like me.

3. I'm pretty sure I can find what I'm looking for in another, more suitable, profession.

I hate to say it, but I think a force majeur in deciding to throw myself at the feet of the burly gods of commercial diving was money. I do like diving, I love diving, in fact. I love to be underwater, even when it involves a heavy-ass dive helmet, and being verbally abused by my salty instructors via crappy comms. I love doing stuff underwater. But what I really liked about commercial diving was the possibility of diving and making decent, and eventually even good, money. And this, of course, is never appropriate motivation, especially for someone as flightly as me.

There are other things too, like working in an international industry, and being scheduled on rotation (though this has become a glass-half-empty issue: a month off is awesome, but that month on is brutal), and even working in this industry (though I think I still romanticize this more than I need to). But it's such a boy's club, and I don't think I'm the woman to infiltrate. Geoff, one of my dive school instructors, put it to me this way once, that to become a diver, you really have to want it, and I think that probably applies to working in the industry too- you have to really want it. I really want some of what comes with working in the industry, but I also think that what I want could easily be found somewhere else.

4. I don't want to work for someone else.

It's amazing the stuff you can learn and accomplish when you don't need to worry about going to a lame job every day.

I think this understanding can be directly attributed to my dear dad, who, in the movie of my memory, is often seen extolling the perceived benefits of working for oneself. I guess it sunk in, or maybe it was that my stubborn and independent nature has just always had a natural bent in that direction. After all, I'm a hard worker, and I was raised by folks who worked for the same company for years. Yet, somehow, even during those early high school years, I just could not get behind the idea of going to the same lame job (whether that job be hostess at the local Perkins restaurant, or my OJT class), even when, clearly, I really should have kept going (eventually I got *fired from that Perkins job, and OJT class was the only class I ever failed). Fortunately, over the years, the urge not to go to work has magically transmuted itself into a love of comfort eating, which has happily sustained me for these many years, in many unhappy jobs.

Note, though, that I'm not quite ready to say "I want to work for myself," though it is, of course, implied. Baby steps and minor gradations from one to the next.

5. And finally, the idea of service...

I'm starting to think that life has a whole lot more meaning than anything I've been getting out of it. I mean, aren't we all just trying to find ways to feel happy, and fulfilled, and connected to the world around us? Of course, all the above statements are simply arguments to myself to justify that, once again, I might have to look the career horse in the mouth, and move on.

But the more I turn my attention toward the learning most compelling to me, the more this idea of service keeps coming up. I won't say too much more, because ideas are still incubating. But I think what I keep looking for in my work is to find the best use of who I am, and my guess is that an industry where I feel I need to keep myself under wraps most of the time is not a place where I can let my strange and girly light fully shine.

picture.

I've been reading up a little on Gustav and Katrina. I'm a little in awe that, on the 3rd anniversary of Katrina, which came ashore as a Category 3 hurricane, and claimed 1,800 American lives (1,500+ in Louisiana alone), the state is again declaring a state of emergency and calling for mandatory evacuations. Gustav is scheduled to arrive Monday morning as a Cat 4, and this time, not even the SuperDome will be available for refuge. The city is evacuating, and if you choose to stay, you're on your own. It's disconcerting to read that there are people planning to stay, due to limited financial resources. I make no bones about LA not being my fave place in the world, but still to see so much damage from Katrina, and to talk to people who lived through the ordeal adds another dimension.

I may not love the place, but my heart goes out to all those who are experiencing this for the second go-round.

word (i.e. god knows).

I just started reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by a lovely woman whose name escapes me right now, and I'm too lazy to go grab the book out of the other room, because god knows I'd probably get distracted and end up not entering an entry into my bliggity blog. And we all know how hard it is for me to get to this point in the first place, so let's not push it, shall we? Anyhoodle, about a million people have mentioned this book, but I've resisted attaining it because, after my traumatic -though-necessary pre-move purge [of so much lovely, lovely stuff] in Santa Barbara, I don't really want to buy things only to have to haul them around. After all, I'm still essentially homeless (though god [also] knows, this really can't last for much longer, right?), and anything I buy is yet another thing I'll need to move from 1 storage unit to another, and then eventually, someday, to some semblance of housing unit, somewhere, though god knows where, because for the life of me, I cannot bring myself to any kind of acceptance, try as I might, to the idea of living anywhere in Louisiana. Which would explain why, after practically 6 weeks in Minnesota, I'm still planning to stay for yet another 3. My point being that I'm house-sitting, and the book is here in the house, so I'm free to read it without having to purchase it. Ahem.

