HEAD-TO-HEAD COMBAT

The competitive spirit at the sailboat show bordered on brutal. It was nasty head-to-head combat, a veritable pissing match.

But this was not for Boat of the Year, it was for composting heads. Really.

Composting heads are brilliant. They are self-contained toilets that take otherwise icky contents and magically convert it to dirt -- almost odor free. You just dump the dirt, no search for pumpout stations, no messy connectors, no holding tank.

But the two producers of these composting heads were at the boat show and engaged in a stinky, junior-high style competition over who has the better product. One, who claims to be the original, has an entire sheet outlining the unpleasantness, including statements like, "they just can't have the breadth of understanding that I have" (about poop) and "I have made countless changes that really aren't noticeable to people." SOLD!

Ours has a remote fan!
Ours has an internal fan!
Ours has no dangerous separate seat!
Theirs has no separate seat!
Our seat is bigger!
Our seat is fine, but we made a bigger one just in case!

It's enough to make your head spin.

MISSED OPPORTUNITY

The sign read, "Marriage Savers!"

One of the vendors at the Annapolis Sailboat show was selling headphones designed for onboard communication. So, for instance, when your spouse is at the bow dropping the anchor and you are at the wheel, the headphones amplify what your spouse is screaming -- straight into your ear.

This is not a product I need.

The product I need is more of a United Nations variety where some calm, sane intercessor translates what my spouse is saying into soothing and sensible language I understand.

Here's how it would work:

Husband at the bow: What the $&*@) are you $*%*ing doing?!?! You're coming in too #*&$#( hot!!

Wife hears: Sweetie, you need to slow down a little.

Wife says: The #&#ing engine &$#$& up. You better (&#(*@ get your &$#ing *&#$ in the water and $&(*#&) the &*(#$^ line you kicked in the water off the &*(#$&$ing propeller.

Husband hears: I believe the engine has seized up, honey. Would you mind diving on the propellor to see if there's a problem? Maybe something to do with that little line you knocked into the water? Or maybe it was me that kicked it in. Yes. It must have been me. Wait, I'll go in. I'm a better swimmer.

Husband says: Mmph, nnh your mother zhen phflt.

Wife hears: This could be the best week of my life. All this togetherness just gets better and better.

Wife says: Zhenf eoridr, over my dead phenfnen.

Husband hears: Sweet Pea, after I chip all the barnacles off the bottom and wax the hull, I'll fix you a rum drink and your favorite dinner. You just relax.

Just think how smoothly this conversation would have gone with the headphones.

Translation headphones. There's a product that would save a marriage.

A FABULOUS ENDING?

If this blog were a book I was reading, I would totally be checking to see if we're close to the end. Surely this is the climax just before everything finds a swift and satisfying conclusion.

I'd be looking at the photos in the middle of the book to see what kind of boat they bought. I'd read the author bio on the last page to see where they were when the book was published:

Plodding to Paradise is the author's first book. Her writing has been published in Fabulous Sailing Magazine, Another Fabulous Sailing Magazine and other sailing magazines. The author and her husband, Chip, live aboard their Fabulous 38' sailboat and, at the time of publication, were cruising the Fabulous Islands.

After assuring myself a fabulous ending awaits, I would settle back in to find out how much it cost to fix the dent in the hull, if the author decided to have surgery, who bought the wine shop and how freakin' long it took for them to get on the water.

Are you getting bored too?

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!?!?

QUESTION #3: Tammy has pain in her stomach because she:

a. swallowed a giant squid
b. did a huge belly flop in shallow water
c. has scar tissue from a war wound
d. has been practicing sword swallowing to earn cruising pennies
e. all of the above

If you answered c., you are correct. Okay, war wound might be a bit of an overstatement, but I can't just hand feed you the answers.

We went to the surgeon this morning to get the results of last week's x-rays, the one where they made me swallow glass after glass of white poison. The good news is, my intestines are working fine, considering. The bad news is the considering. After my kidney was removed three years ago (another tale entirely), my body reacted by spinning out scar tissue, which basically velcroed part of my intestines to my abdominal wall. They discovered this during that laparoscopic surgery in March. Photos available on request.

The choices? Live with the pain and potential of an obstruction or have more surgery.

What does it mean, Isabella and I and our belly wounds this week? What does it mean?

When I met Chip 12 years ago, his mantra was "What does it mean?" It's a valid question and an admirable pursuit, trying to learn from life's path, identify ways to grow and become a better person along the way. I've tried to learn from his learning.

He rarely says "what does it mean" any more. Maybe because my mantra became, "Stop saying that already!"

