Cómo nos enamorábamos (How we fell in love) Iteration 3

So a couple weeks ago I posted my spanish narrative essay about how Megs and I fell in love. Then a bit later I posted the google machine tranlation. Here at last is my own proper translation. I started out trying to just massage google's translation, but that was a bane, and it worked out to be easier to just translate myself. The funny thing is that it still *is* a translation, and it sounds strange to my own ears when I read it in English. I mean it doesn't sound like my writing in English sounds to me. That's a funny feeling, as I've never written in Spanish and then translated before, so I've never realized that this would happen. Kinda kewl actually.

I want to write a story about how we met and how we fell in love--my lovely wife Megan and I. How I was working on board a ship as an engineer, totally (well, more or less totally) happy, without a care in the world. One day, a group of new crew members arrived on the boat, including a certain young lady, tall, blonde, and very pretty. But I didn't notice anything. In fact, as a child I had made a vow that I would never wed, and until that hour, I have never even had a girlfriend. Then one day, I entered the ship's library and encountered two young ladies lounging on the floor reading, including the aforementioned tall blond gorgeous one. I said "Hello. You must be the new ones. My name is Benjamin. And you--what are your names?". That was the beginning of the end of my vow.

At that time, I didn't think anything of import had happened (But see--I still remember it!). I only spoke with them for a couple minutes and then left. I didn't remember the meeting nor think much about it. Much later, we remembered that meeting in the library as our first.


Afterwards (as I remember), the second time we talked was when we and some others were preparing during an afternoon for a party and international celebration--a spectucular do to which some 2000 people came in the evening. We were just talking while we were working--about our families, and our countries, and the government, and so forth. I think that was the time when I started to fall in love with her. But I still didn't understand that that was what was happening.

In fact, I didn't realize, consciously, that I was falling in love until much later--some four months later, more or less. It was in Accra, in Ghana, when I finally started to clue in. During all that time, she knew, I think, ever since that night of the international festival. (I think the fact that she knew, and I didn't, was because guys suffer brain damage in utero, and girls don't, and that's why guys are so emotionally stupid, compared to girls. But that's another story.)

We were in Accra, and a pastor named John Ramey invited us out to a restaurant with some others. He knew that Megan was falling in love with me, because she had confided in him. He also knew, I think, that I was falling in love with her, even though I myself hadn't yet realized that. That night, during dinner, he regaled us with funny and romantic stories, one after the other--all drawn from his many years as a pastor.

Finally after dinner was over, he somehow arranged things so that Megan and I were walking back from the restaurant to the ship (where we lived) more or less alone together. A very strange thing happened. We were walking along and my hand, seemingly of it's own volition, began to inch it's way over as if to take Megan's hand. When I noticed this, I was very surprised. I thought, "My hand, what are you doing? Please keep yourself in your proper place!" This happened two or three times, and finally it began to dawn on me that something very magical was happening--something that I'd not experienced before.

After that night, we were more more or less inseparable. Some months later, we found ourselves head over heels in love during springtime in Italy. A little after that, I asked her to marry me, underneath millions of stars sailing in the Mediterranean, near the Greek isles. Then we were married on a beach in Australia, and now we are living happily ever after (and eating partridges!) =).

A brilliant story

Want to invite you to read Meg's brilliant short story The Story of the Weeping Camel. The best short piece of writing I've run across in ... a very long time (and I'm quite a voracious reader). Someone should oughtta be paying her for this.

