The Anecdotal Life Part. 75
Aha! The diamond anniversary of my blog. I celebrated by zipping off from collage class on the Eastern shore and driving north to my boat, hoping the light would hold, while I emptied the scuppers. "How bad could they be?" I mused. "I am out in the open, trees must be forty feet away." Nevertheless, I felt uneasy and uneasy lies the head that owns a boat. A better, more complete quote by Kipling applies ," Oh rash and inexperienced traveler." I think, but am not certain, that the snake said that to the elephant's child. (I will have to ask the "Professor", my big sister, Diane, she knows everything.)
Walking up to the boat, everything looked copacetic. I ambled around to the rear to peak into the scuppers. Mmmm, very dark in there... very dark. I poked my finger in it. OOOg! Large, large, error. No hope for it. I would have to swipe a ladder out from under a boat I just past and throw myself up over the side again this year. The trouble with swiping ladders that have been left out is that they suck. They are rickety and belong to some guy who is at least six-foot-five and so the fact that the ladder is somewhat short "makes no nevermind"to the owner.
What it means for me is a wobbly climb to the top, standing on tiptoe on the top step, hanging on like blue blazes to the boat handle and trying to figure how to swing my leg up over another foot and a half and not lose hold of the said handle. If I shove off the ladder too hard, I may toss it to the ground. Then I would be marooned and have to yell for help and I was so tired of doing that. But I made it without too many bruises. I wore a lot of padding on purpose.
The cockpit was full of crappy surprises. The big plastic bucket had blown over and dumped a sponge and some wierd twine into the enormous pile of burrballs that were all backed up waiting to jam the scuppers further. The leaves had been first up in the lineup for that task. It was awful and cruddy and I had to go into the cabin for a broom and towels. But I got it clean just before dark. I threw myself back over the side and made it down not missing the bottom step like I did last year. That manuever killed my left big toe. Furthermore, when at last I got home and turned on the tv, the weather report was dismal for the next week or so in terms of snow and ice. I smiled. I had saved my boat from drowning while on dry land, which is what backed up scuppers can do if the cockpit fills with water and inundates the cabin and engines. Learned my lesson and barely in time. Next year I will get there sooner and oftener. This year I had some sort of rather elegant excuse. I had forgotten the scuppers midst the flurry surrounding the birth of my new grandson, Logan, and had flown to Santa Monica. I wonder if he will think his grandmother is a bit different? Well, who needs a boring grandmother anyway?
Copyright: February 12, 2008
Walking up to the boat, everything looked copacetic. I ambled around to the rear to peak into the scuppers. Mmmm, very dark in there... very dark. I poked my finger in it. OOOg! Large, large, error. No hope for it. I would have to swipe a ladder out from under a boat I just past and throw myself up over the side again this year. The trouble with swiping ladders that have been left out is that they suck. They are rickety and belong to some guy who is at least six-foot-five and so the fact that the ladder is somewhat short "makes no nevermind"to the owner.
What it means for me is a wobbly climb to the top, standing on tiptoe on the top step, hanging on like blue blazes to the boat handle and trying to figure how to swing my leg up over another foot and a half and not lose hold of the said handle. If I shove off the ladder too hard, I may toss it to the ground. Then I would be marooned and have to yell for help and I was so tired of doing that. But I made it without too many bruises. I wore a lot of padding on purpose.
The cockpit was full of crappy surprises. The big plastic bucket had blown over and dumped a sponge and some wierd twine into the enormous pile of burrballs that were all backed up waiting to jam the scuppers further. The leaves had been first up in the lineup for that task. It was awful and cruddy and I had to go into the cabin for a broom and towels. But I got it clean just before dark. I threw myself back over the side and made it down not missing the bottom step like I did last year. That manuever killed my left big toe. Furthermore, when at last I got home and turned on the tv, the weather report was dismal for the next week or so in terms of snow and ice. I smiled. I had saved my boat from drowning while on dry land, which is what backed up scuppers can do if the cockpit fills with water and inundates the cabin and engines. Learned my lesson and barely in time. Next year I will get there sooner and oftener. This year I had some sort of rather elegant excuse. I had forgotten the scuppers midst the flurry surrounding the birth of my new grandson, Logan, and had flown to Santa Monica. I wonder if he will think his grandmother is a bit different? Well, who needs a boring grandmother anyway?
Copyright: February 12, 2008
posted by The Anecdotal Life at 5:44 AM
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