Monday, August 28, 2006

9 November 1955

Variety, they tell us, is the spice of life. Therefore I am writing on green paper instead of yellow.

As of this morning, we were 1837 miles west of Gibraltar & 1800 miles east of Norfolk. Either we’ve been chasing ourselves around in circles, or somebody’s widened the ocean.. Still, I guess, 300 miles a day isn’t bad at that.

Somehow, last night, I went on a ghost rampage. Got two books on the subject from the library—one was quite interesting, but the other wasn’t very convincing. I went to bed wondering what it would be like to be on a haunted aircraft carrier.

The only near-psychic experience I’ve ever had, next to the time when I was quite small & saw God, was a time at the Little House. I remember it very distinctly.

My room had not yet been built, & I was sleeping in what later became the bathroom. It was late at night—how late I cannot say, since I had been asleep. Luckie’s scratching in the living room. I know I was awake. Someone was walking in the living room, very slowly, as if on tip-toe. I thought it was mom or dad. The steps were about five seconds apart. They moved from the living room (pausing even longer by my door) to the kitchen. I became frightened & whispered "Mom?"…"Dad? And the steps stopped in the kitchen, then they started back for my room. By this time I was terrified, & said "Mom?…Dad?…Lucky?" The steps stopped again for a second then began again. Finally, I yelled "Help" several times & mom & dad came running. They found nothing & no one, & said I’d been dreaming. ….I hadn’t.

This was supposed to have been a journal of the Cruise of the Good Ship Ticonderoga, but one day differs so little from the next that it is difficult to find anything to write about.

G.Q. again today—they’ve taken to not announcing it, which makes it a lot more fun. There is one valve I have to shut off that takes a good sixty seconds to close. I dislike that one very much. There is also a small, vertical-dogged hatch (with individual bars previously described as opposed to the single lever which dogs the whole thing) leading to a closed vent room where there is a valve. By one of the dogs at the top of the hatch is a small hook, on the hatch itself. I invariably smash my finger between the hook & the dog. This I do not care for….

Broke down this afternoon & bought two new T-shirts (which should make someone very happy, since I probably won’t have them long); also bought a new towel—nothing is sacred around here—my last one was "borrowed" right from my rack.

I’m playing sort of teacher & father confessor to Nick. He wants to go to college when he gets out (three years!) & I’m helping him, I hope, by suggesting what he should read in preparation, & discussing them with him.

Went to a movie tonite for the first time since we started over. Prior to that, we were shown a propaganda film entitled "A Scrap of Paper", intended to show us the importance of giving out no information whatsoever in the Med, & to leave all our private papers, even our drivers licenses & home address on board ship. Somewhere along the line someone crossed a few wires, because the film was made in about 1943, & its moral was to turn in any papers found on dead Japanese or in waste cans. Well, if we ever go to war with Japan again, I’ll be ready. When I was working at W.F. & John Barnes, I found a label written in Russian in a wastebasket—maybe I should have turned it in & perhaps prevent the third world war.

"Discussing" religion for the last half hour—as usual, nothing comes of it. Why can’t everyone see things logically—or is my logic wrong? I doubt it….

No comments: