The Pull to Relax

I can't quite get my eyes open, they are still heavy with sleep.  I can feel the warmth of the sun hitting my face as it comes through the hatch.  Most mornings I detest this invasion of light and warmth, but today it is softly pulling me awake, teasing me with the promise of a new day.  I hear a few seagulls, but mostly the clanking sound of halyards hitting the masts on all the boats around us. These merry sounds seem to be the percussive music of a sailor.  They consider it a natural sound of the environment, part of marina life.

I pull myself to a seated position, being careful not to bump my head on the low bulkhead(ceiling).  Rubbing my eyes and testing how far they will open, before rubbing them again. It's a little warm in the quarter berth, Andrew and I's small bed tucked into one side of the back of the boat.  Swinging my legs around, I pull myself out of the berth.  I turn back to look at the mess of sheets, I will do the game of twister to get the bed made later. I stumble forward to the head (bathroom).  Things are coming more naturally now, like the conservation of water.  Turn on a small amount of water, get your hands wet, turn off the water, pump out the soap, lather and scrub, turn the water on and rinse quickly then turn the water off.  There is a lot of turning the water on and off, not that we can't just refill the water tanks, but it is something we are learning.  I wash the sleep from my eyes and brush my teeth.  Pulling my hair into a loose ponytail, I look for something to wear.  We are currently keeping our clothes in plastic bins in the v-berth that we have dubbed the "garage".  I pull on some yoga pants, a tee and find my flip-flops.  After a quick breakfast, coffee and a shower (at the clubhouse), I start working for the day, checking emails, cleaning up the boat, preparing paperwork for the show I am doing.

 There is a slight motion in the boat, although these days I am starting to not notice it.  But if I look out one of the windows I can see the masts of other boats seem to float around.  I keeping plugging away, but the sun is rising higher in the sky and the delicious brightness is calling me outside.  I can't concentrate, how can anyone possibly want to work when you are in a vacation-type setting.  So I grab a book, a summer ale and sit in the cockpit and read.  I could stay right here all day.  There is very little movement on the water, the breeze is keeping me for getting too hot and I have a nice cold drink. As I glance up from my book, I have a fleeting thought about what to make for dinner.  But really that is hours away, plenty of time for planning...back to the story and the beer and the sunshine.

Why the Silence?

Why the lack of posts, the silence, the details.  One would hope that it would be from the fact that we were having so much fun sailing around on the Long Island Sound that we didn't have time to write.  If wishing made it so...

The truth is the month of June was so depressing in boat land that I could not bring myself to write about the mountains of things that were going wrong.  Yes that was mountainS - plural- because the amount of things was insane.  I will write a little more soon about the adventure (when I can handle not crying every time I think about it) but here is the short version:

The day before we were to bring the boat north, the engine sang its farewell song.  This coming after a load of other problems.  After the yard looked at the engine it was decided that we needed a new one.  And then began the long haul of waiting, working and worrying.  The boat finally arrived in Glen Island, NY on July 8th (one month and a week after we were scheduled).

So now we are here.  And I really enjoy it.  There are things I love (being close to the water) and things I hate (our bed is so uncomfortable).  I sit here in our dinette with coffee in hand and look out into the marina - and think that this is my life. Amazing.  I mean how could you not love if this was your porch and the Long Island Sound was your backyard.  You can see our Hafwen, four boats up from the bottom.  Allmand 31 on the hull.

So I promise more to come...before the winter springs on us.