1 November 1608

. . but enough of these dreams… hallucinations.

Here I sit, back in London, a pariah broke and jobless.  Logbook descriptions of ice mermaids and tokens like narwhal horn, walrus tusk, and white bear tooth soon lost their luster.  Sweet Katherine, mother of my three sons–Richard, John, and Oliver–even sweet Kate has turned to vinegar.  My brothers disrespect me.  I swear that Grandpa Henry, a founder of the Muscovies, scowls down from his portrait.

Why?  Twice Hopewell bore us northward . ..  toward Cathay we imagined, to unfathomable riches and fame.  more on those voyages soon.

But now only Cathay believes me . . . Cathay, patroller of the hold, my protector, mykitty.

(Note:  Check these 2009 plans.)

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