Aug 28 2010
Phone Calls from Oceanspace
For those of us bludgeoned by the tyranny of an average week, running breakneck away from the hellhounds of time as they gnash their gnashing teeth at our heels, for those of us jumping, as if our panties were on fire, from email to twitter to face-book to television- perhaps too distracted to even notice flaming panties, there’s nothing quite like an H.F. radio phone patch to momentarily simplify a day.
Especially when the signal’s not all that good.
You shove the phone hard against one ear, plug up the free ear and squint. I don’t know what the squinting does for this process- it just seems to come with the game of dragging a voice out of the static.
This is no regular, let’s catch up on our personal gossip, phone call. You don’t get to interrupt or talk over each other, no overspeak just because what you have to say is so damn important you can’t possibly wait, allowed. It’s this strange thing of listening and responding appropriately, listening and responding appropriately- an activity becoming as mysterious and hard to find as a Brooder’s Whale.
And it is a conversation complete with it’s own vocalized punctuation.
OVER.
The Captain’s voice through the scratch and crack of a radio. Thirteen hundred miles away- from a hole of oceanspace- it stops the day. It gives me a five minute conversation boiled beautifully down to essential thoughts. I love you. I miss you. I respect you. Is there anything I can do for you? OVER.
The Kaisei has regained her satellite communication and a blog has appeared on her website. They watch for debris, they gather, they hope to date their findings- give a historical timeline to the waste, they name the crew. Technology has come back aboard and opened a viewing window into their days.
It’s good. Good for the cause, good for the voyage and, yet, it’s not quite like grimacing your way through the radio noise to find that one familiar, that one essential voice. Not quite like the temporary cessation of all things rushed, harried, gnashed at by those damn time hell-hounds. A temporary cessation of what is our basic cultural norm- moving through distractions barely noticing that our ass is on fire.
I own an odd sense of gratitude to the Kaisei voyage. They pushed me into facing the little plague of plastic threatening so much of our planet. I’m grateful for that. I’m obliged to them for that. And then they gave me the chance to have the radio phone patch- the lovely, noisy, simple moments to wear a day down to its essence.
I love you. I respect you. I miss you. Is there anything I can do for you? OVER.
Thanks again to the Pacific Seafarer’s Net.