this is not a sailing blog

Apologies for the long gap between posts. I don't have any good excuses; sometimes life just gets in the way. 

A couple months ago I was reflecting on my dissatisfaction with work and financial aspects of my life. I decided to try writing down the things I enjoy and the things I am good at. Unfortunately, the overlap between those lists is slim. Pretty much writing and cooking. There are other things I'm good at, but I don't enjoy like arguing and lawyering. There are plenty of things I enjoy, but am not very good at like singing and snorkeling.  I don't know that I'll be able to limit my work sphere to writing and cooking any time soon, at least not if I want to put food on the table, but I think I do need to place greater focus on finding a path that may eventually lead me there.

I also started writing down the things I don't enjoy and the things I'm not good at. At the top of both lists: sailing. I don't know if I don't enjoy sailing because I'm not good at it, or whether I'm not good at it because I don't enjoy it. Probably a mixture of both. But it was a relief to let myself acknowledge that reality and stop forcing myself to do it just because everyone expects me to. I love being out on the water. I enjoyed heading out fishing before dawn, the water glassy, hardly another boat to be seen. I enjoyed the days in Miami when I just threw lines and drank rum runners, took sun on deck, and snorkeled a bit, with no responsibility for navigating or taking the helm. But far and away most of my pleasant boating memories are from power boating. I can't say I have ever enjoyed sailing; sailing is something I suffer through to get from point A to point B or because I feel pressured to learn and try. 

I understand that many people are passionate about sailing and can't imagine life without it. For me, taking the boat out is about the last way I want to spend my sparse, precious free time. Particularly because I live aboard and have all the stuff of life strewn about, (cue the sailors looking down their noses at me for still owning more than two pairs of shoes). Getting the boat ready to take out involves hours of preparation and then hours getting things settled upon return. Taking the boat out means a day of stress; I can't relax, can't enjoy some cocktails, have to be on constant guard not to run aground, not to tangle up in crab pots, not to draw the attention of the Coast Guard or DNR, having to make sure guests know where flares and fire extinguishers reside, and making sure there are PFDs to go around. All of that is "work" in my book; it is not play, or fun, or relaxation. If other people enjoy it, that's all well and good; I wish them fair winds and following seas. I enjoy running but I don't expect everyone else to think it's the cat's meow or somehow "better" than anyone else's chosen hobbies.

The boat is my home, the only home I have ever owned. I do love her and she has saved my life in many ways. I plan to stick with living aboard for a while more to save money and, with hope, save up for a down payment on a house. From the outset this blog has been about how the world is not enough. It's a blog about a girl rebuilding her life, the challenges of pets, being broke, the ups and down of love and loss, and now and then it's about making boat living work. I hope the story here continues long after Ambrosia has found a new captain to sail her away to bluer seas. But this has never been a sailing blog.

downsizing

Being a hoarder and a liveaboard are not particularly congruent lifestyles. I've had a problem with hoarding for a long time. And I'm not just being facetious when I use that term. Anyone who saw my various homes before moving aboard can vouch for that. Why do I still have unopened mail that is a decade old? Why do I have every little random knick-knack or pair of spare shoe laces or two-year-old grocery store receipts? It's a sickness and it is unbelievably easy to get so buried in "stuff" that it seems impossible to dig out so you give up and learn to live among piles and stacks and towering clutter.

But I have been on a mission to get organized, clean up the boat, and downsize. I gave away beautiful, expensive shoes but it was very, very hard. I gave away six pairs of shoes in one fell swoop a few weeks ago. That's more pairs of shoes than a lot of guys even own. Along with them were sweaters, some running tops, and a cute sundress. Just an hour after taking the deep breathe and putting it all in a box marked "free" by the recycle bin at the marina, some friends dropped by for drinks. One of them said to me, "Hey, there's a whole bunch of great stuff someone gave away and I thought you would like it!" He proceeded to try to hand me back half the things I had just painfully let go. I yelled at him "Oh my God, what are you doing?! Get that stuff off the boat; it was soooo hard for me to let all that go, don't bring it back in here!" We got a good laugh out of that.

I think a lot of the saving every little thing is that I have never had any financial security in my life. Things are boom or bust, usually bust. Every year I am more broke than the last. So to toss out a sweater because I don't have space for it right now is as if I will never have another sweater. Many cruisers have plenty of money, even if they talk as if they don't. They eat out, they buy sails when they want them, and they don't worry about having enough money to do laundry. That is not my life. I can't buy a space heater for the season and then just toss it and buy a new one next year. Not only is that wildly wasteful, I simply can't count on having the money next winter to buy another $30 or $50 or $120 space heater. So I tend to hold onto every little thing lest I need it tomorrow or next week or next year.

I am definitely past the sentimentality of having things. They really are just things and getting rid of the things does not mean getting rid of the memories that went with them. But I still struggle with keeping things out of financial fear of not being able to replace them. I don't know that I will ever be able to cure myself of that. But I need to be free of all the clutter and unnecessary stuff. I keep reminding myself that having a peaceful, uncluttered environment will help me in my efforts to have a peaceful, uncluttered mind and spirit.

