PLACES I'VE BEEN AND SHOES I'VE LOST

I was sitting here contemplating my gnarly old arch deprived feet the other day and I thought about the people that would be envious of me and my barefoot lifestyle. You know, the “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem” kind of life. The truth of the matter is….I don’t have any friggin’shoes left.

I don’t remember the first time I lost a pair of shoes. It was probably somewhere up north. Maybe in Block Island at the tiki bar at Champlin’s Marina. Probably the same night I learned to do the hand jive from some little girls that were sitting outside the bar’s entrance, the same night we couldn’t find the boat for a couple of hours. Hey come on, there were 1200 boats in the harbor.

There are a few times I do remember, though. Like my favorite pair of “Candies” sandals. (I admit, I never was a Manolo Blahnick kind of girl and anybody that knows me knows that.) They now rest in a watery grave at the Las Olas Marina in Fort Liquordale. We’d started our happy hour at Blondies on the corner of Las Olas Blvd. and A1A. Of course, Blondies’ happy hour starts at 10:00 a.m. and goes until. This is one of the cap’n’s favorite bars. He says it’s because of the scenery. Blondies is smack dab across the street from the beach which sports many signs that say nude sunbathing is not allowed under which numerous young nubile bodies are blatantly disobeying these public sanctions and the authorities are turning a blind eye but risking the other just for a peek. The cap’n went inside for some freshers and conversed with one of the patrons leaning tiredly against the bar.

“I’m so drunk. I really need to go home but I just can’t tear myself away from the view,” says the patron as he eyes one of the sun worshipers who I hope only had to pay for the half of the bathing suit she is wearing.

“Come on, man,” says my noble cap’n, “They’re obviously fake.”

“My complimentsh to the shurgeon,” drooled the bar patron.

Later on that night after bar bouncing down A1A with the cap’n and four other guys, (Mary’s a lucky girl!! One of them even looked exactly like Steven Segal, but his shirt was wrinkled and he lived in a cinder block house so I don’t think it was him.) we ended up back at the boat for a nightcap (like we needed one!). The tide was out, waaay out, and I was faced with a little 6 ft. hop down to the deck of the boat. I decided to do my best Baryshnikov impression and leapt…and missed…again. Instead of partaking of the assistance offered by my four handy male companions, I decided I’d retain what was left of my dignity while floating around with the skirts of my very short dress swirling about me and climb aboard myself. No, not by using the ladder. The cap’n never puts it down. I guess he doesn’t want it to get wet. Instead I’ll use the barnacle encrusted piling to which the boat is tied up. I’ll just use the barnacles as foot and handholds. Just like one of those climbing wall on those fancy cruise ships. Not a good idea, as my oozing scraped up arms and thighs would attest to in the weeks following. I did eventually make it back onboard but alas my poor “Candies” didn’t.

Marsh Harbour Marina and Jib Room Restaurant, Abacos, Bahamas. It was a dark and stormy night. I don’t remember what kind of shoes they were but I’d lived aboard long enough that I’m certain they were of the moldy variety. I can’t even blame it on too many Bilge Burners or any of the other lethal adult beverages that Steven, the bartender at the Jib Room, serves up. We hadn’t even gone into the Jib Room, instead we’d had a nice quiet dinner with some friends who lived across the road. Just a couple of glasses of wine. When the evening wound down, we made our way down the death defying steps of the Marsh Harbour Marina without mishap and proceeded to the dinghy dock to continue our passage home. Did I mention it was raining? For some imperceptible, idiotic reason I chose this night to abandon my usual “old lady, ass slide” into the dinghy and leapt feet first. And I made it! At least my feet did! The dinghy lurched one way, of course I lurched the other and with arms windmilling I ended up in the drink….again. By the time I sputtered to the surface, whatever shoes I had on were permanently embedded in the muck of the bottom. Another innocent pair of shoes left behind along with a pretty good chunk of my scalp on the dock. Thanks, Cleatus. Whooee! Those scalp wounds sure do bleed! Fins to the left, fins to the right. And I'm the only bait in town!

So this year before we got on the boat the cap’n refused to invest anymore capital into my shoe inventory. “Nothing but thongs,” he pronounces. I presume he meant the shoe kind. Have you ever tried to find flip-flops in Colorado in the winter? So here I am shoeless. But you know what? If shoes are required, I don’t think I want to go.

