on the dock

Wednesday, circa 3:00PM: I'm sitting on the dock at the Aitutaki harbor. It's a pretty quiet place. When I finally managed to get online earlier in the afternoon I was sitting across the road from the telecom office on a low wall in the shade. The majority of folks get around the island on scooters, and a woman on a scooter pulls up to ask if I'm alright, if I'm looking for something. I explained I was just trying to find a spot where I could get some wifi. It's funny how people are here; either very friendly and helpful, or distant and circumspect. I think I have an easier time than a lot of folks because I'm willing to just go wherever, ask locals if I need help, and if they are distant at first they usually warm up to me eventually. But I'm not everyone's cup of tea. So, I'm sitting on the dock. 

I'm not sure I'll travel with anyone again for a very long time. I don't know why when people travel they feel they have to spend every moment together, eat every meal together, et cetera. I can take a few hours of that a day at most. That's probably why my nice 6 miles this morning alone were the highlight of the day. The captain seemed annoyed that I didn't want to go back to the house for lunch, but I was trying to be efficient and use that time to get online and take care of my affairs, especially since I hadn't been able to let anyone know I'd arrived safely. When I met back at the dock to get back to work on the boat for the afternoon he took the dink and left me on the dock. I sat there for about an hour and a half and then just walked the couple miles back to the house. I suspected that despite my best hopes to the contrary, he expected more than just "crew" for the trip and was being pissy, and, indeed, my suspicion was correct. I'm ever hopeful that not every single guy on the planet has an agenda, but 99% of the time my hopes are dashed. Sigh. I don't think he was satisfied when I told him "Dude, you are totally in the friend zone. And the friend zone is Hotel California; once you check in you can never leave." C'est la vie; I just never learn.

Thursday evening: Yesterday we found out that the new batteries for the boat and the paint for the deck had not made it on the ship that had just been unloaded. The guy in Rarotonga told the captain that they wouldn't make it over until September first. I honestly don't even know how to fill two weeks here. I mean I can always run and write, but I tend to get bored out of my skin just laying on a beach. And in five days here I've only been down to the beach once because I'm cooking and cleaning around the clock. I've only seen maybe two cute local guys. Between everything being very expensive and the conservative culture, I don't really see a lot of partying happening. All the tourists seem to be couples, so I don't think I'll find some hottie Kiwi or Aussie to sweep me off my feet. 

Gratefully, I didn't even head down to the dock today. I ran my six miles, tried out the solar shower (a big improvement over cold water even if no pressure), hand washed my laundry and the captain's, hung everything on the lines out back, and cooked all day. I kept telling people this was not a vacation, now perhaps they'll believe me. I mean, who travels half-way around the world to hand-wash laundry, take cold showers, and be eaten alive by mosquitos for vacation?   Not this girl. We have to move out of the little house on Sunday, which means moving to the boat. Well, the facilities/showers at the dock are filthy, no paper, and certainly no hot water. The captain won't get the head aboard operational despite my lobbying and plans to just bolt a toilet seat off the aft deck. Shitting off the back of a boat is most definitely not my idea of paradise. So moving aboard will be a major downgrade. Ah, living the dream...

Anyway, I chopped and chopped all day, garlic, basil, tomatoes, onions. The pasta sauce smells pretty good and the pesto will be delicious. The chicken still hasn't thawed, however, so it may just be pasta tonight and chicken tomorrow. Today I've been surviving on PB&J and cheese sandwiches. Plus a small apple and half a coconut. And Lion Red beer from New Zealand. One of the local dance shows is at an adjacent resort tonight, so I'm hoping to go down there and watch it. They have internet there but I think I have to buy their credits and can't use my ones from Telecom Cook Islands. It may be worth it, though, not to have to schlep all the way "downtown" to get online.   