So, what's the impetus for this post right now? I need cash and could save myself $57 today (and each month going forward) by bugging out of my storage unit. So, I had to light a fire under my ass and make it happen.  Here's the time-lapse of the storage unit each day before I started sorting, tossing, and hauling on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. (Huge thanks to my dockmate Stan for letting me borrow his car to get this done!)

I bartered away my big printer/scanner/fax for lunch, dinner, and drinks. I donated nine pairs of designer shoes, a Litter Quitter, and a couple designer silk blouses to the local Lutheran Mission Society (don't even get me started on how Goodwill is evil and unworthy of your donations or business). Cardboard boxes were emptied, broken down, and put in recycling. Four big black garbage bags were filled and put in the trash. Below is Saturday, start and finish, and a shot of the ninja who apparently stole all my stuff. 

At the end there was a cardboard box with three Christmas ornaments, a set of mantel stocking hangers that spells "J-O-Y," and a spritz cookie gun. They will either be donated or given to my friend who is letting me store the last boxes in his basement. (Big thanks, Karl!) He also gets the laundry basket, the car clothes-hanger, and a beautiful mirror I kept telling myself I could find a way to mount in the boat.  That leaves me with an inflatable mattress, a box of CDs, a dinette cushion, a box of files and office supplies, and a box with an old-school film camera, diplomas, and all my running medals. That's it. Everything else I own is aboard. Well, my dodger frame is being stored by a friend and there is a box of all my photographs from childhood onward, but that is missing-in-action and may be gone forever. That would be a shame, but not much I can do about it. (Fingers crossed it's in the back of a closet at a friend's house but he said the closet is too packed with stuff to see.)

As for the boat, I have been making a bit of progress. I think a week ago was the first time a couple of my friends came for dinner and were actually able to sit and eat at the newly uncluttered dinette table. I had gotten down to a short-list of more manageable organizing projects I planned to tackle day by day: nav station (a biggie), bookshelves, clean the head and better organize toiletries, organize and stow the huge bag of clean clothes. Unfortunately, I just added two boxes and five shopping bags of stuff to the mix from the storage unit. Sigh. Just over a week before I start training for the new job so every day will have to be productive. I was getting used to my new de-cluttered living space and I cannot go back to what it was like before.

I still have my work cut out for me getting things organized aboard, and my boat will never be austere and empty because it is my home, but being out of the storage unit is a huge relief. And in our hyper-materialistic society, declaring my independence from all those things is a defiant and revolutionary act of freedom. Nothing is left to tie me down.

be at peace

Three days after my 14-miler I ramped up to 16. Just shy of a week later I was planning to run 18 but the weather was gorgeous and somehow my legs talked me into just going ahead and knocking out 20. This photo is right after I finished. It was a long, grueling run, and I was pretty damn sore for two days afterwards, but very glad I got it done. This weekend I'll run shorter and then hit another 20 next weekend. The 50K may not be a personal record time as hoped, but I will be able to get through it 5 weeks from now. Then my focus will go back to a solid 30 miles per week and losing weight. I gained back 3 pounds on my trip but another 5 since my return. It's just enough that I can't fit my smaller, sexier clothes and I feel squishy instead of hot. My goal at the end of last year was to lose 25 pounds. I lost 18 but gained back 8 so the setback is very frustrating and it's always that last 10-15 that are the hardest to lose and the easiest to gain back.

I've been trying to get the boat organized and cleaned up. I'm still a long way from the finish line, though not sure that's one I will ever really cross. But living in a jumbled hoarder-esque disaster zone wears on me and scares off any guys who see my boat (not always a bad thing, I guess). But a few days ago I did actually locate a countertop underneath all the dishes, condiments, and liquor bottles in the galley.  The fridge is back on the fritz, either running like crazy and freezing everything or off. I'm running it a few hours and then turning it off the rest of the day to try to avoid losing any more delicate veggies.

Since I'm carless, I've repurposed a couple of nets that are meant to be car trunk organizers. I mounted this one in the galley to hold various random items. It also somewhat obscures the window so I can still get some natural sunlight in and see the weather but pretend I have a little privacy. Now that it's in the 30s and 40s outside, however, the condensation around port lights is bad so this evening I put the Reflectix insulation back in that one. I'm in the process of mounting various other small net bags for organizing things, but I think the fundamental reality to getting organized will be getting rid of stuff. I've already gotten rid of probably 90% of my worldly possessions but I still can't fit on this boat, so more will have to go. The decisions are difficult and I am, admittedly, a hoarder. I think a lot of it springs from being perpetually broke my whole life and never knowing if I'll have the money to replace whatever I throw out or give away.

In the process of cleaning and organizing, naturally I encountered more mold than I cared to. Although it is less than in the past, it is still an ongoing battle. I wipe surfaces down with a tea tree oil solution, but need to be doing it weekly if I'm going to stay on top of it. I think the best solution is the tea tree gel pots but they are soooo expensive. But I have to admit the price may be worth saving myself the aggravation and allergies.