Paying Homage

So now you've bought the boat and every waking hour thought and talk is about the boat. Get used to it 'cause it never goes away:

Paying Homage

We’ve all been through it! Our significant others decided to go live on a boat and take us with them. We took a look around and queried, “But what are we going to do with all of our stuff?” The answer was quick and flippant. “We’ll sell it! After all, it’s just stuff.”

So we, the reluctant partners, began the painful process of divesting ourselves of our prized possessions. We even felt a little guilty if we got emotional over our Grandma’s cherished silver tea set or the kids’ grubby Teddy bear. “How could we be so materialistic?” we derided ourselves.

Then in the midst of packing and tagging, what should pull up to our curb? A UPS truck? What’s this? Doesn’t he know we bought a boat? We’re selling things, not buying things. We have broken the unholy chains of materialism. Amen! Allelujah!! The doorbell rings…

I throw open the front door. My loins are girded for the battle against this dark angel of temptation whom I used to welcome with open arms. Of course, that was in my unenlightened days of catalog and internet shopping orgies. That was before I found my salvation in “The Boat”.

Chin jutting forward, I stated, “You must have the wrong address.”

“Is this number 10 Easy Street?”

“Uh, yeah, but…” I sputter.

“Just sign here, lady,” he directs right before he yells over his shoulder, “Hey fellas, start unloading.”

Wait a minute here! My eyes zone in on the dollies of boxes bearing a litany of names like West Marine, Boat US, Marine Electronics…. An ugly suspicion begins to form. My narrowed eyes search out the captain who has been cowering in the corner.

“But, Honey, it’s for “The Boat”, he stammered.

That’s when I had a revelation. For the captain, the boat had become a sort of goddess. He devoutly believed that we had to surrender all our worldly goods and make enormous donations to “The Boat”. In exchange, “The Boat” would provide for us a life of happiness and well-being. The captain believed our only path to salvation was to follow “The Boat’s” commandments. By doing this, we would keep “The Boat” happy and never suffer her wrath which could include such calamities as; dead batteries, high engine temperatures, and bad head smells.

For you poor unenlightened souls “The Boat’s” commandments are:

Thou shalt love “The Boat” above all other boats, and just about everything else except for your mate, although in some cases even the mate can be considered sacrificial.
Thou shalt never take “The Boat’s” name in vain.

Thou shalt honor “The Boat” by weekly pilgrimages to the nearest West Marine Store.
Thou shalt not covet another’s “Boat”.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against “The Boat” by blaming her for mishaps that were really your fault.

Thou shalt give testimony to “The Boat’s” glory by speaking endlessly and exclusively about “The Boat”.

Thou shalt not leave “The Boat” for a house, condominium, or RV.

Thou shalt fervently treasure the hardships “The Boat” bestows upon you such as limited water, limited electrical capacity, and plentiful head smells, for these are the things that make you strong (in more ways than one). Do not congregate with those persons who would try to convince you otherwise.

Thou shalt not bring shame to “The Boat” by poor navigation, sloppy sail trim, or mortifying anchoring techniques.

Last, but not least,Thou shalt subscribe to every boating magazine available. Thou shalt go from port to port spreading their words of wisdom, thus increasing sales and the editors' cruising kittie.

*You also earn special graces from “The Boat” if you fall on the floor, contort your body, and speak in tongues while changing her oil filter.

I’m sure you’re asking if I have been converted. Alas, I’m afraid not. This year I brought aboard one box containing books and a video. Nothing to offer up to the goddess. The captain had thirteen boxes of offerings ranging from a new GPS (I guess she wasn’t happy with the three we already had ), countless shackles (before we had the boat, I was aware of only one use for shackles, but I’ll exercise ”restraint” and not go in to that),. I’m sure a sacrificial lamb is tucked in their somewhere. Is there hope for deprogramming the captain? About as much chance as that snowball had in hell. You can learn to live in harmony, though. It’s all about compromise and respecting each other’s different beliefs and callings. Remember my Grandma’s tea set? Why don’t you come on over to “The Boat” for tea and then we’ll do some penance by going shopping—for “The Boat” of course. Wouldn’t she look better with me in that cute little outfit I found.

