LEARNING WHAT WORKS -- OR NOT

Manteo, NC -- Before I moved onto a boat, I thought, bamboo chopsticks, perfect!

Now that we've been through two hurricanes and tons of rain, the boat is a little damp. Not because it's leaking, but rather because the air is humid.

I opened a drawer in the kitchen and found those mildewed chopsticks in the photo.

Wood is fine, it just has to be finished or heavily oiled. Lesson learned.

On another note, you might wonder if it's possible to mess up a recipe with only three ingredients. The answer is yes.

I made corn tortillas tonight. They were terrible.

Guess I'll try again another day... If you have advice, please, click on that "comment" link below and let me know!

TAMMY-PROOF?

Today I found some windproof matches.

I tried one to see if it worked.

Then I tried to blow it out.

I hope I don't burn down the ocean.

POST OFFICE BLOCKS

Our tenuous plan for handling our mail: Get a P.O. Box near Chip's parents in Bridgeville, Delaware. Easy.

My conversation with the post office worker went something like this:

Me: I need info on renting a P.O. box.

Dude, looking all confident: All you need is a driver's license and a car insurance card.

Me, feeling hopeful: Do I have to be a Delaware resident?

Dude, looking impatient: No, but we have to send a letter to your current residence and have it sent back to us with proof of residence.

Me, feeling less hopeful: You mean, like a physical address?

Dude, looking somewhat confused: Yes?

Me, feeling ashamed: I don't have an address. I live on a boat.

"You live on a boat!?!?"

We stared at each other for a minute or so.

Me, grasping at straws: What if I used my in-laws' address?

"Okay, what's their address?"

"I don't know. I don't live there."

Dude, longing for a customer who wants a simple book of stamps: I better go ask.

He walks away and then turns back: How long are you gonna be doing this?

As far as the U.S. Postal Service is concerned, we do not exist. I hope they notify the IRS.

THE DIRT

2010 marks the first year in 15 that I haven't had some small patch of earth to claim as my own, the first that I haven't indulged that springtime urge to peel back the still cool sod, to breath in that musty, primal aroma, to plunge my hands into the deep pulsing rhythm of our planet.

But there are things that must be traded for life on the water. Dirt would be one of those things. Cute leather boots would be another, but that's a topic for another day.

Last week I was walking into Ace Hardware, past the rack of pansies. The smell of potting soil wafted by and gripped me with a sense of nostalgia and sadness that I wouldn't be planting a garden.

A few days later I was walking into Home Depot, past the bags of grass seed and fertilizer. The smell of chemicals wafted by and filled me with elation that I wouldn't be burdened with a lawn this year.

I'm so fickle.

THE NEW, WRINKLE RESISTANT ME

Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes. --Henry David Thoreau, Walden

My land wardrobe reflects the fact that I'm anti-athletic. Like for instance my career as a softball player, which lasted one game, a game where I pitched. They called the game when my team fell behind 27-0 -- in the second inning.

Then there was the time I ran a 1K (yes, one K, one half of a mile), a benefit for the Special Olympics where seemingly "normal" people ran alongside the "special" athletes. About midway through the course, I was passing a Special Olympian who seemed to be struggling, so I ran along with him trying to assist. He did fine. I fell and sprained my ankle. I felt very special.

So, since I haven't been all that sporty, I'm completely sartorially ill-prepared for this new sport. Especially since Chip and I have taken a vow not to dress like typical cruisers, who are notorious for dressing poorly, in tacky, wrinkled clothing.

However, when you look at the closet space on a sailboat, you start to understand that wrinkled clothing thing -- and even the temptation (necessity?) of going clothing-free. 

This is my closet in the new boat. And, yes, that's a tissue box for scale.

In preparation to move aboard, I've been scouring the internet for quick-dry, wrinkle-resistant clothes, waterproof jackets, UV protected fabrics. I've been ordering from online stores intended for hikers, mountain climbers and surfers.

Thus, I'm slowly piecing together a wardrobe for hiking the deck as we surf mountainous waves.

I've always said, what you lack in substance must be made up with style.

