Cutting the Dock Lines...

... or the apron strings, or whatever tether may be holding you back.

For me it's not that easy. I like a predictable life, I always have. I'm not adventurous in the least and if this were the olden days and we were on a wagon train I'm pretty sure I'd've been traded off to the Indians in a heart beat (like we didn't do enough nasty things to them to begin with). And the older I get, the more settled I like things to be. And let me tell you Wilbur is the same; he likes to sleep in until noon every day and then take his time about eating breakfast (preferably topped with the Whippee Creamies as he calls it), and at our marina he knew exactly when the sun would be in his favorite spot for his early afternoon sunbath. Right around three o'clock he'd start pestering and grunting because he knew doggy park time was near, and he was seldom disappointed.

Everything is better with whipped cream

After three and a half years of marina life, those lazy days are over and we are now officially cruisers once again.

What I discovered is, if you think you should 'go', you need give yourself a goose and start talking about it to everyone willing to listen, and setting a time limit or it may never happen. Put up or shut up.

We started talking about leaving last summer. Hans quit his job and we began the task of updating some of the Knotty Cat's systems. And even though these plans were in place and we talked about it all the time, I don't think I really thought it would happen. People kept asking me if I was excited... and actually my feelings were mixed. While I certainly do remember the unbelievable crystal clear waters of the Bahamas, I also remember the gut wrenching fear of being caught in the middle of lightning storms, spying a water spout (equivalent of a tornado) and hoping to outrun it, wondering if our anchor would hold in the night with gusting winds, and most of all only having hot water thanks to shore power or running our engines (we now have a Honda 2000 which is great but not always appreciated in tight anchorages), thus not showering every day.

We said good bye to our dog park friends (very good friends!) and Hans was really touched during our last week at the marina over the outpouring of good wishes we received. But, I have to admit, the day we left, one particular lady was nothing less than rude to us. When we first met Morgan she was a bit aloof and for some reason I felt the need to ingratiate myself with her (do we ever get over high school?). Eventually, she thawed out and every now and then spent some time in our cockpit with us. She was not a huge Wilbur fan but she put up with him and that pleased me.

But all of a sudden D-Day was upon us. Our engines were fired up and we were waving our last good-byes when our starboard side neighbor called out to me and motioned toward a figure standing on the finger pier with her back to us. It was Morgan. I called out to her and she completely ignored me. I yelled louder and told her I'd miss her. She stalked away and stood in the parking lot, still with her back to me.

I looked at neighbor and he just shrugged. Morgan ventured onto the finger pier one more time and even Wilbur was wiggling with excitement. As the last line was tossed aboard and we were sliding out of the slip, Morgan without ever looking at us, leapt gracefully up onto neighbor's boat and disappeared inside.

 

Morgan, in friendlier times.

Wilbur, taking unfair advantage.

Pure (C)attitude!

Since I know she's really going to miss us , not to mention losing her own girls night out apartment (she thinks we don't know about all the times she spent the night on our boat when we were gone), I'll forgive her.

 

Posted with Blogsy