UPDATE:
--The surveyor looked at Isabella's scar tissue this morning and said we have to either live with the pain (that being no chance of passing a survey if/when we sell her) or surgery. Right now they're removing the coolers under the settee to assess the damage and give us an estimate on repairs.
--We don't know what all of this means right now. We don't even know what we're going to do about us girls and our wounds. Sometimes meaning doesn't emerge until much water has passed under the hull. That will be another quiz for another day.

BELLY FLOP

QUESTION #2: How did Isabella get a big-ass dent in her belly?

a. What??!?!! There's a dent?
b. By running over a giant sea squid
c. By doing a big belly flop in shallow water
d. By a badly placed jack on a long road trip from Florida.
e. Any of the above.

If you answered any of these, you could be right. We don't know for sure, but when we first got the call it was definitely a. Then after throwing around about 29 possibilities, we decided it must be d. We bought Isabella in Fort Lauderdale and trucked her to North Carolina. Was there a jack in that spot? Maybe.

I would show you a photo of the indentation, which sounded much worse on the phone, but you can't really see it. It's a shallow indentation that none of us even noticed until they went to prop her up on jacks.

This is not good news, but we just keep saying, "at least we didn't have a prospective buyer in tow." That would have been a real deal killer. A surveyor is going to look at the hull tomorrow, and then we'll regroup.

Life is interesting. Stay tuned. This could be expensive.

SOUTH INTO THE WIND'S TEETH

Question #1: Chip and Tammy's trip to Wanchese on Isabella was hairy because of:

a. a late start
b. a wrong turn (or a really long, wide one)
c. a big blow
d. running over a giant squid
e. all of the above
f. all of the above except d (and technically e as well)

If you said f, you are correct.

About three hours into the trip, when we were at the R in OUR, things went south. Well, we were TRYING to go south(ish), but there might as well have been a giant squid in our path. The wind had been slowly building all morning, something we knew was coming, but there was that a. and b. problem.

So by the time we got to the R in OUR we had the c. problem. It was blowing a steady 20-25 with much higher gusts. The waves had built to 3-4 feet, and we were under power, very little of it. At the confluence of all those arrows, we were going about as fast as I could walk (on land). If the engine had died, it would have been SO ugly. The channel is about as wide as that red arrow with shallow water on either side, not shallow like 6 feet, shallow like 1-2 feet.

All this was a good reminder of why we love sailing and hate motoring. We were at the total mercy of the engine.

But, frankly, if it hadn't been a wee bit terrifying thinking of all the possible things that could go wrong with the engine, it would have been a hoot. It's a natural thrill to ride the waves, to lean into the wind, to take the occasional spray -- and to watch for sea creatures (we saw dolphins).

But, it was a wee bit terrifying, the engine did not die, we did not run over (or even see) a giant squid, and we made it safely to the boatyard. High fives in the cockpit.

REMINDER:
a. don't be late
b. don't take a wrong turn
c. give a big blow plenty of sea room
d. fear the giant squid
e. all of the above

ODE TO ISABELLA

I cried the day we bought Isabella. Tears of joy, relief. Tears of hope for our future onboard.

When Chip and I met, the kids were only 8 years old, and the happy years of raising them stretched out far into the future, almost as far as the mind could comprehend. But the day we bought Isabella was the first crystallized moment when it was about just the two us, about building another life beyond school lunches, band concerts, soccer and visitation schedules.

The day we brought Isabella home, the kids were sixteen and so wrapped up in their own teenaged world, that they hadn't paid much attention to our cruising plans. But that day Casey took one look at the new boat, eyes wide, and said, "You're really going to do this, aren't you?"

It's what we were thinking as well, our first major step toward the water, and every step after became more focused and purposeful. Isabella, we believed, would be our next home, and all our time on her was taking us closer to realizing a dream.

It was a sad moment when we decided last year that she would not be our cruising boat. The decision was about needing a bigger boat and not at all about our feelings for her.

People frequently ask us if we were sad to leave the house or if we'll be sad when we sell the store. The answer is always a resounding no.

But will we be sad when we sell Isabella? She is our only "belonging" that holds our emotional investment. She was, after all, our first mental ticket to board a dream.

We know all her strengths and weaknesses, and she taught us so much about our own.

The day we wave goodbye to her is one I can hardly bear to imagine. She will surely sail away with a new owner on water mingled with my tears, tears of sadness that she sails without us, tears of hope that she will always sail on fair winds and kind seas.

UPDATE:
--Weather permitting, we are taking Isabella to Wanchese tomorrow for new bottom paint. If it's blowing too much, we'll take her on Tuesday.
--We continue to be deafened by the noise about the wine shop, but no real news to report.