Lost in translation

So just out of curiosity, the other day after I posted the narrative essay I wrote for my Spanish class, I fed it to google's machine translator, just to see what would happen. What follows is what happened. It struck me quite funny. So I mailed it off to my spanish profesor, who said she almost choked on her sandwich cause she found it so funny. Let this be a warning: Don't *ever* trust machine translators--at least not free ones! Maybe in another 20 years they'll be better at it. My prof says she's going to use it show the students in her 100 level classes what it looks like when they (the cheaters) write essays in English and then translate to Spanish with free web based translators, and then turn in the machine translated version without (apparently) even reading it, much less massaging it into workable spanish =)

Here it is:

I want to write a history how we knew ourselves and we fell in love I and my esposita Megan. How attack of a boat like engineer worked, totally (then, more or less totally) it cheers, without a preoccupation in the world. A day, arrived at the boat a group of new workers, including a girl, discharge, blonde, and very pretty. But it did not notice anything. In fact, as a child I made an oath that never went to marry to me, and until that hour, at least never I had a amiguita, a fiancèe. Then, a day, I entered the pequeñita library of the boat, and found to two girls reclining in the ground, reading. One of them was this girl, the blonde and discharge. I said "Hello. You must be the new ones. I am called Youngest child. And you-like they are called". That was the beginning of the aim of my oath. About that time, it did not think that nothing important happened ( but you watch - who still it memory). Single I spoke with them minutitos and I was myself. I did not remember the meeting nor concerned much to me. As much later, we remembered that meeting like ours first. Later (like memory), the second time when we spoke was when we and some others prepared behind schedule during for a celebration and an international-a celebration spectacle to that two thousand people came more or less in the twilight. We only spoke while we worked, about our countries, families, the government, etc. etc. I think that it was that time when I began to fall in love with her. But still I did not understand that that was what happened. In fact, I did not know, consciously, that it enamored to me with her until much more behind schedule - did… four months, more or less. It was in Accra, in Ghana, when finally I realized that. Meanwhile, she knew from almost that night of the spectacle. (I think that this, that she knew and I no, I was because the men suffer damage of brain in uterus, but the girls no, and for that reason men are as much stupid emotionally, in resistance to the women. But that is another history.) We were in Accra, and a shepherd, call John Ramey, did not invite to go to a restaurant with some others. He knew that it wanted to me, because she had trusted him. Also, I think, he knew that I fell in love with her although no longer i myself knew to it. That night, during the supper, he gave to us with many romantic histories of all his years like a shepherd. Finally it, somehow, fixed it so that Megan and I walked from the restaurant to the boat (where we lived) more or less together solamentes. A very strange thing happened. We were walking and my hand, seemed by its own will, moved to take the hand from her. When I noticed that this happened, I very was surprised. I thought " Mano mine, what you do your? Please mantenerte in your own place" This spent two or three times while we walked, and finally I began to occur to account of something very great-something that was, to me, very rare. After that night, we have more been and inseparados. Months I take more, we were enamored totally during the spring in Italy. And soon after that, I requested it that she married to me underneath million stars sailing in the Mediterranean, about the Lambda-type islands. Then we married in a beach in Australia, and now we lived happy and we eat perdices.

Cómo nos enamorábamos

Well, I wrote it in Spanish. Maybe you can find a web based translator thing somewhere =)

Quiero escribir una historia de cómo nos conocimos y nos enamoramos yo y mi esposita Megan. Cómo trabajaba abordo de un barco como ingeniero, totalmente (pues, más o menos totalmente) alegre, sin una preocupación en el mundo. Un día, llegó al barco un grupo de trabajadores nuevos, incluyendo una chica, alta, rubia, y muy linda. Pero no notaba nada. De hecho, de niño yo hice un juramento que nunca iba casarme, y hasta esa hora, por lo menos nunca tuve una amiguita, una novia. Entonces, un día, entré a la biblioteca pequeñita del barco, y encontré a dos chicas reclinando en el suelo, leyendo. Una de ellas era esta chica, la rubia y alta. Yo dije “Hola. Ustedes tienen que ser las nuevas. Me llamo Benjamín. Y ustedes—como se llaman”. Eso era el comienzo del fin de mi juramento.

En esa vez, no pensaba que nada importante pasaba (¡pero mire usted – que todavía lo recuerdo!). Solo hablé con ellas unos minutitos y me fui. No recordé la reunión ni me importó mucho. Tanto más tarde, nosotros recordamos esa reunión como la nuestra primera.