Kary May's Sexy Guide to Buying a Boat

I’d been in the Bahamas for several months when I noticed a strange phenomenon kept occurring. I’d introduce myself to someone and they’d say “I already met you over in Guana. Don’t you remember, you were dancing with that tree.?” It took a little investigation but I finally discovered that I had an evil twin that lived on Great Guana Cay. Her name is Kary May and she dances with trees and poles because, unlike men, they don’t spin her too fast or dip her too low but somehow she still manages to fall down.

Unfortunately, Kary May showed up last night and these are her ideas on how to buy a boat….

I’ve been racking my brain all week on how to help my cousin, Mary Kay, help you all figure out what kind of boat to buy. I pondered all of the advantages and disadvantages of every kind of boat and how to steer you towards the boat that was right for you. Power vs. sail, mono hull vs. multi hull, 2 heads vs. 1, propane vs. alcohol…

And then, as it is prone to do, my brain turned to the subject of sex. I tried to turn it back to task--think sail trim, think bow thrusters, think self-tailing wenches, but it all brought me back to “SEX”. How in the world is buying a boat at all akin to “SEX”.

And then it came to me.

All of the four main boat types that we encounter in our boating life share attributes with various suitors we have encountered or would like to encounter. We’ll call them Monohull Mike, Multihull Mario, Trawler Tom, and Powerboat Paulo.

Let’s start with Monohull Mike since he’s the one I’m more familiar with. He’s the kind of guy you take home to Daddy. Mike’s got clean strong lines and he comes from a respectable yard. He’s gonna get Daddy’s little girl home safe at night and he’s not gonna run out of gas on the way. He’s stable, he doesn’t move too fast and he’s got plenty of storage for his prophylactic safety devices.

Unfortunately , he only as room in his heart for you. He’ll gladly double date for an evening but only if it’s "dutch". He truly believes three is a crowd. His cockpit may be teenie but his heart his huge.

Multihull Mario: He’s the bad boy of the sailing world. The Monohull Mikes say he is unstable and doesn’t have the staying power. Mario says he likes being a little off balance and if he needs a little more thrust, that‘s what his jugs are for. He’s a party guy and his big cockpit will accommodate all comers. After you’ve multihulled you can try out the trampoline out front. Yee-Haw !!!

Trawler Tom: He’s the comfort food of boats. Just like a slice of Mom’s apple pie he’s a yummy piece of home. He’s got the back porch to rock away a lazy day with a good book. He’s got comfy chairs and real lamps. In his former life he might have been a Mike or Mario but he doesn’t want to work that hard on trim anymore, he just wants to get there. Lucky for us, he’s not in a hurry so he waits for the perfect moment, making the passage smooth and comfortable. And since he’s usually plugged in to a slip, you know what position you’re going to be in each and every night.

Powerboat Paulo: Ah…the elusive dreamboat that surges through our sodden dreams. He’s aloof and definitely high maintenance. Paulo may not know his way around a stuffing box, but what the heck, he’s got others to do the grunt work for him. He’s so sleek and sophisticated, we’d be happy just to polish his doorknobs. Ahh….but for most of us he is just a dream.

So there you go, Kary May’s guide to boat buying. It’s just so hard…uh, I mean difficult to choose. I think I’ll take one of each.

Is my mind in the bulge, uh, I mean bilge or do a lot of sailing terms have sexual connotations? I can think of dozens. How about you? How about sharing them with us by posting them under the comments tab at the bottom of this post.

Rule Four: Home is where the heart is

I know , I know, I know!
The Annapolis boat show is coming up and your cap'n is lathering to get out and get a boat. A word to the wise, read my article "Smitten" on this blog to see what happens at the Annapolis boat show. Believe me they all look good! And I promise next week's blog will be about what boat will suit you. But for now, I have one more thing you need to discuss before you even buy the airline tickets to the boat show. By the way, it's probably too late to get a room.

This topic may not seem significant but it will influence what kind of boat you buy and where you choose to sail and, once again, the cruising kitty. Better to get it out of the way.

How often will you travel back home?

