I've been distracted by boat maintenance and being so tired at night that I fall into bed half comatose, not able to rub two thoughts together worth writing about.
We launched out boat after a week of back and arm breaking work, rubbing on the oxidation cream, wiping it off and then waxing her entire topside, shear agony for the rotator cuff. Then applying the bottom paint and all the mold removal that is typical from a boat sitting under a tarp. My legs still have a chemical burn where I lay on the cabin top in a pool of Spray 9 bubbles, blitzing the mold dots into oblivion while creating red rash dots on my legs. I hoped perhaps the chemical burn would prevent the hairs from growing, avoiding the need to shave, but no such luck as a healthy new growth continues. There’s no easy way to scrub the deck; the space is narrow between the cabin top and the life lines. I can only bend so much and twist my poor body into painful contortions for so long, so I sit on my butt and work from that position, soaked with the cleaner.
If either hubby or I were to end up dead and our corpse lands on an undertaker's slab, the police would be called in to investigate a suspicious death. We are covered in bruises from head to toe, scabbed from cuts and scrapes. We look like we took a nasty beating, punched and kicked in the shins, butt and arms. One of us would surely be sitting in jail for the other’s murder. Boat bites! She sinks her teeth into us as if she begrudges our efforts. We work so very hard to make her shine and she nips us as if we're taking a bone from a junkyard dog. I suppose it’s bound to happen in tight quarters, so much to bang into or fall over. Maybe we’re a bunch of klutzes, off balance and accident prone, our continuous cry of "ouch" a duet out of tune. We now move like old men, bent at the hips and knees, practically dragging our knuckles on the ground, our bodies sore to the marrow. We grown getting out of a chair, reaching down to pet a pup on the floor, getting out of bed.
This past weekend was the Heritage Shipyard Weekend and hubby is on the committee and when he came downstairs with shorts on I took one look at his legs and gasped. They looked like a dog’s breakfast after a regurgitation, so I got out my compact and covered all the raging redness and scars with foundation. They looked like a new pair of legs, I couldn’t believe the transformation! This way, no one would think he suffered from scurvy or scabies, or some other debilitating illness that turns skin to a ragtag mess, making him approachable for questions or conversation.
Despite being top to bottom, black-and-blue, it’s rewarding work to bring our boat back to her former glory. Like renovating a house, it comes with a great deal of satisfaction, but I’m beginning to understand the joke how a boat is a hole in the water that you throw money into. Luckily we can keep the expense down by doing a lot of work ourselves, and quite frankly, the few jobs we had the so called professionals do have not served us well. Three hatches had their old Lexan changed for new, complete with new gaskets and all leaked like a sieve with today’s rain. A paint job around the ignition panel to cover a previous bad paint job left the surface lumpy and streaky. The paint colour matching was excellent but the technique of applying the finish was juvenile at best. I could have done better with a spatula.
Did I tell you the engine died on our way to Mahone Bay after the launch? I mean what the? We’re still waiting for parts so she sits on the mooring without a motor. We can run it for a short time, enough to get to the wharf but she overheats when taxed and the alarms screech and the bells ring so we can’t go sailing. If the wind were to die, the sail would be useless and we’d have to throw out the anchor and be stranded or dash upon the rocks along the shore.
Although sailing is the ultimate reward for all the work, I’m not bothered too much. As long as I’m on her, whether being on the hard or sitting in the harbour, I find the greatest peace and joy in her surroundings. Laying in her belly on a bunk or stretched out along her cockpit I feel truly at peace. I napped on her Sunday, we were tied up at the wharf so the marine electronics guy who has a broken leg and cast could get on board to install an inverter that converts 12 volt power into 120 volt. Although time at the wharf is included with our mooring fee, it is difficult to get in as other boats pay to hang there, so last year we never got in to run a vacuum on shore power and the boat got pretty grungy. So now I can clean her anywhere. I have lots of sanding to do this year as I am refreshing her teak inside the cabin and clean-up will be a breeze. I must admit having to do so much cleaning was a revelation that surprised me. I thought on the water things would stay pristine but the place gets as dirty as home.
So after the electronics guy left I basked in the sun. Monday was Natal Day and the shop was closed so I hung on the boat all day as well. We stayed at the wharf until they asked us to leave. I’ve not felt that kind of relaxation and total bliss for some time. Honey and I curled up and slept in the cockpit, even though people came to the end of the wharf and saw us. I hope I didn’t drool too much but I wasn’t concerned enough to go below. We were cuddled under a blanket and had the best, deep sleep I’ve had in a long time, rocking gently to and fro as if floating in a mother’s womb.
