I didn't know that Nina's next port of call was going to be Waukegan. After work yesterday, I picked up Paul G. for lunch, and dragged him with little protest down to the harbor. We spent about an hour on the ship, and I kept lapsing into a goofy grin; there was this odd pressure behind my eyes the whole time.
She's a pretty thing, in a dark and clunky way, with only enough straight lines to remind you what straight is; her deck arches up from side to side and bows down from stem to stern. Her crew of six is made up of professional sailors who try to be showmen and historians, but it isn't really their style, and goofs like me who know more than they should are a headache ("Why are the main shrouds secured by deadeyes, and the fore and mizzen shrouds secured with blocks?" "Well, these (the main shrouds) are standing rigging, and the others are running rigging." (Wrong answer; all shrouds are standing rigging. But he tried.)).
They need an historian and raconteur; maybe someday...