Después (como recuerdo), la segunda vez cuando hablamos era cuando nosotros y algunos otros preparábamos durante un tarde para una fiesta y celebración internacional—un espectáculo a que vinieron en el crepúsculo mas o menos dos mil personas. Sólo hablábamos mientras trabajábamos, acerca de nuestros países, familias, el gobierno, etc. etc. Pienso que fue esa vez cuando empecé a enamorarme de ella. Pero todavía no entendí que eso era lo que pasaba.

De hecho, no supe, conscientemente, que me enamoraba de ella hasta mucho más tarde –hacía … cuatro meses, más o menos. Era en Accra, en Ghana, cuando finalmente me di cuenta de eso. Mientras tanto, ella sabía desde casi esa noche del espectáculo. (Yo pienso que esto, que ella sabía y yo no, era porque los hombres sufren daño de cerebro en útero, pero las chicas no, y por eso hombres son tanto estúpido emocionalmente, en contraste a las mujeres. Pero eso es otra historia.)

Estábamos en Accra, y un pastor, llamado John Ramey, no invitó a ir a un restaurante con algunos otros. Él sabía que ella me quería, porque ella lo había confiado a él. También, pienso, él sabía que yo me enamoraba de ella aunque ya no lo sabía yo mismo. Esa noche, durante la cena, él nos regaló con muchas historias románticas de todos sus años como un pastor.

Finalmente él, de alguna manera, lo arregló para que Megan y yo caminábamos del restaurante al barco (donde vivimos) mas o menos juntos solamentes. Una cosa muy extraña pasó. Estábamos caminando y mi mano, parecido por su propia voluntad, se movía a tomar la mano de ella. Cuando noté que esto pasaba, yo estuve muy sorprendido. Pensé “¿Mano mía, qué haces tu? ¡Favor de mantenerte en tu propio lugar!” Esto pasó dos o tres veces mientras caminábamos, y finalmente empecé darme cuenta de algo muy grande—algo que era, a mí, muy raro.

Después de esa noche, hemos estado más y más inseparados. Unos meses más tardo, nos encontramos totalmente enamorados durante la primavera in Italia. Y pronto después de eso, yo la pedí que me casara debajo de millones de estrellas navegando en el Mediterráneo, acerca de las islas Grecas. Entonces nos casamos en una playa en Australia, y ahora vivimos felices y comemos perdices.

A tale of excommunication, continued

continued from here

Maybe the reason I was somehow avoiding getting to the excommunication bit yesterday was because it's still a bit painful...

So Megan and I had gotten SP. And we were hanging out a lot together, and liking each other rather enormously, and both of us rather serious about our relationship, and the likelihood of future marriage. And of course, the rule was that you couldn't get engaged to be married during your first two years on board, which for us meant more or less until after we had left Logos II.

My whole two years on board I was working for the engine department, under the chief engineer, the first engineer, and so forth all the way down to third. I had a lot of responsibility, spending shifts alone in the engine spaces making sure that a lot of equipment was working okay and that nothing went too drastically wrong. During this two years, the people filling the certified engineer positions changed multiple times, since these were people with current certification with which they could earn a lot of money in "the real world", and who were working on Logos II for free, so they tended to never stay for more than six months, and often only one or two months. So anyway, since Megan and I had joined the ship at times four months apart, we were slated to leave at times four months apart--I in October '00, and she in Jan. '01. But because engine room watchkeepers are hard to train and hard to keep, when I requested to extend my stay for four months, the engineers, and then thusly the ship leadership, were happy for me to stay so that Megan and I could leave at the same time.

Now during one's two years on board, one gets a one week ... "vacation". Generally, the rule is that one must spend this week somewhere in the country in which the ship happened to be. Sometimes, however, permission was given to fly "home". So Megan and I obtained permission in summer '00 to fly to Seattle and hang out with my parents for a week. And furthermore, I requested and obtained permission from the ship's director, Coleman Tyler (as an aside, there are kind of two head cheeses on Logos II. There's the ... technical head cheese, the captain--a licensed and certified ship's master one of whom we must have on board at all times to meet international regulations. The guy who was the captain for most of the time I was on board, Tom Dyer, is one of the kewlest, humblest, most amazing people I've ever had the privilege to interact with. Then there's the ... sort of ... ministry head cheese, who oversees ministry, personnel, and the ministry leadership, etc. This is called the ship's director, and ... IMHO, Coleman Tyler was right on in (from what I understand) definitely *not* wanting the job. He was more or less pressured into taking it by higher ups in the ships' ministry organization because *someone* had to do it, and no one was available after the last one left. But I digress) for us to get officially engaged to be married during our week in the states. Even though I was more or less trying to keep this little fact secret from Megan, she was (as is no doubt often the case), pretty much picking up on what was going on, and I do believe she was rather excited.

However, (and here is misstep number one, methinks), one day before we were to leave for Seattle, Coleman called me into his office in order to inform me that the people with the real power, the people at ships' headquarters in Mosbach Germany, had ... (and I'm actually not totally clear on this bit) either "found out" about the engagement permission, been shocked, and demanded it be rescinded, or else they had "changed their minds", having previously known about it. Truth be told I was so shocked that I didn't manage to take in the details super well. The bottom line was that the permission that had been granted was now being revoked. Bummer for us, dude. So then of course I had to go more or less talk to Megan about this, since, despite my secrecy efforts, at that point she was definitely expecting a proposal during our time in Seattle. I guess this was kind of the beginning of the end for us.

So off we flew to Seattle, and Megan got to meet my parents (with all that entails, hehe) and my *very* strange, rural, masochistic, fundamentalist, KJV only, sectarian home church (but that's a whole nother (yes, I know "nother" isn't ... technically a word. but everyone *says* that! Just *try* saying "a whole other". Sounds *too* weird.) story). So during our week in Seattle (which is, after all, sort of a medical "mecca"), we managed to get a medical appointment for Megan to check out some pain she'd been suffering with for a long time. And then surgery was recommended. So we talked on the phone with the ship's leaders about that, and they said "fine", knowing that it meant we'd have to hang out for 3 additional weeks for her to recover (of course, what else *could* they say, honestly!). And truth be told we weren't exactly *super* bummed about hanging out in summertime seattle for 3 weeks, although of course post surgery is post surgery, and isn't any fun for anyone.


So then, (and here we approach misstep number 2), we had to change our tickets. Now our tickets were into Trieste. However, since we were getting there three weeks later than we intended, Logos II would already be gone--during that three weeks, she would have spent a couple weeks in Rijeka Croatia, and then moved on to Durres Albania. Looking at a map, that looks like about 350 or 400 miles. So we thought (here's to naivete!) it probably wouldn't be a huge problem to get from Trieste to Durres overland on a bus or train or something. Truth be told, this simply wasn't the case, and we failed to plan accordingly. I think if Megan hadn't been preoccupied with the surgery, she would have picked up on this small detail, as she had a great deal more prior travel experience than I did. However, surely some culpability ought to (god I hate saying "ought to" Strike that.) belongs to the ships leadership. That is to say, one might reasonably expect leaders in a huge worldwide missions organization with 3000 full time long term adult missionaries in over 100 countries, along with many thousands of short term workers (defined as two years or less), especially leaders in a field like the ships, which are dealing mostly with fairly young people, often coming to the ships straight from living at home with parents, to ... have some kind of understanding of what is or isn't entailed in international travel of this sort, and to, perchance, even be willing to share that understanding/educate the aforementioned volunteers. (stepping off soap box now)

