The white paint is drying on the liner around the portlights in the saloon. I think it may need another coat, but the rest of the cabin surfaces definitely need a new coat of paint, so dingy do they look beside the fresh white.
I finished up the woodwork in the head first when I arrived in Cambridge at about 4 p.m. After priming that work, I then brushed and rolled all the prior work -- six portlights in all.
Then it was time to tackle boat cleaning. I brought the shop vac from home and used it to get all the sawdust and wood chips. Tomorrow, I'll Pine-sol the boat and do one more portlight -- over the hanging locker across from the head. Then we will be ready for Memorial Day weekend and, we hope, our first sail of the year.
Took long enough!

A couple of observations on aquatic birds.
In flight, the Blue Heron allows its long legs to trail behind, horizontal, its feet folded one over the other, as a fine lady with elbow-length gloves might fold her hands. The feet look like the long, slender tailfeathers of a Tropicbird, and I wonder if they might not serve as a rudder.
The Canada Goose, on the other hand, at least when it is thinking of landing, splays its webbed feet and drops them down, toes back, so that they look like the flaps on a giant jet. The goose tilts its feet this way and that, adjusting its flight in minute increments until, just above the water, it shoves them forward, toes up, as landing gear.

The final two portlights in the saloon have been reset and the wood around the replaced. Trim and painting should be finished tomorrow, and then it's on to the head and the other forward portlights.
I lucked out today with the weather. Sunny and mild, with light wind. That meant I could work outside. While I have all the tools here I need, I'm paying a price for my inexperience with this particular work. That means I can't accurately estimate my needs for materials. I had to drive to Easton, MD, today to get a quarter-sheet of Luan plywood. I didn't have one the right size for the final portlight of the day. The trip took just about an hour.
I think I'll have to bring a shop-vac next week. There is so much sawdust and rotten plywood scraps inside Robin and dried caulk on her deck that no amount of sweeping will make her clean.
We're hoping to spend Memorial Day weekend aboard, and the boss likes a clean boat.

A small measure of success was recorded today on Robin. It had rained all night when I arrived this morning, and for the first time in memory, there was no water (after a rain) on the chart table. Last week, I had rebedded the portlight above the chart table. Thus, it seems, the fix worked.
It continued to rain off and on today, so I was unable to do any more portlights. But that left time for some carpentry, and I finished off the interior liners around the three portlights that were repaired last week. Then I put primer on, and were I not so sleepy, I'd paint the three tonight.
When this project is done, I won't be so ashamed to invite visitors aboard Robin.
It is supposed to rain tomorrow, and all I can do in the rain is put the finish coat of paint around those three portlights. But I have other work to do.
The final proofs are in for Eight Survived. I have to go through the entire proof and look for errors. That probably will absorb most of tomorrow. On Thursday, they are saying sun, and maybe that means I'll finish the work on the saloon and move on to the head.
Next week, there is teak to caulk and a splintered caprail to mend.

I have found it is possible
when you reach a certain age,
if you will close your mouth and listen,
to discover you know
just as much
as many of those who
insist on talking.

Today was one of those days that tears you apart. The wind on the Delaware River was from the northwest at about 15 knots, a perfect sailing day on a river that runs generally northeast to southwest. There were a hundred boats sailing on the river, many taking part in the race of a nearby boating club.
Bluebird, however, was still on her trailer, not yet able to sail.
With all the garden work done, Monica gave me the day off and I set about re-installing the steel centerboard. The job is done, for now. I need to waterproof it, and I should replace the cable that is used to raise and lower the board, but the boat could be sailed now, I think.
I have hopes that before May ends, Bluebird will take flight. I really should paint her, but my guess is that I will procrastinate, particularly if the wind is blowing as it did today.

A blue heron, on the dock,
night fishing with the help
of yellow dock lights, meant
to keep boaters from falling
into a slip or slipping on wet
planks.
A blue heron, not really blue
but gray, with a white under-
belly and with long, slender
feathers.
He stands on the planks at
the rear of Robin, looking
over the edge of the dock,
hoping for fish, little fish, but
the water is
way down, a blowout tide,
and it's a long way down
even if you have a long, thin,
elastic neck made for fishing
from docks.
There is a breeze, perhaps
ten or twelve knots from
the north.
The heron is facing south,
and the air tosses the narrow
feather ends so that the heron
looks as if he is wearing silk,
rippling silk or chiffon. He looks
like a she.
And maybe he is, gender being
not always apparent in heron.
He does not know he is being
watched.
Does not know I have opened
the hatch, am looking at him,
invading his night-time
foray.
He dips his arrow-shaped
head-beak over the planks
and looks hard
at the water.
Then, turning, he stretches
his elastic neck so that he
grows from three feet high
to four. Then, keeping his
head in precisely
the same place,
he moves
his body to the left --
to the west.
I don't know why. I guess
it's something blue heron do.