Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Something Is Not Right

The crew of the Dragonfly are off the boat this week, but we're bringing you some SlowBoat Flashbacks.
Preparing the helipad? No, just boat chores

First, a status report on the War of Boat-Crew Oppression against Spiders. Early in the trip, our decks were thickly occupied with web spinners, and I don't mean Toby McGuire in a stretchy suit.

At the Looper Rendezvous in Alabama, experts assured us that once we made it to salt water, the landlubbing spideys would vanish.

SO not true!  Those suckers parachute in!  On little strands of spider silk! Which one reason is why we need . . . .

A boat-top helipad and a remote-controlled helicopter to sit on it.  As you know if you've been reading the blog for a while, Cap's been Jonesing for one for months.

The first defensive use, of course, is to drop dead fish on obnoxious fast-moving powerboats. We want a coptor large enuf to lift Asian carp, and our new friend Barry in Charleston tells us Brookstone has a new helicopter, larger than the shopping mall toy you may have seen, that just might do the job.  I'm wondering if it can also be equipped with an anti-spider fogging spray (eco-safe, natch).

When we first sailed away, back in June, many friends who'd seen pix of the boat wondered how in the world we would ever adjust to living in such a small space.  As evidence that we've adjusted, I relate this tale.

Sunday night I woke with a start around 3 AM and gazed at the window, confused.  Why was the window at the FOOT of the bed? I KNEW the window was on the side of the boat, over my berth. Had I somehow gotten twisted around in bed?

I looked up and saw, over my head, not the wooden shelf that holds our books, but what appeared to be a porthole.

WHAT was going on?  Was I on a DIFFERENT boat?  And  if so, why?

And just then Cap sat bolt upright in bed.  He looked around in alarm.  In a voice thick with sleep, he announced urgently, "Something is not right!"

Suddenly, something shifted in my brain. I knew what the problem was. "We're not on the boat, honey. We're at your parents' house in Cortland."

The "porthole" was a round picture frame, the window a conventional house window.  But our brains put us squarely on the boat.

I'd say we're used to it.

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