Posted on: May 31, 2011 Posted by: Cole Ruth Comments: 0
A message in a Lunenburg coffee shop.

We departed Lunenburg as we arrived, in fog. It reminded me of the book Invisible Cities, by Italo Calvino, in which he paints pictures of fantastical places that his fictional Marco Polo has been: a city built on stilts; another takes the shape of a camel to those coming from sea, but the shape of water to those coming from land. If Lunenburg were a city in the book, it would be like a city of lost memories, accessible only by a long time at sea and fog. It feels like a place that’s lost its footing, aching from neglect, wearing its memories like giant heartstrings strung across the bay. When you pluck them you hear the cry of no children being born; the muffled sound of shopkeepers closing their doors; the monotony of teenagers with nothing but time on their hands.

Lunenburg felt both familiar and foreign. As we departed, the fog rolled in, encompassing us on every side, and the city disappeared. Having sailed to and from it in fog, I had the strange sensation that perhaps we had never been there at all.

Our ship, the microprocessor
I was late with breakfast because it wasn’t posted. Captain Dashing, whom I’ve now nicknamed The TSA, gave a speech about communication using a computer as a metaphor for a ship. There’s been a common thread to the speeches all our captains have given when something has gone wrong. They use metaphors, and they point to some situation without naming the individuals involved, using passive verbs. One time, I kept thinking: is she talking about me? Is this something I’m doing? If it is, why doesn’t she just tell me? Or is she talking about something else?

Breaded eggplant.

This time I did not approach the captain, but I did wonder if I was being referenced or not. If so, the message got lost on the information highway.

Monday’s Menu
I can’t recall…
I made ravioli from a package, and warmed up yesterday’s pizza.
Brisket, braised leeks, mashed potatoes and fried eggplant (because Rigby thought it was going bad – he smelled something funky in the bilge).
Brownies from a box