In the first section of "Eat, Pray, Love" (which Kathy Pope described as "really your kind of book, Angi"), the author and friends discuss the idea of finding one word to describe different cities (Rome=Sex, Stockholm=Conform, NYC=Achieve, LA=Succeed, etc.), which I thought was a fun little exercise. Like if you expanded that, and could think of a word to describe your life, or maybe the different phases of your life, which words would you choose? I used to do this with boyfriends: The one-legged Divemaster, The Malaysian, The Lobbyist, The Bartender, etc. In retrospect, it doesn't seem the best idea to attach the labels to people, actually. It's somehow really objectifying, or something, which probably explains why I no longer do it (except to distinguish one from the other, as in the case where 2 love interests have the same name, for instance.). But it really made me think, how would I describe this strange, yet seemingly very necessary, hiatus I've undertaken? Or do I need to describe it? Maybe it's better if I don't label it as one thing or the other verb, or noun. I suppose it just is. No matter how confusing and conflicting it feels.

God help me, I do not want to go back south though, not back to Louisiana, even if the best job in the world is waiting for me. I can't say I necessarily want to stay in Minne, and maybe I've just turned the whole state of LA into my personal bogey (put a little boogie in it) man. Dunno. I've been really tuned in to how lonely I've been for the past couple months- maybe even the whole time since I left 2 years ago. California was good- I had friends there, people who looked out for me, invited me to BBQs and Superbowl parties, good people I could lean on. There even were/are a few in Louisiana, but because we all work offshore, there's no guarantee that we'll be on the beach at the same time, and I don't even know where to begin looking for people to know in Louisiana. The thing is, of course, that it's not my girls (actually, this is a big part of it- none of them are girls at all, they're all men), it's not the people I've known forever. Another big realization is that I think I've entered a different part of my life from the one I was in when I made the decision to go into this line of work. I don't need to bust anybody's balls anymore; I don't need to prove anything to anyone (read: myself). I've done plenty. Really I have. I don't need to rattle off all the amazing adventures I've had, or all I've accomplished in my round-about jill-of-no-trades way. Because it's a bit like what I was talking about earlier: pigeonholing myself by applying too many labels, a sort of shield no one can ever look behind.

I sort of just want normalcy, to be able to live a normal life, where I can cook my own meals, live in my own home, and have a normal relationship with a guy of like interest/background. Normal stuff, I mean, relatively speaking, right? It's still me in here, after all. I don't want to be bored, but maybe just a bit more constancy, stability. Maybe it all just has to break down before it can be built back up. Maybe I'm just finally getting to the bottom of the pile of shit my mind has identified as the "interesting life I want to live" and getting down to what I really want, what I've really wanted all along. Because it seems to me that the stuff my mind comes up with never really gets me to where I want to be.

So maybe it's time for something else, something deeper, to start calling the shots.

love.

A few pictures to share, from the weekend:

Michaela & Paul, wedded.

the bridesmaids.

rockstars ;)

One of the best things about the wedding was meeting and getting to spend time with some of the people I've heard Mic talk about for so many years: Beth (above, with her fiance Tim and yours truly) and her sister, Lisa, both from Baltimore, were amongst my faves. Because it stands to reason that someone I've been close to for so many years also has some amazing friends I would probably also adore.

anywhere I roam.

Ha! It's been almost 2 months since my last entry. I guess I was taking a summer vacay from my bliggity-blog. Not that it's all that stressful, but I did have some stuff I was trying to figure out, and that kind of introspection is never really conducive to writing, at least not publicly.