Winter aboard is truly upon us here in Annapolis. The cats wanted to get outside today but it was very cold and windy so I put their cuddle cups on deck and Hunter happily climbed into one as you can see. Yesterday the winter water was set up and I expect the dock water to be turned off shortly, so I topped off my water tank yesterday afternoon. That should last almost two weeks. Tomorrow I will need to set up some lights in the engine room to keep the engine and water pump from freezing. A few days ago, when it was still warmish out, I tried to start the engine. The starter sort of buzzed but the engine made no attempt to turn over. I've actually never had that problem before. So, I've been stranded in my slip for 9 months when I had planned to be out at least twice a month. I hate being a dock queen. Even if sailing itself doesn't excite me, I want to get the boat out, exercise the systems, practice my docking, anchoring, and general boat-handling skills. It's just depressing. I'm so sick of this marina and want the boat ready to leave when my contract is up at the end of March. 
 

I don't know exactly when I'll leave or where I'll go. With no real job and no guy here in Annapolis, there is nothing to keep me here. But there is nothing to go to anywhere else, either. But I don't want to just sit here while life passes me by. Even if I go "south" and turn around and come back, I feel I at least have to leave Annapolis sooner than later.

When I was on my trip, everything upended, uncertain, nonetheless I felt centered, balanced, at peace (though never content). Lately I feel off my game, frustrated and anxious. I need to get back to that place where I am centered regardless of what is swirling around me. I know I have it inside me, and just need to clear away all the other noise to get there again. If I have to choose just one word to describe myself it is resilient. That isn't necessarily the quality that would be my first choice, but I am grateful to have the resilience that I do. I just have to use it to help me get back to my center, to be at peace and perceive a deeper love.

milestones

A lot of milestones this time of year. Yesterday marked two years since I closed on Ambrosia, the first and only home I have ever owned. It is bittersweet insofar as I feel I should have made so much more progress on boat repairs, sailing skills, and miles under keel than I have. But I live hand-to-mouth and there is only so much one can do on such a constrained budget. I either have time or money, but never both, and both are necessary in order to afford equipment and make repairs. So I plod along and do the best I can. If that isn't good enough for someone, they can, well, fuck off. Apparently a lot of people relish giving me crap about being in a floating apartment and not sailing my boat enough. But they aren't cracking open their checkbooks to fund the repairs so they can shove it. And to the great disdain of many sailors, the sailing just doesn't really matter to me. I don't live on a boat so I can daysail around the Chesapeake. I live on a boat so I can be rocked to sleep by the sea and so I can experience endless locales. Cruising for me has nothing to do with raising the sails and everything to do with reaching a peaceful anchorange in Paradise and then a bustling port full of a cacophony of sounds, smells, flavors, and new adventures to embrace. It's great that some people love just sailing around even if they never get anywhere in particular. But they aren't better than me and I'm not better than them. There are a myriad of reasons people choose to live aboard and/or cruise and people would be wise to respect that and be more open-minded, but, yeah, people are stupid. I've been connected to the water my entire life and can't imagine being land-locked, but boating for me is similar to loving a roadtrip but disliking driving (which is also very true for me). I love the personal/spiritual journey, but otherwise it's all about the destination and that adventure. The actual transit, whether by boat or car, involves time, stress, and money, I can't relax or have a cocktail, so it's work. That part is something to be endured so that I can get to some interesting new destination. I guess I'm quite the opposite (and thankful for it) than all the folks who enjoy their sail to the Bahamas and then never spend a dime ashore because they are too cheap and would rather eat all their Costco provisions from Florida and/or who are too scared to leave their boat and venture around the islands actually experiencing anything. Okay, I do think I'm better than those people, so sue me.

Last night I had a strange nightmare that most of the lines on the boat snapped and the boat lurched and rolled when only a stern line held it in a storm and I was flung in the air, trying desperately to hold onto the bow railing. I was tossed about but survived and the pets were all okay.

Another big milestone today: Hunter's first swim. After a long day commuting to DC for junk project work, I got home, walked the pup dog, and took a shower. Shortly after I got back from the bathhouse I heard Hunter wailing. He only makes that kind of loud, guttural cry if he's in a fight or hurt, so I popped my head out the hatch and called to him, but I didn't see him. Then I looked down. Halfway between the dock and the water, there was Hunter, soaking wet and bedraggled, clinging to the piling by his claws and wailing. I immediately talked to him so he knew help was there and jumped off the boat. At first I was going to try to get him to grab the mat I had tied off to a line just for this purpose, but figured if he had any more climbing in him he'd have kept climbing up the piling. I had to lay on the dock and hang over the edge to reach him. He was slippery and thin, and I was worried about him sliding out of my grasp. But I got ahold of him and started pulling him up. He leapt to the dock and ran right onto the boat. The cabin sole was soaked and he tucked into the very forepeak, trying to lick himself dry. I kept trying to towel him off, but he resisted. Eventually his brother came in and helped him dry off, likely explaining that he's "been there, done that" twice already and everything would be okay. Just a mintue or two after I pulled Hunter up a dockmate came by asking if I'd gotten him out. He had heard the cat crying all the way at the other pier and come to help. It's a good thing that cat has a set of lungs on him and I'm grateful there was a dockmate alert enough and who would care enough to come help. I feel bad for Hunter, but it's a lesson better learned at the dock in early fall than while under way or in the winter. He's a brave kitty and I'm glad he's got a good survival instinct. 

