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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Still more accomplished, and a whole new low

A big pitty nose checking in on us from the cockpit

With just days to go before we leave, we've accomplished quite a few things around here although when we do cast off our lines we still won't have everything done. And let's face it, who is ever completely and totally ready to go?

This week we took advantage of the one wonderfully wind free day (it's been blowing like crazy here) and managed to spray our bimini with 303 (I only hope it had time to cure before the torrential downpour that hit us in the middle of the night), and Hans once again hoisted me up the mast. And once again I had to acclimate myself to dangling in the air far above the deck. The reason for this particular hoisting was because in the past, every time I've gone up and down the mast, I've taken note of the fact that the port side spreader light was full of water.

Every single time.

And for some reason this has bothered us. I'm not sure why, because we tend to avoid overnight passages (or at least I do), and we've only used these lights twice (all they really do is illuminate the deck). Our steamer light is much more important for overnight passages and it works just fine. Hans jerked me to a halt at the offending light, and after my heart stopped racing and I could breath normally without fear of hyperventilating, I unclenched my arms from the mast and leaned out just far enough to get a good look.

And honest to God, that damn thing was dry. No water. The lens is discolored, no doubt from rust, but it's dry, it works, and that's all that matters. Every move I made was very deliberate as I felt like I was going to plunge to my death every time I moved. I peeled off the old electrical tape, reapplied new Gorilla tape, and called it a day. Hans later informed me that I was up there for over an hour. It seemed like minutes to me.

Another trip up the mast. How many of these pictures do I really need?

My whole new low occurred a couple of days ago when I designated the day to sewing new cockpit cushions. This was a project we'd both decided could wait until next year but then Hans noticed that the closed cell foam contained within the phifertex covers was disintegrating in sand-like crystals all over the cockpit. So, in addition to my trip up the mast and waterproofing the bimini, I cut out new cushion covers. I got up bright and early the next morning and was joyously sewing while watching our TV 'sans cable' (Direct TV was cancelled last week and I'm really enjoying our free digital antenna with 'this TV' network being an absolute scream and tonight we're watching the original Fun with Dick and Jane) when Hans came back to the boat with an insurance customer. Originally he was supposed to meet him elsewhere but something fell through and apparently our boat was the only option.

I consider Hans' insurance business dealings confidential so I decided the best form of action was to head out on foot (we sold our vehicle last week) and get some shopping done. Thank God I went to the Dollar Tree and not Wal-Mart as I'm fairly certain I could have earned a place of honor in the next People of Wal-Mart blog. When 'The People of the Dollar Tree' becomes a blog (and best selling book) I will for sure quit shopping there (I don't want my sheer hideousness to be the reason for my short 15 minutes of fame). You see, I actually set out on foot in public, wearing my pink (working aboard the boat) shorts, a black and red Bull Dog high school hockey (15 years old and still in excellent condition) sweatshirt, orange flip-flops, and God forbid, no makeup (dare I mention I hadn't showered or washed my hair yet either?). I still remember the time 30 some years ago when I crawled to Thrift Drugstore suffering from the worst sinus infection ever, without makeup, and lived in fear someone might recognize me. Heck, compared to how I looked the other day, I could have been crowned Miss Universe.

Three completed cushion covers.

Tomorrow, before we leave, our morning schedule is full. Hans has to hoof it over the bridge for a return visit to our dermatologist, I need to fill up our water tanks, and then this evening I discovered we're out of some very basic staples.

So, I'm telling you right now, tomorrow there will be a very clean and nicely dressed shopper visiting Wal-Mart.

However, I promise to refrain from wearing my Terlet Queen Sash.

 

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