When the captain came home for lunch he said the local boy helping him went up the mast, so I won't have to do that after all. He also found out that one of the locals he's friendly with has still been lobbying on his behalf for him to be able to start a business here. The trip to Tonga is to find a friendlier place for a foreigner to start a business (though I'm not sure Tonga will be that much more welcoming). The captain has been living here for six months or so and would rather stay here than go to Tonga, but had been told the island council wouldn't approve him. Now it's sounding like if he agrees to certain terms, the council may approve him after all. He should know after their meeting next Thursday. He asked if I'll be really disappointed not to make the trip to Tonga. I told him no worries, I'll roll with it. But of course I didn't come to hang out in the Cooks for a month and still have to figure out how I'm getting to Auckland for my flight back to the States. Money is really tight so as much as I'd love to fly to New Zealand and hang out there for a couple weeks, there is no way I could afford a hotel there. [Any readers in New Zealand, Tonga, or Australia want a houseguest for a couple weeks? I'm a really good cook.] There are a couple of boats in the harbor here and I'm curious if I could get a hop onward with one of them. The Swiss guy who's single-handing came from Venezuela down the coast of Brazil and around Cape Horn. Unfortunately it sounds like he's leaving Monday for Palmerston to deliver some parts needed for their disabled electrical supply. If I could just sail onward with someone and make it close enough to get a flight to Auckland, that would be ideal. I don't see any way of lasting 3 weeks here. The captain just never stops talking or singing or humming. I don't need or want entertaining and I don't need a soundtrack or for every silence to be filled. I looked up and saw the brilliance of all the stars in a dark sky, without all the usual light pollution of the city, and before I could even take a breath and enjoy that rare moment he was yammering on about the stars and the Southern Cross, and on and on without end. I was screaming inside, "Please just shut the fuck up!" Sigh.

I'm very, very glad I brought my own gear and only wish I had grabbed a couple more items, like my own solar shower, that I thought about and then passed up for space reasons. Other things I'd add if I did this again: a mosquito net, a sleeping bag, and a hammock. But now that all the gear I brought for the captain is unloaded, my gym bag is folded down into the bottom of my large duffel and everything I have will fit in the duffel and my small backpack. My friends in Annapolis know I was sad not to buy a GoPro camera to bring on the trip but the cost was just prohibitive. The money I would've used for it was more responsibly spent on a waterproof case for the iPad and a solar charger that will charge small items like my phone, VHF, and iPod, and also charges a rechargeable battery pack that will charge the iPad. One of my best buys for this trip, and that I should have made as soon as I moved aboard: Sea to Summit Tek Towels. They pack down super small and light, pull the water right off of you, and dry in a couple hours. I think they'll become my basic daily towels aboard, though the large is just a bit too small to cover all the important parts if I'm wrapping it and walking anywhere, so an XL will be on my wish list.

So, I'm not exactly enjoying it out here in "paradise," but every adventure is an opportunity. Now I know it's unlikely I would want to permanently settle someplace like this, I can confirm I prefer to travel alone but will always be on the lookout for someone I can enjoy traveling with, and it's always nice to have a new running path now and then. I have a flight on September 15 from Auckland, but what lies between now and then remains to be seen.

down the lazarette we go

I'm rather independent and like to do things myself. However, we don't just come into the world knowing how to do everything. I didn't happen to grow up learning to fix cars or build things. Thus, I often find myself not knowing how to do some simple repair and maintenance tasks that guys just take for granted. I wonder how they would feel if I talked to them like helpless little girls because they don't know their way around a kitchen. Anyway... for several months I have been begging people to come show me how to water the battery on the boat. At this point the water level was probably so low that permanent damage has been done. But I'm facing the reality that even when I have cash in hand to pay people to help me with my boat, the only person I can rely on to get anything done aboard is me. 

I did some research online, put on my goofy headlamp, and started pulling everything out of the port lazarette. The single biggest problem with the design of my boat is the terrible engine room access. To get to the engine, batteries, and water pump, one has to climb down one of the cockpit storage lockers, which means removing everything stored in them first. It's very difficult to reach things toward the bottom of the locker but there were various items I didn't want to step on. I was laying in the cockpit hanging myself down as far as possible without crashing in, and pulled as much out as possible. I tucked a screwdriver and wrench in my pocket just in case and set distilled water and a small measuring cup above the lazarette. 

Climbing in and out of the lockers is very difficult. The opening is long but narrow, so my hips won't fit going the direction I want. The locker is very deep, so my feet won't reach the bottom if I'm sitting on the edge of the opening trying to hop down. The sides of the locker are very slippery with condensation. Once I was in and organizing, I knew it would be much easier to have another set of hands to hand me things so I wouldn't have to keep trying to climb in and out. I texted three different guys asking for some quick help, but it was a newly-liveaboard gal on the other side of Eastport who came through. Everything about sailboats is new to her, but I assured her I just needed someone to be able to hand me things and rescue me if I got stuck in the lazarette. As I was pulling stuff out of the lockers and trying to reorganize and store items I found my sea anchor. I don't plan on seeking out the weather that would require them, but I am glad a prior owner invested in a storm sail and sea anchor.