I think I mentioned that I went back to Cali for a long-weekend type visit in early June. While visiting one of my MDT instructors, I was offered the opportunity, by a company rep who was visiting the MDT facility, to hire on with Oceaneering, a much larger offshore ROV company, based out of Louisiana. Upon my return to life and work in NOLA, I was sent out for a week to the DB16. But when the job ended earlier than expected, I was promptly placed on (unpaid) standby for a shipwreck job. Standby is job limbo: you can't really do anything except wait around for the job to go out, but there's not a ton for you to do while you wait. Here's what I did during that week.5 on the beach: I recuperated from a redux of the same bizarreness I suffered last year; I worked on evening out my tan for to look awesome in my bridesmaid dress; I read The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle and was sort of blown away; I called Oceaneering to set up an appointment to sign papers and secure my place in one of the upcoming training sessions.

I'm not sure if it's my MN upbringing, or having worked for the nonprofits, or something instilled in me by the Benedictines, but for some reason, I always have the idea in my wee brain that working for a smaller company/entity/organization is better than working for a large corporation. Now, I'm sure in some instances this is absolutely the case. But, I think I'm mostly done with believing that. I've had far more bad experiences than good, actually, and I could enumerate them all here to prove my point, but I won't bother. The thing about working offshore, for me, is that: I'm a woman > I can't go out on some/many jobs (due to lack of sleeping accomodation) > small company has limited jobs > I can't go out on any of these > big company has more jobs > I can work more. Also big company offers training, whereas small company offers... not so much training. Strange that I should feel more invisible at a small company than at a larger one, no?

Anyhoo. 2 weeks ago I quit SeaTrepid. 7 weeks from now I'll start training with Oceaneering. In the meanwhile, I'm in MN hanging out and enjoying the last of the summer, which I've been missing for the past couple years.

bad moon rising.

It's been a weird couple of days out here on the DB16.

We're getting close to the end, so the momentum has increased a bit, and we've been working a ton. We've had a few 18-hour days, to expedite what remains to be done, but also because, due to equipment failure, the divers aren't diving, and we're trying to make up for work they would normally be doing. The days of work aren't terribly strenuous so much as just plain long. They also have a terrible habit of waking us up around 6am, which doesn't particularly suit me, but it's the only way when we're a 2-person crew.

It will be good to finish with this job. There hasn't been a ton of opportunity for training out here, and even less in the office, to the effect that, after 3 months with the company, I don't know a ton about our ROVs (though everyone tells me there isn't much to learn). Hopefully the next job I'm assigned to will offer more hands-on time flying the 'bots. Until then, we're slowly inching our way forward til we're de-mob'd and back on the beach.

friday the 13th.

I'm back out on the DB16, after a lovely break. I went back to Santa Barbara for a visit, and to mail some packages I'd left when I moved. It was good to be back, good to be in a place so beautiful again. Chris and I went for a good hike on Sunday. On the way back down from an amazing vista, I kept slipping and sliding on the scree on the path. I was laughing at myself, and remembering how Molly Zins loved to tease me about my clumsiness. Chris bet me that I couldn't get back to the car (about a mile downhill) without slipping fewer than 10 times. Needless to say, I nearly lost the bet (in reality, I did lose, but he was good enough to pretend he didn't hear me slide a few times). My old roomies threw a bbq for me and per usual at those gatherings, I drank a bit too much plum wine, and had a blast. It was great to see everyone, good to ease back into some old routines, like coffee at Red's, and Sunday breakfast + LA times at the Cajun Kitchen (which, it was pointed out, was kind of silly, considering where I now live!).

I spent the rest of the break at the bunkhouse, working in the office. I went out on a quick one-day job at a paper mill, a place which smells worse than your most horrific nightmare (though, I suppose I've never really smelled anything in my dreams?), a bit like rancid sulphur. We were subcontracted by an inland diving company just down the road from our office, because they sometimes dive in the bubbling, smelly pulp pond at the plant. We were hired to crawl a little ROV down one of the pipes that connects the pulp pond to the extraction reservoir, to look for an obstruction in that pipe. They backflushed the pipe though, and then the obstruction was gone. Not soon enough though, we were at that plant, inhaling that putrid smell for around 7 hours. The scent burned its memory into my nostrils too, and the ghost of sulfur dioxide haunted me for hours afterward. Blech.

But now back to work offshore for a few weeks. This job is supposed to be finishing up pretty soon, so I'm hoping to stay out til the end, hopefully a few more weeks before heading back to the beach. It's good to be back out here, and back to work. We aren't doing too many dives with the ROV, but I feel comfortable out here, where I don't have to make too many decisions, and the days are simple and mostly pretty easy.