This may not be of much concern if you are living aboard part time and spending the rest of the time at a land-based home that is conveniently located for trips to your favorite F&F’s(friends and family). You must keep in mind though, emergencies and important events that you will need or want to attend will sometimes happen. To illustrate this during our first year and a half of living aboard full-time four out of our five children got married, one parent died, one parent broke his hip and we’ve had two grandchildren. We made it back for all of the weddings, the funeral, and one grandchild's birth. However, we were either in FL or the Bahamas which is a 1 or 2 day flight to anywhere in the US. These are just the big events. With the high cost of travel this subject needs to come up in the arguing, I mean “setting the rules” stage of planning. Don’t forget to include trip expenses in the cruising kitty. Be prepared for the emergencies and be honest about the non-emergencies you expect to attend back in that other life. I can’t count the number of fights, I mean discussions, the cap’n and I have had over about what constitutes an emergency worthy of a trip home. How does this affect what kind of boat you're going to buy? Well, if you are going to stay in easy reach of F&F's you probably don't need a bluewater cruiser. Which is what the cap'n and I bought because we should have done all of the Caribbean and crossed to the Med by now. Instead, we found a place just 90 miles off of FL that some ski jets have made it to on one tank of gas and we fell in love. We've been there for four years but in our defense we've stayed at a different cay every year. By the way cap'n say's we're going further south this year. All of our boater friends just laugh.

Okay I'm getting tired of getting no input from my fellow first mates, I'm thinking of starting a roll call just like in school:
Dori (Sol y Mar)
Doris (Exit Strategy)
Cindy(?) It was one of those nights
Jill (JillyQ)
Pattie (Blue Dolphin)
Phyllisx2 (Chapter X and Mollie 2)
Marie (Typee Mistress)
Susan (Perpetual Motion)
Lynn (Boomerang)
Susie (Blue Jacket)
Ami (Mon Ami)
Ruthie (Galena)
Mary (I love that name) (Who Cares)
Linda (Ciganka)
Cat (Catherine) (Highland Wanderer)
& Many Many More
Hey gals,
All you have to do is click on that tiny comment tab on the bottom of this post and say "here". I know none of you are shy. I've danced around poles with you.
.........

Love you all!
Safe sailing

Mary

Rule Three: Living Your Boating Lifestyle

Now that we have a breather from hurricanes. Let's get back to "Rules". I know your captain is getting anxious to get out there and buy a boat but there are a few more things to discuss.
One of them is what kind of lifestyle do you envision if you decide to take the plunge.

Just as you don’t spend all of your time in your house on the land you won’t spend all your time on your boat. What environmental conveniences or entertainment do you think will be necessary for your happiness and well-being on a boat? The standard (dirt-dweller’s) impression of cruising is sailing from one isolated paradise-like anchorage to another, spending everyday frolicking in the sand and water. Truthfully, there are many boaters that pull into a dock, plug in the electrical cord and don’t leave for months. They meet regularly for bridge games and drinks. They play tennis. They form yacht clubs. There is a myriad of lifestyles to choose from. Some are more expensive than others but inexpensive doesn’t necessarily mean deprived. One of the basic lifestyle decisions is where you want to cruise. Does he dream of Arctic endurance trials while you’re dreaming of tropical indulgence? Are you on the same time table for your cruise. Does he want to push on to a new port every night getting to some unnamed destination while you want to spend time enough to get to know the locals and maybe even become one? Do you require a daily hot shower, coiffed hair and manicured nails? While many hard scrabble cruisers may scoff at these needs, if they are important to you you’d better let it be known. Believe me there are well groomed people out here too, author not included, so it can be done but once again you have to plan for it by choosing a boat that can supply the electrical and water capacity necessary, or a dock and location that provides the necessary services. Do you live for golf or tennis or whatever? Once again it can be done but make sure you cruise where these things are available. These are just a few of the lifestyle questions that need answered because it will influence what kind of boat you buy. It will also influence the cruising kitty needed to live the lifestyle that is acceptable to you. It's better to make your needs known now before you end up with a boat that cannot provide them or a budget that won't support them. And remember...you can compromise but do not cave in.

As always, I'd love to hear from other First Mates or First Mate Wanna Be's on this topic. Please!
Just click on the comment link on the bottom of this post. You no longer have to register. Just click Name/Url and put it your name.

Also you can email any of my posts to friends by clicking on the envelope.