In just a few days it will be my two-year anniversary of living aboard. I'm grateful to say that I can't imagine living any other way and I don't regret moving aboard at all. Are there things I may have done differently in hindsight, of course, but working within the financial, logistical, and tempero-spatial constaints I have, I think I've done well, adapted well. While living aboard is definitely not for everyone, it suits me. I've also found that I have a lot more inner strength, stick-to-it-iveness, and determination than I or others gave myself credit, and--as when long-distance running--I know I have an amazing reserve of resiliency to draw on to get through just about anything life throws at me. My recent adventure was quite an adventure, though not at all the one I had planned. But I rolled with it, made the most of it, thoroughly enjoyed myself, challenged myself to leave my comfort zone, and found that my "centeredness" really does give me the balance and strength to do and survive anything.

A postscript/portmortem on the sleazy captain will come shortly. For tonight, I am thankful for my boat; every night I tell her that we love her, that she has saved our lives and we are working to save her, too. I am thankful for my pack, who love me even if they fall overboard, who put up with all the crazy I put them through. And I am thankful for all the amazing people I have met along the way in this cruise through life that has been anything but a "cruise." 

Here are a couple of snaps of the new ink now that it is all healed. I love the piece and hopefully I will make it back to the land of the long white cloud sooner than later and for the long haul.

a tree, by the ocean, in the wind

 

I haven't been able to spend hardly any time in the water or at the beach. So yesterday I quickly cooked up some dinner for the captain and then hurried down to take a walk on the beach around sunset. The sun was tucked behind clouds, but it was still a nice, peaceful evening. I walked down the beach a ways in the edge of the waves and then headed back to the beach in front of the house. The beach was a little sloped and the waves were lapping at my ankles, but I dug my feet in the sand, took a deep breath, and tried to do a little yoga. On solid ground, or even on a rocking boat but with a firm deck beneath my feet, I can stand in tree pose for several minutes. But in the shifting sand, wind blowing into me, I would begin tipping over after just 20 or 30 seconds, or less. I focused on the horizon and kept telling myself I need to be a tree, by the ocean, in the wind. I have to plant myself firmly, but sway with the wind a bit, and find my balance. Once I had managed to hold tree pose for a couple of minutes on each foot, I moved on to crane. Perhaps a crane is more appropriate to my current circumstances, for I need to find my wings now, rather than planting myself like a tree. But both poses are about balance and in my practice also involve keeping balance in motion. The stars were beginning to appear but the sun was still slowly sinking into the reef. After much frustration and tipping over, I got to that place of real balance. I felt that force holding me in place from head to toe, from fingertip to fingertip, I was focused on the horizon and at that very moment saw a whale blowing and then doing backflips just beyond the lagoon. Coincidence, perhaps. But at that moment it felt very clear that Gaia was telling me that I had found my balance in this crazy, spinning world.

Every couple of hours it seems the plan for the captain's boat changes. If his local friend comes through and they are partners in the business, then supposedly the island council will approve him staying and doing day sails outside the lagoon. The flux doesn't help my situation, but I hope he just gets approved to stay here and that I can hop on another boat to Tonga. If I found a boat leaving soon I would make it to Niue and Tonga and fly to Auckland in time for my flight. Everyone here, locals and cruisers alike, seem pretty shocked that I've been left to get the flight from Tonga or here over to Auckland. But it is what it is. I would just be thrilled to find a boat onward with no one expecting sex. Fingers crossed. I met a great couple who will be heading that way but not sure if they'll take me on. We ran into them at a local dive bar last night. Patrick and Mary are a very sweet couple together, a complementary pair. And in a world full of pretense and agendas, Mary is refreshingly honest, knows what she wants, and doesn't intend to let anything stand in her way. We hung out with a bunch of locals singing and playing guitar and partying way past my bed time. So, we'll see what new twist today brings. I'd much rather sail for the next couple of weeks than have to cut my trip short and head back to Annapolis after so much juggling to be able to get away for this extended time. Something will work out; it always does. 

new year's aspirations

New Year's resolutions seem like they often fail. We bite off more than we can chew, picking a somewhat arbitrary date of January 1 to undertake them, whether we are ready or not. So, rather than making resolutions, I am highlighting for myself some aspirations toward which I will strive in this new year. I mostly began them a couple of days ago, so I got a little jump on them and today doesn't suddenly have to bear the weight of my world.

My aspirations mostly revolve around balance. Balance is, strangely enough, another way of saying control. But balance connotes peace whereas control connotes aggression.

