You'd think we've taken a vow of poverty.
Our near-empty apartment has no comfortable place to sit. I huddle in a slack purple chair that passed its prime about the same time I did, because the couch sends my post-prime back into spasms. Our dorm-worthy desk chair groans and creaks, just like we do if we sit in it. My car, which should have been sold two years ago, has peeling paint, a broken radio knob and a smear of rust on the door.
My clothes are so pared down, it's a struggle to keep up a good land front, and last spring I actually turned down an invitation to a party in D.C., because I didn't have shoes to wear.
A normal person would buy new shoes and furniture, but we're not normal. We've taken a vow of sailing and any step back, be it amassing furniture or clothing, would be an admission of defeat.
And yet, in addition to that discomfiture (discomfurniture?) on land, I feel almost as ill-equipped for the next life too. I read about new radar technology, wind-speed indicators and navigation software like I'm trying to decipher the Rosetta Stone. And even though my clothing is ill-suited for land, I don't know if it's well-suited for sea living either -- because I'm not there yet.
When I talk about sailing with land people, I sound like a senior talking to a freshman. When I talk about sailing with sailors, it's me that's the rising freshman.
That's what we are. Rising sailors. One foot on land, the other in the water.
UPDATE:
--Isabella gets better by the day: restitched the whole canopy; oiled the interior wood; cleaned the portholes; replacing the starter. We'll be painting the deck soon.
--Looking at financing options for purchasing an Island Packet soon.
--No winner in the house search yet. We have until the end of December ...
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