the sea anchor

I got things cleared out and started taking a look at the battery. For some reason the water pump is on top of the batteries. That doesn't seem like a good place for it, but there was very little slack in the hoses to move it around. As I tried to prop it up more against the wall, all of a sudden the pump started running. I must have jiggled a hose clamp loose. I started yelling at my friend to run down to the breaker panel and switch the pump off. I was worried the hose would come loose and water would be spraying everywhere as I sat there next to the batteries and battery charger. Of course there are probably 40 or more switches on the panel so I'm yelling to her that it's the far right row, third from the bottom. Once it was off, I tightened up the clamps on each hose. I still need to investigate the leak between the pump and the water heater, but getting to that spot in the engine room will be a major contortionist act for another day. Since the water in the line to the pump has frozen a few times this winter--not good, I know--I relocated one of the 60 watt work lights from the engine block over to the pump, where it was last winter. That should make a big difference when the next cold snap hits, probably next week.

On to the battery. I suspected that the little black and white knobs (shown in the photo at top) were where I needed to pour the water, but I wasn't certain. I also noticed writing on them. "Keep" and then something I couldn't read. I was worried it would say "closed" or "shut." I took a close-up photo since there was no way to get my head in close enough and saw it said "keep tight." I messaged a photo of the knobs to a friend asking if these were what I needed to remove and how much water to add. Although he's sailed off to South Florida, I was lucky he was online to help me troubleshoot; thanks, Phil! I slowly poured distilled water into four of the six little ports; two were just too far for me to reach without better lighting and a turkey baster. Even using a mirror it was too difficult to see the water level, but I wanted to be careful not to overfill the cells and have electrolyte leak out. Even if they needed a little more water, they are certainly better off than they were and I'll just have to make it a quarterly chore to climb down and water the battery.

stuck in the lazarette under a heavy, moldy sailbag; yuck

Once the battery task was done, it was on to the starboard locker. It was full of loose PFDs, random stuff, and two big, heavy sail bags. Both sails are just old mainsails. I'm probably due for some new sails, but since that's likely going to run about $5,000 I don't see it happening any time soon. The old back-ups, however, will likely be turned into harbor shades or other sewing projects. But now for, I needed to get them out of the way of the engine room access. There's no getting around filling these lockers to the brim; I absolutely need the storage space. I sure wish the design had made them internal quarter berths, but I've got to work with what I've got. Therefore, I'm trying to at least consolidate loose items into bags and bins so that I only have to pull 5 big things out of the locker, instead of 20 little things, every time I need to get to the engine room. It sucks having to store sails in these lockers, where they are exposed to condensation and may get moldy, but there simply isn't any space inside to store them... I've still got a car full of stuff and a few items in storage that have to find a place aboard... it's a process, not an easy one, but worth it in the end. Despite all the challenges, I really couldn't imagine not living aboard.

all wrapped up

Mike and Jen helping fix the inside-out jib.

A little over a week ago I was planning a nice day cruise with friends. It would have to be shorter than usual due to the need to time the tides, and no one would want to go swimming in the 60 degree water, but it would still be a nice, crisp, sunny day for a sail. A lot of preparation was needed to get the boat ready to go, both because of loose items on deck and inside, and because the roller furler for the jib still needed to be rationalized. Mike, Jen, and I spent a good three hours getting her ready to go. I'd had a couple of experienced sailors not get the jib set up quite right, so we needed to unfurl it and figure out how to get the line to furl it in the right direction. It had kept wrapping inside-out. My jib has a wide blue border which when the sail is furled provides UV protection to extend the life of the sail. We needed to get enough line wrapped on the furling drum and then have the drum spin in the correct direction so that the cover would be on the outside. A few times unfurling and furling the jib and Jen used her geometry skills to figure it out for us. She may not be a sailor (yet), but she's smart and determined, which is exactly what we needed to fix the problem.

I had realized in an "a-ha!" moment back in September that the reason the jib wasn't trimming properly to sail upwind was that we were using the wrong blocks for the jib sheets. Prior trips out the jib sheets had been run through turning blocks just aft of the winches in the cockpit. To get a tighter angle on the sail to head upwind, we needed to first run the sheets through blocks farther forward. Those blocks have been shackled to some anchor chain up at the bow, likely for safe keeping when the prior owners traded her in. We shackled those blocks to cars on the jib tracks that run along the top of the toe rail on either side of the boat. I've heard that I can get horn cleats that will run on the jib track, which would be much easier for tying my spring lines rather than running the (very long) spring lines through the cars. I would also like to add cam cleats inside the cockpit below the winches as they will be easier for me to manage when singlehanding. The wish list never stops growing it seems.