So, here are my new year's aspirations, in no particular order:

Lose 20 to 25 pounds. Yep, and yikes! Bottom line, this means I aspire to run more and eat less. My body needs better balance between its intakes and expenditures. Being slim is simply more healthy and I feel better when I am trim, can wear the clothes I want, and there is no doubt about it--sex is better when your body is fit and smoking hot. Everyone loves youth and beauty. I don't want to be with anyone who has let themselves go, and I have to apply the same ruthlessness to myself. Nothing tastes as good as being thin! (I need to keep telling myself that, especially when my tummy is growling.)

Reduce the takers in my life. I need to take better care of myself and leave the takers in my wake.

Related to that last one, I am going to stop spending time around people I don't want to be around and stop doing things I don't really want to do. (Work, naturally, having to be an exception.) Life is too short to keep spending precious time with people whose company I do not enjoy or doing things I don't enjoy. Yes, we make sacrifices for others and that is admirable. But I end up plagued by people I don't want to be around because I am too polite to say, "No, I don't really want to hang out."

Now I don't mean I'm just going to, for example, stop doing dishes because I don't enjoy doing dishes. Chores are just part of the price one pays for great meals, a comfortable home, and such. But I need to stop getting roped into outings I'm not interested in and which take me away from the projects I need or want to tackle. I lose precious time, don't enjoy myself, and resent feeling pressured to do something I don't want to do. So, it's time to say "enough!" Despite a barrage of pressure to go do something I didn't want to do, I stayed in last night, crawled into bed very early, finished reading a book, and calmed my pets during the rumbling of fireworks. I'm so glad I spent new year's eve with my pack, exactly where I wanted to be.

These aspirations all sound very selfish. So be it. I have to focus on taking care of myself because no one else is going to do it for me. And if you don't love yourself enough to take good care of yourself, you can't really love anyone else. I need to make sure I'm in my best mental, physical, and spiritual shape so I can sail away, have some adventures, and be free.

bienvenidos a miami

It's been a hectic couple of weeks since my last post. A project took me on short notice back to my old home: Miami. I had to get packed and make arrangements for the pets on the fly. I quickly called my local vet to see about boarding the cats since I wouldn't be able to leave a heater running to keep them warm while gone for several days. I'd be departing the next day, and the vet's office said they'd be open until 7PM, so I'd drop them on my way to the airport. Pup dog would stay with a friend. I didn't want to leave so much stuff visible in the car while it was parked at the airport, so I brought several items aboard, including a black ballistic duffel I planned to use on another upcoming trip.

I packed frantically, somehow fitting everything for five days in a little roll-aboard and satchel, with room to spare. I was running late, of course. As anyone with cats knows, catching them and putting them in carriers is an art. I managed to get them in their little black carriers, loaded my suitcases in the car first, and then went back to collect the cats. I set the carriers on the deck and locked up the boat. When I picked up one carrier I said to myself, "Gee, this is really big; how is the cat filling up this entire thing?" Then, "$hit, f*ck, f*uck, f*ck! It's a suitcase!" Yep, I left one cat carrier below and was about to drop off a black duffel bag at the vet. Of course the lock was a hassle to get back open and when you're in a hurry everything takes ten times longer or at least feels that way.

OK, cats in the car, on the way to the vet. Breathe. I'm running late but it'll be OK. Breathe. I race to the vet and pull up in front. I scramble out of the car and set the carriers down on the sidewalk. I look at the door and my heart sinks: Closed. Hours, Saturday 8AM to 1PM. It's 3:40PM. I have a 5PM flight. I now need to be at the airport in 20 minutes, but am a 30 minute drive away, have to then get from the parking to the terminal, and... I still have CATS!!! I started hyperventilating. The cats will freeze to death. I will miss my flight. Arrggghhhh! I call the friend who will be watching the dog. He agrees to feed the cats daily. I drop them back on the cold, unheated boat. I had a light bulb on top of of the engine block but plugged in some other lights for the cats to maybe let off a bit of warmth. I tell them I am so, so sorry.

I raced to the airport. My flight was departing at 5PM. I arrived at the parking lot at 4:22PM. I told the shuttle driver that I was having a panic attack, that my flight leaves at 5PM and I don't know what to do. He tried to keep me calm and rushed us to the terminal. I ran in frantically yelling to the gate agents to just tell me what gate I need. I run to the security line. Of course I forgot that this is BWI, not MIA. There are only about 3 people in line instead of 100. I get through security and run to my gate. I look at my watch: 4:30PM. Miraculous. People were just coming off the plane, so it'd still be 15 minutes before they even board. After an hour of heart palpitations I ended up being the first person on the plane; I relaxed in primera clase and enjoyed a couple glasses of wine.

On less than 24 hours notice my awesome friend Heather (pictured below) fetched me at the airport. We went to Catch of the Day for dinner and drinks. It's a great super-Latin spot with cheesey singers and people dancing on the outside deck. I had baby churrasco with chimichurri, black beans and rice, fried yuca, and some delicious tostones. I do miss Miami food.