PARKING THE FLEET

Now that we own two sailboats and a dinghy, we're puzzling over where to keep the fleet. (If you count the two life rafts, that would be a fleet of five.) Isabella's at a dock in Colington Harbor where she can stay until May. Good Company is still in Rock Hall, iced in. We'll bring her down as soon as the weather warms up -- in March?

There are only a few places in the Outer Banks where you can dock and liveaboard, the only close ones are on Roanoke Island.

One possibility is Shallowbag Marina, shown in that photo. It has good facilities -- gym, laundromat, bathrooms/showers, pool table (Dylan) -- and the advantage of floating docks. (Floating docks move up and down with the water and the boat, which allows you to set your lines and be done with it. Much less wear and tear on everything.) We've heard the marina's not very well protected in nor'easters. I'm also not sure about living outside the windows of dozens of condos, my own personal stage.

The dockmaster is holding a slip for us at the Manteo Waterfront -- just northwest of Shallowbag Marina. It's a truly quaint spot with lots of shops and restaurants in walking distance. However, we probably couldn't stay there past May. How tempting would it be to just sail away????

Now back to watching the weather in Rock Hall. Come on global warming, work with us!

YOU ARE HERE

Several times in the last week, I've left the wine shop to drive home and forgotten where I live.

As of today, we're in our fourth place since July. After a week in our cute little beach cottage, we've temporarily moved to the extra-large, oceanfront house where we'll be celebrating my 50th birthday -- with three days of parties.

After our week of luxurious, oceanfront living, we'll be heading to Maryland for the sea trial and survey on our new boat.

Perhaps this is a small taste of what it will be like to wake up in a new harbor every morning.

Where do we live? Wherever we are.

SHRIEKING EELS

If you happen to be awake at 4:00 a.m., a dark crevasse opens in the night, a terrifying place filled with dark, icy shrieking-eel-infested waters.

Actually, they're talking eels that tell you evil, slimy things, like, "That new boat you just bought? The salon is way too small. SHREEEEEEEK. The fold-down table is too big. It takes up the whole tiny salon. SSHHREEEEEEEEEK. That boat is way too expensive. What were you thinking?! SHHREEEEEK!!!" (They don't know how to spell "shriek.)

And then, along about sunrise, the crevasse closes, the eels clam up, and you're left with this little niggling doubt in the back of your brain...

REVIEW:
Three days of sheer joy
Two days of disbelief/denial
One day of buyer's remorse

What's next? Four shrieking birds?

I think I'll hit replay and go back to sheer joy.

CROSSROADS

How many crossroads can there be on one trip to the water? Seems like there's one every day, and we have no map.

We applied for a boat loan. If we're approved, we might go ahead and buy an Island Packet. Gasp. Two boats and no house? That seems ridiculous even to me. So instead of that oceanfront house, it could be a soundfront boat.

It's a thought we've been struggling with for about a month as we've watched IP380s selling like it's 1999. Our thoughts: Buy now while the prices are low. Live aboard and start fitting it out, getting used to it while we're  landbound, and, most importantly, start paying it off while we still have a good income. Why pay for housing when we could be paying off our boat ....

The problem: where to dock it. There is only one liveaboard option locally (Manteo), and it's full. This week we started looking at other options: Hatteras, Ocracoke, Deltaville, Norfolk, Edenton, Oriental. Chip would stay with friends two nights a week, and I would live aboard full time.

Yesterday, Chip got a call from the Manteo dockmaster. He unexpectedly has an opening. He called us first.

So in December, we're headed back up to Rock Hall, Maryland, to look at boats.

BETWEEN A ROCK AND THE WATER

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 ...

FINDING FOCUS

 Have you ever played that game Concentration where all the cards are face down and you turn them over two at a time, trying to find a match? That's what our second bedroom has been like for the last three months.

All the stuff we're keeping -- taking on the boat with us -- has been in three extra large bins. Every time I needed something, I would open one of the bins and pilfer around inside it, hoping to unearth a hidden treasure.

In fact, four times since we moved here in July I have scrounged through those huge bins looking for a waterproof bag for my camera. Four times I came out without the bag but not empty handed: a set of prayer flags, a stuffed rabbit, a pair of sailing gloves and a tea strainer. But no waterproof bag.
Last night we disgorged the contents of the bins into the middle of the floor sorting it into somewhat sensible piles: first aid, knives (we seem to have a lot of them), flashlights, bags, kitchen stuff, etc. We then stored those piles together in bags and boxes in hopes of happier hunting.

