Hello, I'm Henry.  

Welcome aboard my blog's home. 

If you come along with me, you'll become acquainted with my motley mates and faithful crew:

Experiences, Sightings, Observations, Impressions, Ideas, Reflections, Remembrances, Insights and Commentary.

They, after all, have accompanied me for as long as I can recall. Their tenure has helped me turn my tiller, fill my sails, and transport me over seas to distant lands. Maybe if you take the time to get to know them, a few will do the same for you.

Click this way and scroll along if you please...Enjoy your stay.   

Born without Heart

Born without Heart

Gus and I backed the dinghy down the ramp, but when I went to start her, her outboard engine didn't respond; she wasn't getting enough gas. She wasn't ready for the water;

It was obvious I did not know enough to make her run. So I called Larry and asked him to take another look at it. He agreed to meet me the next day to dismantle her carburetor once again. While the engine was stubborn so too was finding and sealing the leaks in this inflatable. 


Having just painted my inflatable with a new red sealant, I finally discovered where their slow bothersome leaks were hiding on my dinghy. Their refusal to reveal themselves made me think the air loss was coming from a faulty valve. How ironic would that be? The air escaping from where air is pumped in.

So when I placed a washer on the red air release pin and locked it, I believed I had finally found the solution. It held for a few hours, but by the next morning the deflated compartment had reappeared.  My solution was a simple, easy and inexpensive fix, but once again wishful thinking found itself lacking. Actually a Youtube video had given me false hope, but I took the bait!


I knew the general vicinity where air was escaping, but dispite previous attempts to locate the pesky holes with soapy water, the leak was failing to reveal itself.  That is until I coated the rear port side segment of the halagon fabric with a red sealant. This time I had thought a protective marine paint might seal the opening, but instead it revealed it.

Knowing a leak in my dinghy was nothing location and cause are what counts. The day after my paint job both answers appeared when bubbles began to break through the surface. Gluing a simple circular patch over the spot would stop its deflation.


But that night an other leak appeared this one a revelation seemingly unrelated to my dinghy. I realized something about how I was viewing my long lost daughter and then the connection slowly made sense.

I have always viewed Mystique's dinghy as her "lifeline".  But her 15-horse power 4-stroke Yamaha outboard engine had been sensitive, sputtering sporadically, stubbornly starting Ever since I purchased her.

Larry, a mechanic from POWER CATS of Kendall, Florida cleaned out its carberator and readjusted a number of sticking valves. He also removed some evidence of saltwater crystals that apparently had accompanied some water-laced gas purchased in the Bahamas.


At first, one might say no one can not live without heart. But it all depends how one defines "live" and "heart". Does live mean survive or thrive? Does heart mean compassion, empathy or willingness? Put medical anomalies aside Kate was not missing a gene or had contracted a fatal disease. Her condition was the dis ease of nonacceptance. While I'm no medical doctor or psychiatrist / psychologist, I know in my heart of hearts she is no freak of nature, abnormal psychopath or mean-spirited woman. However, she is missing a couple of important traits.


She lost her humanity when she was wounded and scarred badly by divorce. When she left, she took her resentment with her and then built a fortress of denial - a haven for her ravenous anger.  So over 25 years ago my daughter has vanished from my life. Partly by glossing over her past by hiding out with her bubbles so they don't surface on an inflated and distorted history.  Any facade for appearance sake will always rise to tell the truth someday after I've really gone away and disappeared.

A disconnected heart can not generate any life force. No pumping blood to arteries, veins or brains. Cut off from lungs and lifelines and ties, a heart can not circulate by its lonesome. Just beats itself to oblivion. Not waiting to get a head. Not interested in love because knows only separation without soul. If alive it would pump blue until 



Far from "dear", my biological child I dare address with anything resembling a kindness or a compliment for fear of offending her. A bratty tantrum justifies her rage while unable to cite offense. Only guessing I couldn't drive her high way. Alas it matters not as she only wants to disappear. But refusing to answer, rejecting her father any correspondence. Addressing her makes little difference.  She has dressed herself as nonentity, nobody, nothing, nada, yet she remains the mother of my granddaughters. Far from being responsive or responsible, my daughter does not exist In my world.

Too two innocent to realize their mother's in justice. As they sit strapped into their "safety-belted" backseat, they go along for the mountainous, rocky road ahead of them. They are too young to see or understand the proverbial stop signs at the intersections up ahead. Too unaware of what lies up in front of them. Hope they learn unfairness is only an inflated illusion.  I wish them all well. 


Trailered yet unhitched, freshly painted and appearing ready to float, but looks are deceptive. Her leaks still don't show. Her seam between her hull and inflation still has holes. Her outboard engine missing and nowhere In the photo. Her gas tank standing tall on the ground beside her empty and unfulfilled.  Her fuel line disconnected while without any vehicle or motivation to move her forward. She has yet to float her boat; she is not ready to float back to her Mystique she is trailered by wheels. Not yet near a boat ramp to get back in welcoming waters. Those waves too rough to ride and hide safely!

Inside Out

Inside Out

Table & Head

Table & Head