I was back in my old stomping grounds in Coconut Grove, where I lived much of my many years in Miami. Breakfast on Sunday morning was right by my hotel at Berries in the Grove; I love the wraps there but somehow didn't end up having a wrap either time I went on this trip. Well, change is good; right? The Sunday afternoon crowded craziness in the Center Grove hadn't changed a bit since I left. Heather met me at Scotty's Landing, where I had a nice big Rum Runner, we watched the boats, and enjoyed the breeze. Scotty's is a nice locals spot right on the water. My one complaint is that they actually say on the menu that they aren't responsible for well done orders; so, I avoid the burgers there and stick with mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, and the like. (I refer to this style of food as "deep fried crap in a basket," but that's not to say it isn't good.) OK, my other complaint is that the live music was often Jimmy Buffet cover band stuff. I may be a boater, but I'd rather chew glass than listen to Jimmy Buffet. We saw a bunch of jellyfish at the adjacent fuel dock; I rarely saw jellyfish when I lived there, though they are abundant in Annapolis.  Scotty's is also next to City Hall, where I spent so much time my last several years in Miami. So, some interesting walks down memory lane.

I took a 4 mile run that felt like 6 because of the heat and humidity. But it was so beautiful running through the Grove and right by the water. A route I have run countless times before. Passing over a wooden foot bridge I looked down and saw lots of needlefish; they seem to be everywhere there. On my run I passed a cute floppy-haired guy walking his dog; maybe there's potential in Miami to find a floppy-haired sailor who wants to go adventure on the seas with me. We'll see.

One night I spoiled myself with dinner at Le Bouchon du Grove. I stuffed myself on a basket of amazing bread and drank half a bottle of rosé from Provence. When I asked the waiter to tell me about the Chicken Fricaseé he was clearly enthusiastic about it, saying it was the best item on the menu. But it has bones. I don't like to deal with bones. I asked about the filet mignon in a green peppercorn sauce. His reaction was lackluster. I know from personal experience if your server tells you to order something, trust them. They see what gets devoured and what gets left behind. So I "lived on the edge" and got the chicken. It was delicious, served with a creamy cheesy risotto. Easily enough for two to share. I tried my best to finish it but just couldn't. The waiter offered to wrap the rest to go. A while later he returned to my table and looked at me quizzically; where was my chicken? I said it never came back. He looked for it but it had disappeared. It really wasn't a big deal, (and turns out I did not have a mini fridge in my hotel room as I had convinced myself), but he gave me a complimentary glass of lovely dessert wine nonetheless.

Despite this post being filled with my gustatory conquests in Miami, I was there to work on a project and work I did. People have this image of Miami as a vacation hotspot where everyone is on island time and lazing by the pool. The reality is that people who would be "rich" in many American cities, the doctors, lawyers, and accountants, are the Miami middle class. And the hours they work are New York hours. Intense, fast-paced, long hours. Locals don't have tans because they spend their time running from air conditioned house to air conditioned car to air conditioned glass office building, day in, day out. That Monday I worked from noon until 4:15AM. Got to sleep at 5AM. Back up at 8AM. Out the door to catch a train downtown at 9AM. When our meeting wrapped at 6:30PM it would have been nice to call one of my friends working on Brickell to grab drinks. But no chance any of them could slink out of the office before 8:30PM, so I didn't even try.

When I was walking from the Metrorail to the meeting that morning some guys were walking just behind me and I hear "Hey, fancy-dress lady, you erasing that tattoo?" "Yeah," I explained, "but it won't all come out." His friend says "Yeah, you can't have that now you're in the Brickell life." I looked at them and laughed, "Oh, no, I left all this bullshit behind," I said, waving at the skyline of awful glass towers. "All these people," I told them "they work too hard to buy shit they don't need." The friend says "Oh, you live off a lot of savings now." "No, no; I'm just poor." He seemed to think that's bad. "Being poor is good," I explained, "it keeps life simple."

Miami is so many things, so many contradictions. So fake. So focused on money. Everything is about shopping and conspicuous consumption. No one can ever have enough. But then there is all the natural beauty. The tree canopy. The water. The needle fish and wild peacocks and iguanas. When I lived there balance was impossible to find. Values become warped. I love Miami. Its beauty, its vibrancy, even its seamy underbelly. But it is a place one has to fight every minute to maintain balance, a grip on what is real and important.

These little Cars2Go are all over Coconut Grove

Tropichop and fried yuca from Pollo Tropical... yum!

I had been planning to crew on a major Pacific passage and had the opportunity while in Miami to catch All is Lost, about a singlehander lost at sea in the Indian Ocean. When the movie ended Heather grabbed my arm and said "Don't go!" The couple sitting next to us said, "We're not going sailing tomorrow." I enjoyed the movie and Redford, but there are 100 or more things any serious sailor would've done differently. We debriefed about the movie over eats and drinks at a new-to-me spot in the Grove that Heather recommended: Lokal. Definitely worth the trip. Burgers are their specialty, but the blue cheese wedge salad was amazing.