Then we dumped out all six boxes of books. On Round One, we picked out the books that were NOT optional: Sailmaker's Apprentice, Sailing Alone Around the World, Knots. Round Two, we chose the books we really, really wanted: To Kill a Mockingbird, Kon-Tiki, Treasure Island. In Round Three, we heartlessly cast aside the books that hadn't made the team, some of which are now on our bedside tables (crates) waiting to be read: American Lion, Iraq War Report, Leaves of Grass.

Can we get rid of any more stuff? Never say never.

Oh, and I found that waterproof bag.

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.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

Our culture just isn't set up for leaving the dirt behind. Take mail for instance.

For the last year, we've methodically tried to cut back on the volume of mail that we receive. Every time a piece of mail came in, we would call and ask the sender to delete us from their list. It always got tedious when they asked why. The lady at AARP was particularly flummoxed. I don't think "Moving onto a boat" was on the checklist. She said, "I'll just put 'going to sea,'" which I'm sure must be the AARP metaphor for "deceased."

Despite our constant attention to mail issues, when it came time to move out of the house in July, I had not thought about how to handle the remaining mail, things we couldn't legally leave behind like IRS information and car registration. In a last minute effort to avoid actually dealing with the issue, I had the post office hold our mail until I figured out what to do. That was working great until I realized they were also holding the mail of the new owner of our house.

I didn't want to pay for a post office box. Our new apartment doesn't have a mailbox. So, again under the gun, I had the mail forwarded to our work address. Our official residence is now a wine shop.

You might ask, like I do, what happens next? When we sell the store, we can't exactly forward the wine shop mail. I look forward to a life without catalogs of wine diva t-shirts and wine glass flip flops, and the new owners will likely want things like wine license renewal notices.

There are mail handling services for people doing what we're doing (cruising, I mean, not waiting to cruise). This year we might actually have to talk to them at the boat show before I get our mail any more twangled than it already is. Please don't drop us a line.

ALL UNDRESSED AND NO PLACE TO GO

We're attempting something that's not that easy: living a land life with only boat belongings.

Hand-grinding the coffee beans and living out of plastic bins is no big deal, but imagine living your daily life out of the suitcase you packed for a tropical vacation. A sun hat and sarong to a business meeting? No.

I managed to get through this summer without embarrassing myself too badly, but now I'm faced with the specter of the approaching seasons.

Last fall I disposed of 80% of my winter wardrobe, keeping just enough to eke through what we imagined was our last land winter. When we moved here to Camp III, I pitched another 10%, and now the remaining 10% of my winter wardrobe is hunkered down in the trunk of my car, the last stage before going to Goodwill -- I hoped.

"Just bring it in," Chip said, sounding so logical, when I was fretting about the thought of spending another winter on land.

But I'm already struggling with the realization that I have too many clothes for life at sea, even without the useless winter stuff. On top of that, something in my brain is telling me that if I bring them in, we're locked in to staying for another winter. If I would just take the load to charity, the last obstacle would be removed, and we could sail away.

Of course, that load of coats and long pants has nothing to do with when we'll go sailing, right? Right?

Icky Choice One: Chuck it right now. If we're somewhere cold this winter, I can either mummify myself in sarongs or buy more clothing.

Icky Choice Two: Find room for it here at Camp III, which seems as inappropriate as taking bikinis and flip flops to the real Camp III at 24,500 feet.

Icky Choice Three: Leave the clothes in the trunk and my head in the sand.

NEW QUESTIONS

We watch yachtworld.com like it's TV. Sometimes we even "watch" it together. We take note of each Island Packet that comes on the market, every time one goes under contract or a price drops.

This past year while our house was losing value, boat prices were careening down even faster. Our theory was to lower the price on the house to sell quickly and make up the difference when we bought a boat at a rock bottom price.

In the last few weeks, we're seeing signs that boat prices might have -- maybe -- hit bottom. Many of the boats we've been watching are now either sold or under contract.