However, putting all that aside, we arrived in Trieste late one afternoon in August with nothing but the very vaguest of plans for getting public transport overland to Durres, with, alas, all our (as it turned out) amazing heavy luggage, etc. We were promptly told there were really no viable overland routes to Durres (well, um, triple duh-ola! How about a little awareness of war and it's effects on transportation. oh well.). We were further told we needed to catch a train *all* the way around and down the coast of italy, and then catch a ferry across the adriatic. Train had already left for the day. Ferry only ran twice a week. etc. etc. By this point we were both completely exhausted (which, by the way, very much ought to be pronounced "ex ha UST ed", with 4 distinct syllables), and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Must insert two small details here, which, perhaps, comprise misstep number 3. Before we left Logos II, we had both signed an agreement, to the details of which neither of us had paid enormous attention (since I guess we both agreed with the spirit of the agreement), which stipulated among other things that we wouldn't ... oh I can't remember *exactly*, but what it entailed was not sleeping in the same room together. So in Trieste, we found out that the ship, moored in Durres, had no phone lines, which was not super normal (this speaks to the question of overland transportation through the former yugoslavia). So they couldn't be contacted. So instead we contacted the ships' headquarters in Mosbach, and specifically received permission to get a hotel room (I know, the normal people are going--what the hell is the big deal? And the ... other people are going "Oh my god! a hotel room, together, alone, not married, etc. blah blah blah") ( I will just point out here that we were *not* having sex, and actually did fulfill our intention to not have sex until marriage. Not that I think that makes us better than anyone else, nor that I necessarily think that everyone should follow suit. But it *was* kind of understood to be a core value of the organization for which we were working) (this strikes me as a bit of a pathetic core value. that is to say perhaps respect and kindness and treating people like adults would be better core values. But again I digress.)

And long story short, some $600 (which was *rather* a lot to us at that time, as it came more or less out of our pockets, and we had neither of us earned a dime for some two years) and 4 days later, we found ourselves on a ferry approaching Durres, with equal parts utter exhaustion and a sense of relief when we saw Logos II moored just a quarter mile away in the harbor: "At last, we're home!" Alas, the exhaustion was soon to be exacerbated, and the relief squashed. Little did we know!

I think we had about $5 cash between us at that point, and then we found out that we needed to buy a visa to get into Albania. It was a mere ... $15 each or something like that. Can you imagine--we were pulling into the port in Durres! We managed to explain (across languages, you understand!) that we were poor volunteer workers with that non profit ship just over there (pointing), and please please we don't have a dime--and I'm sure they'll pay for us, etc. etc. So *they* let us through. Next, in trying to move from port area A, where we had arrived, to port area B, where Logos II was moored, we were stopped by 3 armed guys, who made it clear to us we weren't allowed to go that way. So close! At last we also convinced them to let us through, flashing our ship issued photo ID's, and finally found ourselves dragging our asses and our luggage up the gangway and aboard.

It started almost immediately, even from very close friends--a sort of "where the hell have you been? you must have been having a grand old time." This was a Friday night, and we were both thinking "All right, go to our cabins, sleep until noon tomorrow. Finally!" This was not to be. We both soon found little notes stuck on our cabin door instructing us to "Meet with ship's leadership in the blue room tomorrow, 8 AM sharp". We requested that the meeting be moved back to 10 or 11 and were told "Can't be done--we need to meet first thing".

So next morning, still slightly bleary eyed, we found ourselves sitting in two chairs in the blue room. These chairs were placed side by side, and were facing an opposite row of chairs, in which sat several white males, looking gruff, named Coleman Tyler, Bill Frisby, (Americans) Diego Hill (Uruguayan), Wilco ...(Dutch. Can I just say thank god for the Dutch?), and Jonathan Rodwell (Australian). You must picture this in your mind--the blue room is actually quite small, the smallest meeting room on the ship--perhaps 10x12 feet. It felt very much like an interrogation was to take place. And essentially, that is what happened. It *felt* amazingly painful and shameful. The only saving grace was Wilco, chief steward, who, although he was sitting with the other interrogators, looked on at the whole procedure with apparent amazement and disapproval, as if he couldn't believe we were being treated this way. Wilco, however, as I remember, didn't *say* a whole lot that morning.

Over the next few days, we were told, a decision would be made as to whether we should stay on board, or be excommunicated. Okay, nobody *said* excommunication, but that's what it worked out to. Looking back, it seems to me that this group of leaders was absolutely terrified of *something*. I'm still not *totally* clear on what. Perhaps losing control. It seems to me that it should be taboo for people with power to be afraid of anything other than themselves (ha, wouldn't that be nice?)

