Saturday, December 5, 2009
5 December, 1910
Weather improving -- barometer steady. So much depends on fine weather. December is generally a good month in the Ross Sea, and the animals could really use a break from the endless tossing.
Someone once said that starting off by discussing the weather is showing off. The thing is, I'm English, and that's just how we begin things. It is THE subject at sea. I often sit here composing my thoughts to put down in the Journal and on here, and setting the tone with the weather just feels natural, somehow. Besides, I don't know you, and that's by far the best way to open a conversation with a stranger, when one absolutely has to--at a party, say--because everyone's got an opinion on it.
Wilson has been much embedded in his Bible of late; I think our recent brush with death has brought things close to home for him. He carries it absolutely everywhere with him--it was a gift from his mother as a boy and is practically falling apart. In any case, he does have a go at me for being such a stick about religion, so today I wrote in my Journals that "I pray there may be no more gales," and "I devoutly wish" the swell "would vanish altogether." That should satisfy the critics.