The dinghy dock high and dry.

With the sails in order we secured the pets below and started the engine. In the cold fall weather it took a few tries to get her to turn over. In the summer she always started on the first go. Diesels just don't like the cold it seems. But we got her running. A couple of hours before high tide the depth sounder said 5 feet. I draw almost five, and the depth alarm beeps incessantly at 5.2 and below. We were now at high tide but when I turned the depth sounder back on we were in 4.4 feet of water. Three days of steady NW winds were blowing water out of the bay, so although the tide was coming in, the water level had continued to fall. We tried pulling her out of the slip on the lines. I tried gunning the engine, which probably just dug us deeper into the mud. After all that preparation, the sails finally in order, our day sail was hard aground. I repeatedly apologized to Mike and Jen but they were great sports and we just hung out in the cockpit and had drinks before strolling down to the pub for a late lunch.

The trip out wasn't only going to be a pleasure cruise, however. The harbormaster's pump out boat has been out of service awaiting a part and my holding tank was full. I also had no idea how much fuel was in the tank and it is best to keep the tank full over the winter to minimize condensation. I do have facilities at my marina and they are not far from my slip, but trust me when I tell you it isn't ideal to have to bundle up, climb up on the pier during a low tide, and run to the head at 3AM. Add rain or snow to the mix and it's even less fun. With the tank full that also means there is sewage sitting in the hoses; over time it will permeate the hose and make the boat very stinky. So, getting over to the fuel dock for a pump out was a priority.

My furry crew can't seem to handle a boat hook.

Midweek I popped by the pub for lunch to see if I might find someone willing to take a little cruise across the creek with me. I probably can handle taking her over by myself just fine, but because my docking situation is a little tight I am more comfortable having someone to help fend me off other boats or pilings while docking. I didn't manage to find anyone at lunchtime but went back about 3PM (circa high tide and the beginning of happy hour). The guy I asked for help initially chided me that I should be able to do it myself without help, but when I mentioned I had a cooler of beer aboard he agreed to come along for the ride. He's an old salt and knows his stuff, so he barked at me a bit for being trepidatious around other boats. He did give me some good tips though to keep moving between gears in short bursts to kick the boat in one direction or another and keep good control over her while docking or waiting to approach the fuel dock. I was surprised to only take 7.4 gallons of fuel. I put some cetane enhancer in before filling her up, but wish I had had stabilizer to add. Now I have the stabilizer, but might need to use up a little fuel to make room for it in the tank. This winter I really have to be diligent about starting the engine once a week to keep her happier, especially if I will have to take her out to find pump out facilities. The harbormaster's office said they will run the pump out boat on Saturdays through the winter, but I'm not exactly holding my breath since they don't even have the boat running at all right now.

My huge, sturdy, lightweight IKEA bag is great for laundry.

After the little cruise across the creek I resigned myself to an evening of laundry. There is free parking at one of the local laundromats, but that one is definitely the kind of place I worry about someone stealing something. Although parking is a nightmare downtown, I still head to the laundromat on Maryland Avenue, which is clean, uncrowded, and I don't worry as much about someone stealing my panties. Although Galway Bay is a pricey watering hole, it is directly across the street from the laundromat so I generally have a pint there and just run across the street to put items in the dryer et cetera. I managed to knock out three loads of laundry in an hour and only drink one pint of Magner's Cider. When I first walked into Galway, a guy stopped me and asked "Was that your plan all along?" I looked at him quizzically. "Was it your plan to put your laundry in and then come here and drink while you wait?" he asked. They seemed to think that was a humorous, but sound, strategy. It does make the whole laundry day experience a little more pleasant, though I would still prefer to have laundry right at my marina.

I tried to get the dog to dress up for Halloween but she wanted nothing to do with it. Myself, I was a corpse bride. I think next year I will wear the gown but have day of the dead makeup. It'd be really nice to have a whole group in that theme or at least have a skeleton groom to complement my costume. The party at Davis' was fun and then I met up with friends for dinner at Vin 909. I had to work the next morning, so I couldn't make it a late night, but it was certainly better than last Halloween.