Also,Also,I have been trying to get the advertisements more relevant to this site and it doesn't seem to be working on the main page but if you click on the "Link" on the bottom of the posts those advertisements seem to be more for the boating stuff we or our captains love.

One more thing.... I have added links to my favorite boating websites and blogs on the left side of the page under "About Me"

Oh yeah, if I get lucky enough to actually have readers that follow this site, I'd love to know who you are. You can register in the Fellow First Mates section also on the left side of the page underneath "My Blog Sites. Don't be shy.

Have Fun!

BOYS AND THEIR TOYS

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BOAT

BOYS AND THEIR TOYS

They say Christopher Columbus made his voyage to the New World
with just some ships, a compass, and the stars.

No Way! He was a guy, after all.

"Honey, next time you go down.. . . ."
What follows is usually a plea for something necessary to sustaining life
as we know it.. .like a beer. And "next time you go downn means within the next
30 seconds, please.

When I look up from my once again interrupted novel, the cap'n pleads,
"I would but I'm driving the boat."

As I descend the companionway, I look back at the cap'n. Yep, he's
behind the helm, alright. His eyes are busily scanning. Only one thing's missing
in this little scenario. His hands aren't on the helm. That's right, he's not really
driving the boat. Otto, our trusty autopilot is responsible for the steering of this
boat because the cap'n has become much too busy for even this task.

In response to my profane mumble he explains, "Someone has to be on lookout. Oh, and while you're down there. .. ."

As I finally start to arise from the companionway, I do a quick scan of the
horizon. As suspected, not a boat in sight. Just to confirm this, I confer with the
brand new radar, you know the one that sounds an alarm should anything even
think about coming close to your boat. The radar concurs. There's not a darn
thing out there. Which brings me to my point.

What the hell do they stare at all day? Lots of things actually. Did I say he was scanning the ocean or the sky? No. Instead he is scanning multiple neon electronic screens. I don't want to
mislead you, the cap'n still believes that even with all the modern gadgets, sailing
still requires constant vigilance. After all, it takes constant searching for markers
and buoys just to convince the male brain that the GPS really does know where
we are. The funniest thing is the cap'n continues to be incredulous every time
it's right. Which, luckily, is pretty often. But the cap'n remains skeptical.
So now tucked into the corner of the cockpit is the laptop computer with a
display strikingly similar to the one on the GPS. There's that little boat thing
following the little line thing. "Honey, "zoom in" on the computer," comes the command from the cap'n who is seemingly encased behind some invisible shield that prevents him from
moving from behind the helm. Or maybe it's just all the stuff crowding the
cockpit that keeps him imprisoned.

The computer and the GPS agree about our lattitude and longitude but
the cap'n is still not convinced. So just to make sure he consults the paper
charts strewn about the cockpit. "I'll be damned, they're right!" he exclaims.
Boating used to be so simple. I remember when we were thrilled and,
admittedly, sometimes surprised to reach our planned destination with just paper
charts and a compass. Later our little handheld GPS became a reassuring
addition. Then things kind of snowballed. When we bought our own boat we
bought a bigger GPS, even though the boat had it's own and by that time we had
acquired a total of three handhelds. (Don't ask me how that happened. I don't
understand it myself). Our new boat also had a radar, which we never had
before. It never really worked that well but at least we did wait until that one
cratered before we bought a new one. Still the cap'n hauled the old one around
on our deck (I wouldn't let him bring it down below) for a month, convinced that it
had some value or could be used for spare parts. It took three uninterested
dealers for him to be convinced that the only job it was suitable for was as an
anchor.

Our latest navigational aid venture, but I assure you, not our last, is
computerized charts. Of course this wasn't really the cap'ns doing. It seems
one of our friends forced him to download all of these charts on to our laptop
(which was primarily put on board for my use), and use up all our hard drive
space. So now sailing has become a quagmire of navigational aid consultations.
Long before time to set sail, the cap'n plots and plans and plugs in waypoints.
Constantly checking, consulting, comparing, and rechecking. All to make our life
a little easier he says. Ahhh.. . Sympathy stirs for the poor cap'n beleagured by
all of this. But then, just as my foot hits the top rung of the companionway ladder.. .
"Honey, before you come up.. . ."