We launched out boat after a week of back and arm breaking work, rubbing on the oxidation cream, wiping it off and then waxing her entire topside, shear agony for the rotator cuff. Then applying the bottom paint and all the mold removal that is typical from a boat sitting under a tarp. My legs still have a chemical burn where I lay on the cabin top in a pool of Spray 9 bubbles, blitzing the mold dots into oblivion while creating red rash dots on my legs. I hoped perhaps the chemical burn would prevent the hairs from growing, avoiding the need to shave, but no such luck as a healthy new growth continues. There’s no easy way to scrub the deck; the space is narrow between the cabin top and the life lines. I can only bend so much and twist my poor body into painful contortions for so long, so I sit on my butt and work from that position, soaked with the cleaner.
If either hubby or I were to end up dead and our corpse lands on an undertaker's slab, the police would be called in to investigate a suspicious death. We are covered in bruises from head to toe, scabbed from cuts and scrapes. We look like we took a nasty beating, punched and kicked in the shins, butt and arms. One of us would surely be sitting in jail for the other’s murder. Boat bites! She sinks her teeth into us as if she begrudges our efforts. We work so very hard to make her shine and she nips us as if we're taking a bone from a junkyard dog. I suppose it’s bound to happen in tight quarters, so much to bang into or fall over. Maybe we’re a bunch of klutzes, off balance and accident prone, our continuous cry of "ouch" a duet out of tune. We now move like old men, bent at the hips and knees, practically dragging our knuckles on the ground, our bodies sore to the marrow. We grown getting out of a chair, reaching down to pet a pup on the floor, getting out of bed.
This past weekend was the Heritage Shipyard Weekend and hubby is on the committee and when he came downstairs with shorts on I took one look at his legs and gasped. They looked like a dog’s breakfast after a regurgitation, so I got out my compact and covered all the raging redness and scars with foundation. They looked like a new pair of legs, I couldn’t believe the transformation! This way, no one would think he suffered from scurvy or scabies, or some other debilitating illness that turns skin to a ragtag mess, making him approachable for questions or conversation.
Despite being top to bottom, black-and-blue, it’s rewarding work to bring our boat back to her former glory. Like renovating a house, it comes with a great deal of satisfaction, but I’m beginning to understand the joke how a boat is a hole in the water that you throw money into. Luckily we can keep the expense down by doing a lot of work ourselves, and quite frankly, the few jobs we had the so called professionals do have not served us well. Three hatches had their old Lexan changed for new, complete with new gaskets and all leaked like a sieve with today’s rain. A paint job around the ignition panel to cover a previous bad paint job left the surface lumpy and streaky. The paint colour matching was excellent but the technique of applying the finish was juvenile at best. I could have done better with a spatula.
Did I tell you the engine died on our way to Mahone Bay after the launch? I mean what the? We’re still waiting for parts so she sits on the mooring without a motor. We can run it for a short time, enough to get to the wharf but she overheats when taxed and the alarms screech and the bells ring so we can’t go sailing. If the wind were to die, the sail would be useless and we’d have to throw out the anchor and be stranded or dash upon the rocks along the shore.
Although sailing is the ultimate reward for all the work, I’m not bothered too much. As long as I’m on her, whether being on the hard or sitting in the harbour, I find the greatest peace and joy in her surroundings. Laying in her belly on a bunk or stretched out along her cockpit I feel truly at peace. I napped on her Sunday, we were tied up at the wharf so the marine electronics guy who has a broken leg and cast could get on board to install an inverter that converts 12 volt power into 120 volt. Although time at the wharf is included with our mooring fee, it is difficult to get in as other boats pay to hang there, so last year we never got in to run a vacuum on shore power and the boat got pretty grungy. So now I can clean her anywhere. I have lots of sanding to do this year as I am refreshing her teak inside the cabin and clean-up will be a breeze. I must admit having to do so much cleaning was a revelation that surprised me. I thought on the water things would stay pristine but the place gets as dirty as home.
So after the electronics guy left I basked in the sun. Monday was Natal Day and the shop was closed so I hung on the boat all day as well. We stayed at the wharf until they asked us to leave. I’ve not felt that kind of relaxation and total bliss for some time. Honey and I curled up and slept in the cockpit, even though people came to the end of the wharf and saw us. I hope I didn’t drool too much but I wasn’t concerned enough to go below. We were cuddled under a blanket and had the best, deep sleep I’ve had in a long time, rocking gently to and fro as if floating in a mother’s womb.
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