Winter aboard is here in full force. I definitely need to add a heated mattress pad for the v-berth. The oil-filled radiator is warm, but even with a couple of fans going I am not getting the heat evenly circulated throughout the boat and the salon remains much warmer--perhaps by ten degrees--than the stateroom. I don't really mind bundling up to sleep with flannels, thick socks, a sweatshirt, and hat, but that isn't exactly a sexy nightie and it isn't exactly romantic when an overnight guest is shivering. Now you know the secret to my youthful appearance: the meat-locker temperature of the stateroom is like being cryogenically preserved every night. Just kidding... it's that 45+ sunblock, being a non-smoker, chipmunk cheeks, and being young at heart.

Perhaps the mattress pad should be a reward if I ever manage to clean up the interior of the boat! I have had her in a pretty good state at points, but the last flurry of cleaning and organizing was interrupted half-way, so now piles of clothes, kitchenware, and tools are stacked in every available space. I pulled everything out so I could clean and organize storage lockers, but now I am just buried under stuff. Then came moving out of the office, so more stuff came aboard and my car is packed to the brim. I need to get groceries today but there is no where in the car to put a 30 lb. bag of dog food much less any of the other groceries. I have sold, thrown away, or given away probably 90% of my worldly possessions, but let's face it: I still have too much stuff!

I have been storing pots, pans, and food in the cubbies behind the settee and the dinette but am now rethinking that approach. Because dog hair seems to get everywhere in the boat (sigh), I end up having to re-wash all the items stored in those cubbies before I can use them. I also cannot use all the space in those cubbies because I need clearance to lift pots and pans in and out. I am considering using one of the cabinets that currently houses clothes and shoes for the pots and pans, and storing off-season clothing and extra bedding and towels in the cubbies. Then I can fill them all the way up and they will act as insulation against the hull. The problem is those cubbies are prone to terrible condensation because they are against the hull, though it is not as bad now that they are all lined with Reflectix insulation. So, if I put soft goods there instead of pans I have to protect them from the moisture lest they be soaking wet and moldy. I may get oodles of zip-lock bags and/or space bags so items will stay dry. I just have to buckle down, find a few days I can set aside, and tackle the organizing head on. I need to get to it before too long so I can have friends over for cozy dinners aboard and "special cocoa" with peppermint schnapps and baby marshmallows.

I'll leave you with this: Max thinks the top of the dodger is a groovy hammock. Silly cat.

a chill in the air (and some pet peeves redux)

We had a few mild, pleasant days over the holiday weekend, but the heat kicked right back in. The boat was back to 85 to 90 degrees inside the past few days and yesterday topped 95. I'm running an oscillating fan and I've had the forward hatch open plus port lights open along the sides of the boat to get some cross ventilation. Worried about rain coming through the port lights, I draped a tarp from the cabin top to the life lines, secured with bungee cords, to keep any rain from coming through the starboard port lights and put a towel down to catch any rain coming in on the port side. 

I was planning to head out first thing Thursday morning to buy a portable room air conditioner despite the painful $300 price tag. It would take up space in the cabin and need its vent hose run to a port light, but setting it up would be something simple enough for me to handle. My friends on S/V Octopussy urged me to let them take a look at my old air conditioning unit before spending money on a new one, so I held off. Yesterday evening, we disassembled and inspected, not finding any obvious failure right off. But it turned out the problem was an incredibly simple one: the unit was overheating because I had kept the cover on. The cover is made from the same blue fabric as my bimini and dodger, but has mesh panels in the sides and back to allow the unit to vent. I had put the cover on for the winter and had not had any problem running the heater with the cover on. But when I was running the heater it was below freezing, so the unit was not likely to overheat. We removed the cover and instead of tripping the breaker after ten or twenty minutes, the unit just kept happily humming along. Within a couple of hours the temperature inside the boat dropped from about 97 degrees to 70. I feel pretty silly that it was such a simple solution that I should have been able to figure out myself. But I'm grateful for good friends, cold beer, and the opportunity to look at the guts of the unit so I won't be as nervous troubleshooting it next time. 

Here are some photos of my lovely rooftop RV air conditioner. It may not be pretty, but it works.