Sailboat Bay view from Coconut Grove Sailing Club

Sunset on Spa Creek

Totally unrelated to seeing the movie, I did pass on the Pacific trip. It's not the right trip right now. Other opportunities will arise. Nonetheless, I am likely casting off shortly. Despite the cold and blustery weather, I am trying to mentally, physically, and financially prepare myself to head south for a while. Trying to rustle up some crew to help me make the trip. Trying to get various equipment installed and little fixes taken care of. So now I am consumed with trying to figure out marinas, mooring, a reliable dinghy, moving, and boat insurance that will triple if I stay south of latitude 36 come June 1.

It doesn't have to be forever. I won't ever let myself be tied down, it defeats the purpose of living on a boat. And I can't go back to the Miami grind. But it's time for some adventures, a change of scenery. I feel ready to move on from Annapolis for a while. It was a necessary stop, a respite where I could heal and center myself. And there are so many things I love about Annapolis. But "home" will never be a metropolis or a village for me; home just means something very different to me now that I'm aboard; my boat is home, and so home is anywhere, and everywhere. My boat is this vast potential to call "home" wherever the wind and sea allow.

Annapolis sunset on Spa Creek

A chilly 22 degrees in Naptown

Hard aground

It was 45 degrees on the boat when I got home. Chilly, to be sure, but certainly survivable, particularly with cuddle cups to curl up in. But the cats wouldn't even look at me the first few hours I was back. Nonetheless, it wasn't long before they both crawled on my lap for a snuggle and all was forgiven. At least now I know I have someone who would stay aboard with them so I wouldn't have a repeat of the stress about whether they were OK.

Following up on my last post, kudos to my local True Value, which readily swapped the oil-filled radiator for a new one, despite my not having a receipt, box, et cetera. Unfortunately, the replacement heater died within 30 minutes. Rather than try for a third, I returned the replacement and used the credit toward a DeLonghi oil-filled radiator, which is keeping the boat toasty warm. (It actually got up to 75 last night and I had to turn it down because that is too warm for me!) The heated mattress pad continues to be fantastic; highly recommended for anyone wintering aboard. I have also been gifted a heated blanket, but haven't broken it out yet.

This past Saturday a fellow liveaboard on the other side of Eastport called me: "The pump out boat is running. It's heading under the Spa Creek bridge right now." I quickly got on the radio to hail them. The buildings between us made the connection spotty and they asked me to call on their cell. They put me on the list to visit as soon as they came to Back Creek. Yes, I clapped and jumped for joy because the pump out boat is running in winter! It's a liveaboard thing.

When I'm very stressed I tend to have these recurring nightmares that I'm surrounded by sharks. I've never actually seen one in the wild, but I have a paralyzing fear of them. I can't even swim in a swimming pool without looking behind me to make sure there aren't any. Seriously. Sometimes the sharks are circling and I have to get the cats, dog, and myself to shore from a sinking dinghy. Gratefully, I haven't had the shark nightmares in a while. But lately I'm having a new set of recurring nightmares. We're on the boat and awaken to find that someone has untied all our lines and set us adrift. It's too cold out to get the diesel engine started. I'm trying to navigate the boat adrift in a maze of a marina without colliding with anything. Who would be so cruel to us to set us adrift this way?

flux

Everything seems to be a moving target, constantly shifting, leaving me in flux. I am ready to move on, move forward, have an adventure, find balance in the midst of the turbulence. But so many things seem to keep holding me back as I try to break free.

I have been trying to get moved out of my office since I can ill afford the expense of it, haven't had any clients in months, and detest driving across town to go there. Friends would help me move but they are only free on the weekends, when of course I have to work. I had hoped to sell more items to have some spare cash to go without work a month or two while sailing away. The garage sales were exhausting and while I am happy that many items are off to new homes, so much remains requiring sorting, decisions, and disposal. When I ready myself to spend a day tossing, lugging, moving... I get downpours. Items I am trying to sell or donate will be ruined if I move them in an open pick-up in the rain. So I must regroup, reschedule. The volume of stuff I set aside to save will fill the boat to the brim, so I may be living among stacks of books and random clutter for a while...not that I don't already! The stress of moving, which I had hoped to never do again, is wearing me down. I try to remind myself of the relief I will feel when I am done with that office for good.

Yesterday a friend met me at the office to load some larger items into the truck so that I could donate them to Goodwill. I was sad to see the nice large desk and little dresser go, but glad at least they would help someone else. Unfortunately, Goodwill refused to take the desk, though it's not clear why since it was a nice solid piece, antique, probably oak, quality made unlike the junk that gets churned out today. They were going to take the dresser but then realized one foot had popped off. Its screws were intact and the foot just needed a touch of glue, but I hadn't had time to do it since it would need to set. But instead of just saying they couldn't take it, they berated me and gave me a ridiculous rash of shit, going on and on until I drove away. An older woman was there dropping off clothes or something and chastised them for being so mean to me about it and failing to appreciate the dovetailing and craftsmanship in the little dresser. At least she saw some beauty in that poor little dresser before its demise. The downpours began overnight with the desk in the back of the pick-up and so now the desk, too, is ruined and I won't even be able to find someone who might adopt it. Probably needless to say, but hell will freeze over before I do any business whatsoever with Goodwill. There are many, many more worthy charities out there. My collection of original artwork will be too difficult to sell, so I will donate it to the Anne Arundel SPCA for silent auctions or to brighten their walls, (and they said they certainly want the set of connecting dog gates that Goodwill refused). Any clothes and shoes I can't consign and various housewares items and books will likely go to the Lutheran Mission Society.