I think perhaps the final nail in the coffin was the reaction of Diego Hill, first engineer from Uruguay, who had been aboard, I think, 4 or 6 months at that point. The First oversees day to day operation of the Engine Department, and thus is directly involved in the supervision of plebs like me. Diego expressed a sense of outrage that I had left him in the lurch for so long in terms of watchkeepers, while others had had to fill in. He had been told I would be back on board the day of our flight's arrival in Trieste, and had had me scheduled to stand watchkeeping shifts starting that day. He said that never in his (no doubt long and illustrious) naval career had he experienced or heard of someone so miserably failing to fulfill their duty. He sat me down with the Chief engineer and, after delineating a long list of the shocking things I had done while working for him in the engine department, he said he absolutely would not work with me any longer, and that I was no longer welcome in his engine room. Honestly what could anyone have said? I was a pleb who had faithfully worked in the engine department for two years, never missing a shift (indeed, standing extra ones so the whole engine room could have parties (which admittedly, I didn't want to attend anyway)). He was licensed and certified first engineer, a person whose presence was required for the ship to sail, and furthermore a person of the type for which the ships ministry is always scrambling. There's just not that many first engineers out there who are willing to come work on a christian ship for free. Sometimes sailings get delayed because the ship isn't able to fill it's required quota of engineering and deck officers. There it is.

So I was unceremoniously kicked out of the engine department. And this, methinks, provided more impetus than anything else to our being kicked off the ship. The reason I had been allowed to extend my 2 year commitment originally had been related to the fact that I was a valuable, already trained watchkeeper.

We were told, by Bill Frisby, the husband in our accountability couple, and one of the leaders onboard, that in his opinion the best possible thing for us was to leave the ship and go get married, and that he was lobbying for this option with the other leaders. I think Bill's take on things at that time, more than anyone else's, reminds me of the re: your brains song, part of the lyric of which goes "All we wanna do is eat your brain. We're not unreasonable, no one's gonna eat your eyes".

So there were two largish emotional upheavals for us. One was that we had thought to have some 4 months longer to both work out "What next" and to begin to prepare to deal with the huge loss of community and of the sense of place we had developed during our time aboard. Instead, suddenly, we had a mere two weeks to accomplish both of these tasks. The second was the actual tangible and huge sense, above and beyond the fact that we were leaving, of *rejection* by almost the entire ship's company. It's hard to describe this. I mean how often in life do you get to actually be part of such a community? I mean to live and work and converse and hang out and dream and study and preach and reach out and travel and just do and be all those things with this really tight knit group of people for two whole years. There's a huge emotional involvement, which can feel absolutely wonderful--a kind of "I'm part of *us*". Then to have the ... mass, the torso and arms and legs and eyes and heart of that body, somehow raise itself up to actively and passively *disclaim* you. That felt like shit. It was reflected in what happened on a community fun night just a few days before we flew out of Istanbul.

Community fun nights are a time when a large majority of the ship's company gather in the main meeting room to do skits, sing songs, --kind of a really big party. Since we were getting kicked off anyway, I figured it was certainly reasonable to go ahead and get engaged. So in Izmir, I found and purchased a ring, and on the sail from Izmir to Istanbul, out on deck under the stars, I proposed to Megan. And she ecstatically accepted my proposal. So, (oh fools that we were), we thought we should share our joy with the ship's company. So with some friends we made up a skit for fun night, at the end of which I proposed to her again. The reaction of the ship's company was a sort of shocked, deafening silence. I get horrible shivers just thinking and writing about it.

....

I would like to also share that the inestimably respectful, brilliant, humble, and kind Myles Toews, who was director of Logos II when Megan and I both arrived onboard, and who had left that position, and the ship, before the aforedescribed events took place, has apologized to us on behalf of OM on two different occasions, and has also expressed his personal sorrow and sympathy for the way in which we were treated. He has said that he rather suspects things would have been handled quite a bit better if he had still been director at the time when we were excommunicated. I totally concur with his suspicion.

why the "eat your brains" song appealed to me...a story of excommunication

So over the weekend I found and posted on this blog a video with the song by Jonathan Coulton: re: Your brains, which I found ... evocative.

What did it evoke? Well, it took me a little while to realize that. It evoked a memory for the way in which my lovely wife and I were ... excommunicated from Logos II. How did that happen, pray tell? Well it was like this ....

(no names have been changed to protect anyone)

... so I spent two years working for a huge international missions organization called Operation Mobilization as a volunteer on board their (lovely, although somewhat trashed, from a technical point of view) (actually I could digress here and point out that when we were in West African ports, Logos II was generally the most beautiful looking ship in the harbor of any given major port city in which we happened to be moored. However, in Italy, she was generally the ugliest and dingiest looking one) 5000 ton (now I know I've really gone ... native, in the sense of speaking English rather than American, because in looking back over this paragraph, that "z" in "Mobilization" is really annoying me, and very much seems to want to be changed to an "s". Ah well....)

Okay, I see I must begin again. Now where was I? Ah yes, aboard the 5000 ton motor vessel M.V. Logos II. She has an all volunteer crew of 200 from approximately 40 different nations, all committed Christians (well, almost all. sometimes one or two slipped through the screening process and ended up serving onboard as a non-believer, like, for instance the very personable and brilliant Martin, a plumber from Holland, who often couldn't be bothered to go to all the trouble of signing all the paperwork and getting all the permissions to get the smoke alarms turned off in a cabin where he needed to do hot work (welding, for instance). So instead, he would simply carry around a plastic bag and two rubber bands, and nonchalantly cover the smoke detector in the cabin with them. Then after he was done with his hot work, he would nonchalantly have a smoke in the same cabin. My god, the "leadership", both technical and personnel, would have *freaked*. This makes me smile enormously just thinking about it (actually, I have another funny story about Martin I could tell you sometime)).

Alas, I must again begin again. Where was I? Ah yes. These volunteers have generally committed to serve onboard for two years and have raised the monthly support from friends, family, and church to help offset the costs of Logos II's operation during that two years.

Logos II is a very ... rule oriented community. That is, there are just lots and lots of rules about community life. One rule, for instance, which I and my lovely wife Megan (along with our delightful friends Matt and Laurel) found almost impossible to keep was the curfew. This rule required that everyone be back on board by 11PM (unless you had a signed curfew extension from your department head, in which case you could be back as late as, but no later than, 12:30), and in the cabins with lights out by 12:30. This was of course unless you were one of the "special" people, the "leaders", who could (but generally didn't) stay up as late as they wanted. There were various ... punishments assigned for breaking this rule, along with a rather wiggly system of warnings, demerits, etc. (or some such). A couple of the punishments (they kept changing, in an attempt, I suppose, to more or less rigorously see the rule kept) during the time we were on board, for instance, included spending time cleaning the bilges, doing an extra shift of work in some department other than one's own (for instance, in the pantry or galley, in my case), or being "grounded" to the ship for a week (this last was a stupid-ass idea in the extreme, as one of the psychological difficulties of living on board a ship is a waxing and waning sense that one is ... kind of trapped inside or on board.)

