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.

 

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The Devil is in the Detail(s)

 

Another haul out. I only wish I got this much attention

I'd forgotten exactly how many details need to be accomplished before embarking on a cruising life.

But I'm being reminded very quickly and we've only begun to touch the tip of the iceberg.

Early in December I sent away for Wibur's pet permit to the Bahamas. We're still waiting for it but hopefully it will arrive before the end of February.

I knew my passport was due to expire in mid March (when we hope to already be in the Bahamas) and I probably should have renewed it awhile ago but of course I had to wait until it was nearly Christmas to take care of it. So, amid buying, wrapping, and shipping presents, I got a haircut and drove over to Walgreens in order to get the worst passport photo ever taken. The strange thing is, it didn't look that bad in the store and even stranger was how fast those fine people at the Passport center sent me my new book. I think when they saw how hideous that picture was they wanted it out of their office as quickly as possible.

Actually, this hideous picture is direct result of when Hans had to have his passport renewed a few years ago. Hans is a Canadian citizen and Canada's government has totally different hoops to jump through. Hans has done this several times over the years so we were both surprised when the Canadian government sent back his old book, his new picture, and a polite letter explaining that his request had been denied. Hans immediately called the number contained in the letter and asked for the polite lady who'd written it. Of course no one knew who she was (it would appear that all governments whether they be US or foreign, share the same policy; act baffled and if at all possible, do.not.help), so the buck was passed... again and again.

One young lady who really wanted to help (obviously new to the job) tried her absolute hardest and after placing Hans on hold several times informed him his best bet was to hire an attorney. In another attempt to be helpful, and right after Hans' reaction, she reeled of another phone number and hung up.

The man who answered the phone at the new number (an obviously seasoned government employee who hated his job, hated the world, and most of all hated Hans) was furious and before Hans could even explain why he was calling, shrieked "How did you get this number? Who gave you this number?" This was his stock phrase and he screamed it every time Hans tried to get a word in edgewise. "That person doesn't even exist! It's just a name they print on letters!" he yelled when Hans said he only wanted to talk to the lady who sent him the letter, and when Hans said that sounded kind of stupid, he got, "How did you get my number? No one's supposed to give out my number!" We never did figure out why he even has a phone if no one's permitted to call him but if I had money to burn I'd rent a bill-board and display his number (preferably along side a buxom beauty) for all to see.

So, the problem with Hans' passport? He smiled. And you're not supposed to smile on a Canadian passport.

A new picture of an unsmiling Hans was taken and a new passport was delivered.

 

Bearing the whole smile/don't smile issue in mind, the picture taker from Walgreen's and I decided to take no chances, so I didn't smile. I did smile on my last passport but since rules change all the time...

While we're staying in a motel while the Knotty Cat gets her bottom painted (among other costly things) we decided to get our local boater option (SVRS: small vessel reporting system) taken care of. Along with DTOPS (a $27.50 decal) we should be able to clear back into the United States quickly and efficiently, if and when, we ever leave. We had the DTOPS decal when we arrived back from the Bahamas back in 2011 but we still had to report to immigration within 24 hours. Supposedly with the added SVRS option we may only have to make a phone call. Hmmmm... I'm not holding my breath.

I won't go into the agonizing details of our trying to find the Office of Immigration via our GPS and Google maps, it's just too painful. But after many U-turns we finally called and a live person actually answered the phone and low and behold the office is located right beside the gift shop inside the airport. Within minutes the nicest lady in the world (and I mean super nice) issued us our official SVRS numbers (to be kept with our passports) and there was no charge.

Just before we left the motel for our visit to Immigration we pulled out our passports and layed them side by side. What a pair. With Hans' stern stare and my grumpy glower we make Bonnie and Clyde look like a couple of happy go lucky rascals.

Personally, I wouldn't let anyone who looks like us back into the country so I'm going to keep my fingers crossed on this one.

 

Someone looks like he enjoyed his hotel stay

 

 

 

 

 

Posted with Blogsy