A little over a week ago I began seriously looking into joining a boat as crew for a major passage...from Southern California to Hawaii and on to the Marshall Islands. Although the trip would come right in the midst of when I was planning my own voyage, the opportunity to undertake a lengthy passage and see the south pacific was worth delaying my own plans for several months or another season. I began turning my life upside down. Planning for how I could cover expenses while gone with no income, planning for how my pets would be taken care of. Immense inconveniences all around and guilt over leaving, and likely separating, my pets. I had found someone possibly willing to rent my boat with the cats aboard, which would make the trip financially feasible so that slip fees would be paid in my absence and the cats would not be uprooted. A friend offered to take in pup dog and even bring her by to visit the cats so the pack would not feel so disconnected.

While constantly stressing about the financial, logistical, and pet care issues, I was simultaneously exhilarated at the prospect of the passage. Two, perhaps three, months at sea with one stop along the way. That is a lot of time to be seasick, face terrifying swells and winds, be in tight quarters with strangers, manage crazy sleep and watch schedules, and be generally out of contact with the world. But it is also a lot of time to learn, to find balance, to challenge oneself, to find one's breaking point, to see the stars and sea all around. Most friends encouraged me to find a way to make it happen, to seize the opportunity and go have an amazing adventure. I tried to focus on the upsides, so much opportunity to learn both about sailing and about myself, getting to snorkel in Hawaii and the Marshalls, living life simply, out of one duffel bag.

But my questions about the passage, e.g. how the boat is outfitted, what gear and safety equipment are aboard, have gone unanswered. I had said that it was something that would either come together or fall apart within the next few days. The time when I can secure an affordable plane ticket to LA will soon pass. The lead time needed to deal with any vaccinations and passport issues is fast closing. And so the exhilaration has turned to disappointment and I am coming to accept that this amazing trip simply won't come to pass.

Sunset at the Naval Academy Bridge on the Severn River

Nothing ties me here anymore. My current job is more work for less money and not covering my bills, but certainly adding to my headaches. Having a job one simply dreads going in to is such an awful feeling. I have friends here, but I trust the close ones will come visit me along my journeys and will be here for a pint at the pub upon my return. And of course there is no love interest in the picture. So a marathon in November and an ultra in December are all that really tie me here now. I've paid for the races but it seems silly to stay just for that. Well, my slip lease runs to year-end, so that ties me here unless released from it, since I can't afford to pay for the slip once I'm under way. I worry that I won't be able to pull it all together, finish repairs and such, in the next three weeks. I would head out later, in the cold of January, but worry about nor'easters making it a tough trip. So, the plan is to go. It's not clear when. It's not clear where. The plan is that there is no plan. I just want to live my life barefoot, in a bikini, snorkeling in crystal blue waters, digging my toes in hot sand. On this gray, rainy day, that dream feels so far away and everything remains in flux.

sense memory

The smell of fresh cut grass. Fleeting carefree moments of childhood. The scent of patchouli. A tangle of floppy hair and collarbones and sunny college days blending one into another. Digging toes in hot sand. The warmth of the sun on my face. The smell of the ocean, the sound of crashing waves. At once so alive and so peaceful.

The stench of beer and liquor seeping from pores. Disgusted and repulsed. Leaned on, pawed, and petted. The burden of babysitting, politeness, codependency. The sound of beer cans popping, one after another into the night. Trapped and hopeless.

Sun catching dirty blonde floppy hair. Memories of my first love that make me smile. Wrapping fingers in dark Jim Morrison curls. Makes me curl my toes and sigh.

The sensations of life map out my haphazard course. Drawn to them time and again like a dancer's muscle memory. They sketch out light, darkness, passion, hope, anticipation. Perhaps it is sense memory of being in the womb that draws the liveaboards to be rocked to sleep by the sea. A time when the cruelty of the world had not yet been revealed.

I need to better heed my sense memory. Breathe deeply the fresh cut grass of springtime. Savor the musky, passionate scent of patchouli. Grab those Jim Morrison curls and don't let go. But do not sit quietly amidst the drunken mayhem; do not become the caretaker. Those years lost should be dead and buried, I served my time and earned my hard-fought freedom.

Gratefully, my legs remember how to run, remember how to balance as the boat rocks in the wind. At last I returned to my yoga practice this morning--the first time aboard. The cabin lacks clearance to raise my arms outstretched above, (sun salutations will have to be topsides), but otherwise accommodates my much-needed meditation, stretching, and balance.

I am looking forward to some spring renewal and rebirth; a return to running, eating better, drinking less, finding physical and mental balance in yoga and elsewhere. Somehow in all the spinning one must also maintain a focal point. I can't say that I know what mine is. Yet I always hold onto it, do not topple over.