Keep the faith. We're getting there.

It's been a week of fabulous triumphs, and topping the list is the slaying of the dragon that was the leak over Tom's bunk. Rejoice, all together. Praise the Captain's Creepy Crack Cure. We've had two major bouts of rain and wind (and thunder and lightning), and far from the distress that some folks thought we might be going through, we were getting up every hour or so to check the "leak" and giving high fives when it remained dry. A major boost for the team here, let me tell you.

The next night we celebrated with friends Aage and Gloria. Gloria, in stellar Cape Breton fashion, brought an enormous roast turkey with all the trimmings to complete the celebration. And there's nothing to drive workers to do their best like the promise of turkey sandwiches. Tom had pancakes for breakfast the next morning at 8, and was constructing his first turkey sandwich at 10:15.

Similar support (food) has been arriving from many generous sources (I can cook, you know, but keep it coming...). Cousin Sue arrived with soup and wine, and Dan and Helen (Tom's dad and stepmother) came for a tour of the upgrades and came bearing homemade salsa and jam and wine and a five star apple pie. I was able to return all the containers and the pie plate to Helen the next day. Okay, I can't make pie like that, and it's probably a good thing, because after all that work, it might bug me to watch it getting hoovered, like somebody hadn't just eaten a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa and a turkey sandwich already. Geez. But I've hidden some of the homemade jam (don't even ask, Tom), and I'm looking forward to Helen's jam on the great English muffins we get in the Virgin Islands.

Sister Laurie came aboard to visit the scene of several former cribbage triumphs for the Brown Sisters (remember Lunenburg in 2003, Mike Murray? huh, huh? Still stinging? I've got the good old cribbage board aboard, and Big Dad has supplied all new pegs for the voyage. So anytime you're feeling strong, Mike, come and find us. Bring your own cards if you're feeling jumpy.) While she was here, Laur was able to peruse our medical library to diagnose the pain in her foot. We determined that it's an obscure aerobics injury, yes, involving the foot, that involves seeing a real doctor for an x-ray. You can learn so much from books.

We've started the major provisioning, but since the grocery shopping is apparently pretty good everywhere we're going, we're just stocking the stuff that's heavy and hard to carry when you don't have a car and everything has to be schlepped into and out of the dinghy. Feel like I've spent more than enough time investigating the wholesale grocery places -- boy, you can buy some nasty stuff in huge quantities. Kraft Dinner, marshmallows, ju-jubes by the case? Walk on by. Buying in bulk is an interesting shift of perspective for a family that's used to shopping almost every day. Thinking ahead. Novel concept. I imagine that once we hit the Bahamas, the answer to "what's for supper" will be "whatever you go out and catch, bucko."

Did my first session with the vacuum bagger. Tedious, but oddly satisfying to package all the ingredients for a batch of granola into one smooshed, concrete-hard little bag. If we ever get an intruder, we can whack them on the head with a vacuum-bagged club of mixed dried fruit and I'm pretty sure we could drop them like a bad habit.

More triumphs and minor farces to report: The trim is on, mostly, in the galley, and dishes will not come crashing to the floor while we're sailing. There was some snickering from the crew when it was discovered that neatly stacked glasses could no longer be removed from the shelf once the trim was installed. Readjustments have been made.

I had the brilliant idea to pull up the tile floor in the head on Sunday. It had been squishing for days and days and showed no sign of drying up, so in spite of much headshaking from the captain (back and forth, not up and down), I went at it with a small crowbar, a hammer and a screwdriver. Tom was recruited to help with mortar removal. We'd hoped for teak underneath, but unearthed only sodden plywood. We did, however, find and fix the leak in the head. Make that one of the leaks. We still need to fix the one that soaked half a dozen rolls of toilet paper and two boxes of kleenex. Nasty surprise, that one, and it probably was adding to the squish factor as the water worked its way down the back wall of the head behind the cupboards. You can only find and fix these things if you're here all the time, in all sorts of weather, so it's a good thing that we've had a month to deal with these little issues (and buy more toilet paper).

Next, the floor needs to dry out - and if it doesn't, and it's not looking like it will anytime soon so we'll need new plywood too -- so Randy shelled out about $100 for teak to resurface it. In the meantime, we fired up the furnace on Sunday night to assist with the drying out process. All was well until just before we hit the bunk, when there was the distinctive "pop-whssshhhh" sound that means a hose has let go, and is spraying its pressurized contents all over, yup, the floor of the head. Still soggy this morning.

But up until then, we'd had a lovely evening. Randy got the stereo hooked up, ran the speaker wire under the cabin sole and in behind some tricky bits (so glad I wasn't around for that), and we have our iPod back in action. The new settee on the starboard side is put together -- it also gets taken apart whenever someone needs a tool that's stowed underneath, and the back cushion has gone back to the upholsterers to be cut down 2" so that we can open the drawers above. But generally, there's lots of comfy seating for the weary carpenter/plumber/electrician once he calls it quits for the day.

One more major triumph to report for this week: Randy found both pairs of his glasses and his sunglasses (cleverly packed into a container of clothes that he hadn't felt the need to wear since we moved).

Last major things to accomplish include installing the rest of the electronics, possibly the auto pilot, selling the car, and a few other bits of banking and paperwork. We're at the stage where we're watching the weather for potential travel windows. It's not looking good at all for sailing for the next couple of days, so we'll continue to haul gear to and from the boat until we reach some sort of cosmic equilibrium. The captain noted last night that "ships and men rot in port." Don't know if that refers to the state of the floor in the head, or his fond wish to be headed south before the temp hits single digits, or both.