We're working on one of the last jackets, and today, instead of using a cutting apparatus like we have been... DYNO-MITE! They decided to blow up the jacket legs instead. It was pretty cool.

I was going to name this post something to do with patterns, or maybe just simply, "patterns," because patterns have been on my mind these past weeks, specifically my own patterns, drawn out and perfected in these 32 years. The idea that no matter where you go, there you are. The word patina came to mind though, and it sounds so much lovelier to my ears, that I decided on it instead, not really even knowing what the definition of patina was. I wasn't too far off:

patina

\pə-ˈtē-nə, ˈpa-tə-nə\

1 a: a usually green film formed naturally on copper and bronze by long exposure or artificially (as by acids) and often valued aesthetically for its color b: a surface appearance of something grown beautiful especially with age or use
2: an appearance or aura that is derived from association, habit, or established character
3: a superficial covering or exterior

I haven't written in a few weeks, obviously. Not a ton to say. I've arrived at that inevitable point in the journey wherein the newness and novelty I seem endlessly to crave has worn down, and I realize I'm where I've found myself so many times before: far and away, somewhat isolated, starting over, wondering what the hell I'm doing, questioning whether I've made the right decisions. I suppose we all wander into this little corner of hell from time to time, no matter where we are, or what we're doing, regardless of where we are on life's wondrous little path. The circumstances may vary, but we wind up at the same crossroads, over and over. It reminds me of a recurring dream: the theme is always the same, and you feel the same panic when you're in the dream, the same relief and confusion when it's through, and even though there's some little synapse in your brain, or phobia deep within your psyche that keeps bringing that theme to the forefront, it's such an out-of-control feeling, you'd swear that you, yourself, have nothing to do with that dream.

I feel that way now, like I keep finding myself at the same point, the same crossroads, asking myself the same questions, even though the path is always different (and in my case, sometimes whole continents away from the previous path). Don't get me wrong, I'm not in crisis mode or anything. I suppose I'm just finally at a point where I'm so damn tired of myself, and my patterns, and wanting to shirk the responsibility for this spot where I've always landed, that I'm assessing the best way to sidestep this little rabbit hole in the future. Maybe the problem is that, instead of embracing that I keep f*cking up in the same ways, I swear to myself that this is the last time I'll end up here, that next time I'll make better decisions, I'll think things through more thoroughly, and then I push it all out of my mind, never having learned a damn thing from my mistakes. I mean, isn't there a process of learning from one's mistakes? Because I think that's probably the kernel of wisdom here, figuring out how to live with less of the repressing of the badness, and more of the what can be gained from the badness.

Still so much to learn...

nada.

Don't feel like writing at the moment, but thanks for continuing to check in. I'm back on the DB16. Nothing much is happening right now, nothing worth mentioning anyway.

But here are some pics for you to look at, from NO and my visit to MN while back on the beach:

enjoying Mr. Stevie Wonder with the masses, at JazzFest.


with my beautiful little niece, Emily, on our way to
catch poppies (aka fish).


the lovely Mrs. Jeannie Kenevan, with the newest
addition to their household, Porter.

DB16, day 20: going, and gone.

2 things of note in the past few days: my supervisor almost lost the ROV yesterday, and we're heading back to the beach tonight, late.

We moved to a new rig the other day, due to weather and also, I think, because we weren't really getting anywhere with that particular portion of this job, and the higher-ups were getting antsy. We arrived at the new site early yesterday morning, and were awakened at 5:30am to attend a briefing with the dive crew and company reps. We got in the water shortly thereafter, with less-than-optimal, though still within acceptable, limits. The long and short of it is that the tether may or may not have gotten snatched up into the barge's thrusters, and soon I was pulling up a tether without an ROV attached to the opposite end. I ran to the port side, as high up as I could get, to stare off into the distance, in hopes of seeing the ROV pop to the surface down current. After 10 minutes I walked back to the ROV shack, knowing that if the current had taken the wee-bot, it would surface far and away, long outside the reach of my gaze.

Happily, back at the shack, members of the dive crew were gathering in the other end of the tether. Fortunately the ROV had gotten fouled inside the structure, and didn't float off. We were left with enough tether for the divers to follow inside and around the platform jacket, allowing for a timely retrieval.

And even though I had wanted to stay out here forever and ever, tonight I'm on my way home (which is really such a relative concept at this point in my life...). We had been expecting to leave sometime tomorrow, but apparently the weather is about to turn to 9' seas (big, bad waves), so they scooted up the time by about 12 hours. The crew boat is expected in about 30 minutes, and after the new crew arrives, and their orientation is completed, and the arriving and departing gear is swapped out, and the several grocery crates are unloaded, then we'll transfer over and begin the journey back to civilization.

DB16, day 16: roll call.

For some reason of cosmic non-understanding, we've been roused from our beds the past few mornings to get the ROV in the water. Yesterday, the time was 7:30, but this morning it was 4:30. Too early, I say.

My new supervisor is a good guy. He's a bit more abrasive and cavalier than the last one, but overall, the conservative-politics, slightly-cynical kind of guy I've become accustomed to having in my life, in one form or another. Another reminder to roll with the punches.

I'm starting to have minor cravings for certain foods, which is funny, because there's a ton more variety here in the galley than I ever have at home. The biggest craving right now is for Indian food, a good curry, a little naan. Mmmm. Delish.

DB16, as seen from the heli-deck.

dirty diver boys.

650-ton ST160E platform being lowered onto materials barge.

DB16, day 14: sh*t falls apart.

Crew change today. The supervisor I've been working with for the past 2 weeks headed back to the beach, and a new guy came out. My buddy, Rob, also went back to the beach, leaving me without the safety blanket I've had in place since we came out. It's actually not so bothersome, I've gotten to know a few of the guys out here pretty well, so I'll be far from alone. It does leave me without any *girls to talk to about anything personal, so if I hit you up with a long, emotionally-charged email, oblige me, ok? I have no intent to send any such email, but you know, just in case ;)

It's been a funny day, and the energy on the boat is a bit different. Certain things aren't going as planned, and the dive crew just lost 2 of their number: 2 tenders (i.e. low man on the totem pole) came out to replace a couple of guys who were leaving, but because there's a no-contacts-lenses-on-deck policy, they got sent right back. Other stuff is going on, too, communication breakdown, slight confusion, just little things here and there.

My friend Carlo told me once that right around the 12th day offshore, you start to feel like you've been out there forever. I guess I sort of feel that, although we don't work every day, so I don't think it translates exactly the same. It does feel like I've been out here a long time, and maybe some of the charm is wearing off, since we're looking at several days without any work to do. But kind of like the tide, things can change pretty quickly out here, and tomorrow's always a new day.

DB16, day 13: human sacrifice.

I've now experienced the first relational victim to life offshore: the boy broke up with me via email tonight. Doubtful it will be the last time. It's almost like a badge one wears out here, as most have experienced it at one time or another.

I'm upset, of course, but not exactly surprised. We've broken up before, after all. Though this time is undoubtedly the last.

DB16, day 12: taco night.

I would never have guessed it, but taco night makes the divers drool.

The food here is basically cafeteria style, and considering the limitations of an offshore kitchen, it's pretty tasty, with some pretty good options, and even some grilled meats from time to time. There are always desserts and sweets available, all hours of the day, which both pleases and frustrates the crew, who can be heard alternatively praising the day's goodies, and complaining about gaining weight offshore. Tonight was taco night, Saturdays and Tuesdays are Steak Nights, with lots of fish (for the Catholics, on Fridays) and chicken thrown in.

We've been making progress on the project we're working on here, and after a week of the ROV being out of the water, we've been asked to dive the past 2 days. This morning we were even roused from our bunks to get in the water. The rig we're decommissioning has pipes driven into the sea floor (called conductors), which measure about 120 feet from top to bottom. Two of these have been pulled in the past 2 days, and we were there to take video of the cuts as the pipes were lifted (to ensure the pipe had been fully cut).

Tonight we pulled the top deck of the rig. Words can't really convey how crazy it is to see a crane, on a barge, pull the top deck of a rig, weighing in at about 600 tons (approx. 1.2 million pounds.), keeping it lifted for more than an hour, and then dropping it onto a materials barge (about the size of a football field).