Another rule that was a real biggie was called "SP", which stood for, at various times, either "Social Policy" or "Social Permission" (or, perhaps, "Stupid-Ass Pain"). The way it worked was this: People who were not romantically connected when they came onboard made a promise to not begin a new romantic relationship during their first year on board. And social policy also required that a romantic couple not be engaged to be married during their first *two* years on board (some people serve *longer* than two years). Furthermore, if after having been on board for one year, you wanted to begin a romantic relationship with someone else on the ship (who would also have to have been on board for at least one year), then permissions were required. Permissions were required from onboard leadership, specifically from the personnel director, as well as from the home offices of Operation Mobilisation in the countries of both potential partners, as well as, depending on the culture of the potential parties of the potential relationship, of their immediate families and/or their home churches. No, I'm not joking. All this was involved. And of course all of it was to some degree or other warranted. That is to say that during 30 years of "ships ministry", this organization has learned a little bit about what works and what doesn't. They say relationship time is multiplied on Logos II, so that 2 years onboard is equivalent to 5 years in the so called "real world". This is because you are living and working in close proximity to a relatively small group of people who are all there with relatively similar religious beliefs, and relatively similar goals. And the average *age* of these people is quite young--I'm guessing ... 21/22? So they are ... for lack of a better term, generally horny, generally single, generally available, generally outgoing ... etc. etc. All the ingredients are very much in place for the beginning of lots of romantic relationships. And yet this is complicated by the fact that they are from very different backgrounds, very different cultures, very different languages. So any marriages that result are going to have all the stressors of .... "normal" marriages (whatever that means) plus, plus, plus. So it seems to me that it is entirely reasonable to take precautions.

On the other hand, the introduction of such a complex set of rules very much sets a community up for an enormous ... lack of reality--that is, a huge dichotomy between "what the rules say we are like and want to be like" and "what actually happens". So for instance while I was onboard, at least one couple (he from Sudan, she from Mexico) were caught having sex and then, in a sense, publicly shamed, after which *she* was sent "home" (that is, back to Mexico where she came from), while *he* got to stay onboard. Some claimed this indicated sexism, others ... a sort of racism--that she was blamed and shamed more somehow, both because she was a woman, and because there were *so* many latinoamericans onboard, and only 2 persons from sudan, and it was important to maintain our racial diversity quota. I think that while such claims didn't really get at the whole picture of the reality of the situation, they certainly touched on some portion of that reality. Rumors abounded, as well, of people (confidentially, one hopes, although I know of at least one case on board where such confidentiality was horribly violated) going to the ship's doctor to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases or pregnancies.

I hope this isn't getting way too wordy already.

So anyway, I met lovely Megan, journalist, photographer midwife, nurse, australian. I met her in Argentina, when she joined Logos II in January '99. And I found out later she fell more or less in love with me, and knew it, during our 5 ports in brazil, or perhaps even earlier, in Uruguay. It took me a lot longer to figure out that I reciprocated. I mean I think I was reciprocating quite a while before I *realized* that I was. It took me until Ghana, in West Africa. Yes, the passage of time starts to be measured in ports when one is onboard--each port visit lasting approximately 1 to 3 weeks. Neither of us had been on board a year yet, and we both (I think) obeyed the spirit, if not the letter, of SP admirably well. We never talked about our relationship, or made romantic overtures (okay, well, not exactly never, but at least never overtly and consciously) etc. until after the one year date had passed.

Then (and this is another separate long story), we jumped the hoops, got the permissions, talked about it, and ended up with "Social Permission". The way it worked was this. When a couple got Social Permission, a notice got posted on the bulletin board in the kiosk, which was kind of the living room/central interior passage point of the ship. The notice simply announced that "Benjamin Ady and Megan Jones have received social permission". (Well, actually, ours was a bit more artsy and literary than that, but that's part of the separate long story). At that time there were, I think, .... perhaps 7 other SP couples on board. What this meant was that we were allowed to hang out alone together, allowed to be physically affectionate, and so forth, and that the rest of the ship's company could relax if they saw us doing that and not feel guilty for not turning us in (yes, this *was* part of the psyche of ship life). because we officially had social permission (Megan and I were apparently a bit *more* physically affectionate than some people were comfortable with. I know this because not too long after we got SP, a meeting was called for all the SP couples in which we were informed of a change in the social permission which meant that SP couples were no longer allowed to sit or lie in such a way that their head was resting on their partners lap. It wasn't acknowledged as such, but this was certainly directed at us, as none of the other SP couples had been spotted reclining anywhere in such a position. But I digress.)

I see that this has gotten rather lengthy. I'm almost up to the beginning of the part where we get excommunicated. More tomorrow... =)

Friday video

For Megsie