Before getting the air conditioning back online, I did a few "loads" (read: buckets on the deck with a hose) of laundry and gave the boat her first wash of the season. I think it will take a couple more washes and a lot of elbow grease to get her really sparkly clean, but she definitely looks better. When I started washing the decks there were no bird droppings on her at all. Within a minute of finishing, a bird had shit on the deck. Seriously? But I cleaned up the cockpit and removed the various non-matching door mats scattered around for the dog to have traction because she hates walking on the non-skid. In their place I put down the cockpit cushions I inherited from my friends at Life Afloat Archives and pulled out my striped cushions that happen to match my robin's egg blue decks perfectly. Once I get the propane tank mounted off the rail (meeting with my handyman this weekend to get the job started), I can remove the blue tarp-monster and the cockpit will be back to seating several people comfortably for entertaining. 

A few minutes ago I headed topsides to take the photos included in this post. I had heard some people in the marina, which is uncommon at this hour on a weekday since I'm the only liveaboard. I saw a powerboat and dink in the slip recently vacated by my neighbors. The guy was getting out of the dink and when we said hello he asked if I live aboard. I said yes, and he mentioned he lives across the creek and what type of boat he's on. I'm sure it sounded really weird, but I blurted out "Are you [so-and-so]?" He looked at me askance and said, "Yes." "I'm RunningRabbit!" I proclaimed, "I replied to one of your posts asking for marina information in Annapolis." Yes, from the type of boat he lives on and the hat he was wearing, I was able to correctly identify this guy I've never met but have briefly encountered on the boating forums.  It's a very, very small world we live in indeed.

I just have to revisit my earlier "pet peeves" post here for a bit. I don't think I'm overly touchy (i.e., sensitive) but I do think others are overly touchy (i.e., hands-y). After my earlier post, another guy at the pub was touching the faded tattoo on my arm, even as I kept sort of stepping back to avoid it. Then a guy at another bar kept mussing my bangs and hair, which I had meticulously flat-ironed straight. If I'd have been alone I'd probably have dumped my beer on him, but my friend seemed mildly amused by him so I tried to tolerate it. Then at work a guy was poking my side in a tickling-like gesture and later grabbed my phone out of my pocket (as I was reaching for it to pause the podcast I was listening to). At that point I actually did melt down and yell for everyone to stop fucking touching me. Maybe I'm being overly sensitive. I mean it's obvious that in having a great ass I am inviting every brother at a reggae show to grind his junk on me, right? Uh, no! Guys, if a girl wants you to touch her, she will make it very, very clear. Otherwise, keep your hands to yourself. I don't even pet a stranger's dog without first asking for permission. It's called basic etiquette. I also don't just "drop by" my friends' houses (or boats) unannounced. Before 3PM the likelihood I'm still in my jammies is about 95%. I guess I just value my privacy a lot more than most. Fences really do make good neighbors for a reason. At least I've got this huge attack cat to protect me.

lazing around

The past few days have been cool enough that air conditioning was not a concern and I have been enjoying sleeping with the forward hatch open. I awoke at six this morning with little raindrops coming through the hatch and hitting my face. I hopped up and scrambled around the boat in the twilight to close up open port lights to keep the rain off of books and other stuff and then dropped the forward hatch. The morning has been a rotation of very gentle sprinkles, steady light rain, brief downpours, and dry spells. A friend may have found a used A/C unit to replace my current one, but a rainy day may not be the right time to play around with the largest electrical system on the boat.

I had high hopes for the holiday weekend. I planned to really get the boat cleaned up and company presentable, get the cockpit back to the relaxing environment it was when I first moved aboard. I got off to a good start on Saturday, starting to work my way through the boat with my new mold treatment: a solution of tee tree oil and water. Saturday afternoon I also fiddled around with the VHF radios, (though I never managed to get an automated radio check to work on the inside radio), and hailed the harbormaster's pump out boat. It was my first time using the pump out boat, and I'll enjoy the convenience of that service until it shuts down after boat show. The tank was not yet full after seven weeks.

I was off to a good start, but my Saturday night became more of a party than I had initially planned, and Sunday was spent trying to keep down ginger ale and Gatorade and nibbling Saltines. When I went topsides on Sunday there was wine spilled all over the deck and cockpit. I even found spots of red wine spilled on the dog--what a bad mother I am! (I wasn't actually the one spilling wine everywhere, at least). The kitchen counter was piled with shot glasses. I think a good time was had by all. Well, except my poor tummy, which can no longer handle red wine without a full meal and in small quantities.

