homework

Lots of reading to do!

hazmat!

I finally managed to move enough stuff around within the boat to clear the counter area where the fridge is located. It is a top-loading fridge and while it does work, the previous occupant left it with food inside molding and three inches of disgusting black water in the bottom. The drain hose is plugged (not clogged) and I was advised not to remove the plug and let all that filth into my bilge. So I will have to wet-vac it out little by little. I get a little pukey just thinking about it. Removing the moldy ice cream and whatever was in a tupperware was bad enough. But I cannot continue to live with this icky hazmat situation growing there and having to buy ice for a cooler on deck.

A before picture is at the bottom of the page, so if you're eating or just have a weak stomach, be sure to stop scrolling after the next paragraph.

In other developments, the dog has been driving me nuts--she always has to be standing precisely where I don't want her and has twice in three days gotten into the corn-based cat litter (requiring frequent urgent trips ashore). She balks getting in and out of the cabin, but stands (for 30 minutes sometimes) smack in the middle of the hatch blocking my way. Right now I'm rather sick of being a pet parent. She's sulking and finally out of my way, so she apparently figured out how pissed off I was.  OK, here comes the photo of the icky fridge...

life aboard: 3 weeks in

We moved aboard three weeks ago tonight. I am currently in the cockpit with a lovely glass of Shiraz (thanks Lane and Eli!), my adorable pajama pants, and flip flops. (In a week the ice skating rink will be open--that's Maryland.) The boat (and occupants) have come a long way, and still have a long way to go. I have only broken down in tears once so far, though I have sworn like a sailor plenty. While there are many frustrations, particularly with respect to things I cannot (yet) do myself or cannot afford to pay others to fix, I know that, fundamentally, I have made the right choice and was meant to be a liveaboard. The idea that this was a one- or two-year foray had actually never even crossed my mind until someone else asked. This is my home. And, yes, my life will never be the same.

Though early on in this journey, I have already met some wonderful people I will likely know the rest of my life. That, alone, is something I am deeply grateful for.

I took the helm for the first time on her maiden voyage. I learned how to pump out and how to fill my diesel tank. I still have a healthy fear of manual heads. I used the VHF for my first time (and thankfully not in an emergency--unless "pump out, pump out, pump out" qualifies). I learned the value of my boat hook in rescuing my wayward bucket knocked off the dock as I straightened the hose after washing the decks. I learned, (the hard way, with bruises to prove it), that boats are much smaller spaces for certain extracurricular activities.

I was used to deer and foxes passing through my yard. Now, the wildlife has changed. Last night I heard a splash and turned to find an otter crunching away at an oyster on the swim platform of the powerboat in the slip beside me. He paid no attention to me or the dog, and once he finished his dinner, slipped quietly back into the bay.

I am grateful for lots of advice and work I've received, gratis, as I explained by myriad challenges aboard to friends and acquaintances. While advice is oft-conflicting, I am able to gather and absorb the information, sort it according to my needs, the source, and my budget, and proceed in a manner that seems to suit me.

But, as they say, everyone has an opinion... this afternoon someone was miffed that I didn't want to shut up and quietly listen to his advice (though I never asked for it and he never bothered to actually listen to the fact that my problem was not what he was assuming). C'est la vie; I guess there are guys out there who will always think they know best, or at least better than some girl. He seemed to think it was some kind of "punishment" to tell me I could have had his advice free but now it would be $1 per minute. My only regret is that I politely ignored him rather than ripping him a new a$$hole; but there's always tomorrow. I mean, really, I'm a single girl who bought a project sailboat. That most assuredly does not mean I am a helpless damsel in distress; it means I have balls of steel and one hella lot of moxie.

stairs are not the enemy

For a few days pup dog had been up and down the stairs without my help. Then last night and this morning, she decides she can't go up the stairs after all. Naturally, it is always when I am in a hurry, sore, and generally not up for lifting a Labrador (even if a small one) up a ladder one step at a time. And when I just wanted one more hour of sleep I hear pup dog panting--which I know from experience means her tummy is upset and she really has to get outside. So, good morning at 4:49AM; nothing like hustling the dog out (really, she was just dragging me along running down the dock headed for some grass) while still wiping the sleep from my eyes. Return to the boat, feed all the pets their kibble, and within 30 seconds of inhaling her breakfast... I've got laundry to do to clean up the vomit. Ah, the joys of pet ownership.

sprucing her up

The water is off on my pier until tomorrow, (due to the marina hitting the water line when working on the electrical panel), so I was not able to get to washing the decks; however, lots of other cleaning up topsides and she already looks so much better! I was convinced to cut away the lifeline netting, which was gray at best and green often. Pulled off the coco fiber door mats the dog has been using for traction and replaced with strategically located Dri-Deck snap-together tiles (love!), hung excess line neatly from railings rather than having it bunched up on deck to mildew and collect leaves. Could certainly not have done it--or take the boat across the creek to get pumped out--without help from a new liveaboard friend, so very, very grateful for that. Next up: wash the decks and tackle the insanity below.

and up she goes

We have liftoff! I had to drape the stairs with a towel (and my jeans for one), but after thinking about it a minute or two Buttercup scurried right up those stairs! First time without me having to lift step by step (not fun with a torn rotator cuff). I'm so proud of my girl. As she was looking up, then looking at me, and wagging her tail, I told her "you're a smart, brave girl, just like your mommy, and you can do this; I believe in you." And she did.

stairs!

This evening Buttercup got ahead of me headed for the companionway and put her front paws on the first step. I was rather skeptical that she would really go down them, but she was clearly contemplating it and her tail was wagging--a far cry from the shivering and whimpering of the first few days aboard. I waited a bit and encouraged her, but it looked like we'd still need our sail bag moon bounce improvised solution. I went below and she continued to look interested in trying to get to the next step down. I ended up draping a towel over the bottom three stairs for a more comfortable texture for her. She kept wanting to put her paw out farther than the step extended but finally got to that second step and then I think she just jumped past the bottom two. Granted, she careened quite a bit down the cabin sole, but she did it! Lots of praise and a few treats for my girl who is gradually getting her sea legs.