Monday I ran out for a meeting midday and then rather than dive into all my projects I lounged on the boat napping and watching almost all of season two of Game of Thrones. Sometimes we all need to just rest and vegetate a bit, I guess this weekend was my turn to laze around.

The big event this weekend at my little marina was the departure of one of my dockmates, the Eleanor Q. Frank and Mary Marie have been preparing their beautiful Gozzard for cruising and have been living aboard her the past few weeks. Memorial Day was the day they finally shoved off and took the dock lines with them. Buttercup will miss Frank throwing a ball for her and following them both around trying to "help" with whatever project they may be working on. They are headed north first and then down to the islands. Check out their blog Voyages of the Eleanor Q. They were great neighbors and will be missed, but hopefully we'll shove off ourselves and run into them in the islands down the line.

I'm frustrated that the remote project I'd been working on since September did not work out. I had been hoping that it would be profitable enough to cover core expenses and allow us to take off and cruise. Unfortunately, it did not turn out to be as profitable as hoped, was plagued with delays and difficulties, and I felt I had to cut my losses rather than continue to bleed time into it. Right now I am not here because I want to be, but because I lack the resources to go. It's not that I dislike it here, but I want my freedom so badly, want to be able to cast off the lines and go wherever, whenever I please. I know, we all want freedom and almost all of us simply have to endure a life without it. But I do not want to surrender so easily, do not want to live each day just to get by.

Another liveaboard friend has started a blog, but not about living aboard. She is undertaking a project in which various of her friends get to write one-month chapters of her life--giving her challenges to test herself, delve into her weaknesses, and embrace personal growth in a very out-of-the-ordinary way. Take a stroll over to living chapters and check it out.

spring is around the corner (right?)

Although today is a gloomy, rainy Tuesday, this past Sunday showed us a glimpse of Spring around the corner. Sunday was over 50 degrees and sunny. I turned off the heat, opened the hatch. Pup dog fetched a tennis ball ad nauseum. The cats came out and sniffed all around the docks, chewed some grass, rolled on the pier and the decks in the sunshine.

Perfect weather for...boat chores! And I am such a good friend that I let a couple of my friends in on the fun! We filled the water tank plus a dozen gallon jugs for drinking water (between water for my coffee/tea and for the pets, we use a little less than a gallon a day). Cut down the Christmas lights that had been zip-tied to the bimini top. We were going to try putting sealant around a deck fitting where I suspect a leak, but the sealant wouldn't come out of the tube. One friend really wanted to bail out the dinghy (seriously?) but I convinced him that insofar as I had the galoshes I was better prepared. They laughed as I bailed out the chilly water and kept saying "Yep, living the dream...I'm living the dream..."

Somewhere in the midst we managed to drink a few mimosas. You gotta love friends who bring the champagne, orange juice, and beer and also happily help with the boat chores; priceless! One of the guys installed the oar locks I bought at Bacon Sails (one stem is a little too wide...) and the keepers I was gifted by a good friend, then he rowed the dinghy over to a running light so we could remove the bulb I think needs replacing. I got talked into taking the dinghy over to the pub...only a four-block walk but a long way to row, especially against the wind. But it was fun to get out on the water nonetheless. I let the guys row her back after eats and drinks and I walked the pup dog home.

Yesterday was chillier, but still sunny. I managed to finish some of the chores I had set out to do Sunday: relocating fenders from the lifelines to the cars on the traveler--easier to move and no longer weighing down the lifelines. I also tied a fender between the boat and the dinghy so the dinghy wouldn't bang into the boat in the wind. Today we're actually rocking in our slip. I keep thinking someone is boarding the boat because we've been aground so much from the low tides lately that I'm not used to the boat moving in the wind anymore! The higher tides are bringing me almost level to the dock at times, what a change from being four feet below the dock and having to climb out onto the finger pier on my belly. (The neighbors will miss seeing me laying on the finger pier in my pajamas, holding on for dear life. Hopefully that's not on YouTube...yet...)

Yesterday I also managed to drag myself out for a run. Just 3.5 miles, not the usual 6 or 6.25, but better than not going. Good to clear my head. I feel I've rounded the bend from the damage the floppy-haired sailor guy did. Although I'm not looking right now and it may be awhile before I'm willing to open myself up again, I am glad that I can smile and laugh and dance again. I know that all my friends who say he was never good enough for me anyway are right. But it's still raw enough that I dread his return to my home port and my local pub. But the best revenge will be to leave him in my wake.