What do we do? Wait to see if this really is the bottom? Get a credit line and buy now? Sell off all the wine and beer inventory and hit the water? (Don't think we haven't thought about it.)

Of course, if we go ahead and buy an Island Packet, that will put us in the weirdest situation yet: living in a college apartment and owning TWO large sailboats. That just seems so wrong.

So now we ponder the idea of putting Isabella with a broker and maybe taking her down to Oriental in hopes that she'll sell faster.

Pros:
1. She would appear on yachtworld.com and therefore reach a bigger audience.
2. She would be in a boatyard, so we wouldn't have to worry so much about her.
3. Oriental is a sailing community, unlike here, and centrally located for showings.
4. The broker would handle showings and contracts, sea trials, etc.

Cons:
1. She would be in a boatyard, which costs money.
2. The season is waning, so it might be next spring before she sells, thus more $$$.
3. Selling through a broker would cost us 10%.
4. These are all about $$$, aren't they?

Shouldn't waiting be easy? Shouldn't we be reading out-of-date magazines and eating free butterscotch candy?

UPDATE:
--Bayliss Open House yesterday. Hotter than hell but very smooth.
--Got an inquiry about Isabella. Someone wants to come for a look in September. A sign that we should wait?
--Biz prospects still threatening.

ON THE MOVE

As we were loading the cars to move today, my cell phone rang. It was our neighbor Ruth.

"You need some help? You can't move in that little white car! I've got a truck!"

It took a while, but I explained to her that as much as we appreciated the offer, we really didn't have much stuff to move.

"I can come on over with the truck. You can't move in a little car!"

Yes, we can.

My estimate about one load of furniture plus two carloads was a little short, but not by much.

We're in. Our little apartment by the beach.

DEEP SADNESS: My heart is so heavy today, I can barely type. My friend Linton Weeks and his wife Jan lost their two sons, Holt, 20, and Stone, 24, in a tragic car accident Thursday night. I hope that all our outstretched hands can lift even one small ounce of their immense grief.

RANDOM CONVERSATIONS

Yesterday an American Express representative called Chip to ask if he wanted a credit card. He said no.

The conversation went something like this:

AMEX: "We're doing a survey. Can you tell me why not?"

CHIP: "It's a long story."

AMEX: "Are you having financial issues?"

CHIP: "No."

AMEX: "Credit problems?"

CHIP: "I'm in the process of selling all my belongings and moving onto a sailboat."

Pause.

AMEX: "Umm ... uh ... Okay, bye."

----

A woman, Erin and her two-year-old son Toby came to look at our dresser. Our conversation went like this:

ERIN: "What kind of boat is that?"

TAMMY: "A Downeast."

ERIN: "We have a Westsail."

TAMMY: "No fucking way!" (Okay, I just thought that.) "REALLY? We almost got a Westsail!"

ERIN: "We live on it in Manteo."

TAMMY: "You're freakin' kidding me!" (I thought) "REALLY?"

I would have been less surprised if she told me she lived in a shoebox.

She is moving into a townhouse until they go cruising again in a few years, which is why she bought some of our furniture. It's going to a kindred home.

UPDATE:
--Transferred phone to new apartment.
--Puzzling over mail. Will forward it to wine shop but trying to get off mailing lists.
--FINISHED cds. 1909 items in iTunes.
--Sold that IKEA chair, the dresser, table, hamper ....

AN OFFERING

Okay, we got an actual offer on the house. It's not a bad one, although it has contingencies. It would close July 28.

I can't feel anything. What's wrong with me?

LONG DIVISION

Our friends who are road-tripping with their two beagles blogged recently about how they maintain marital bliss on the road. They accomplish this, in part, by dividing up their duties. This isn't like you fill the car with gas while I feed the dogs. This is you always fill the car with gas, and I always feed the dogs. They have divvied up every daily, weekly and periodic duty this way.

That got me thinking, wondering if this could work for us on the boat. When we first opened the wine shop together we imagined we would be completely interchangeable. We would both learn everything there is to know and be complete clones of each other. This didn't work. (Stop laughing.)

Eventually we realized that each of us had strengths and weaknesses that were complimentary and the duties and responsibilities could be divided up accordingly. Things ran much smoother after we embraced this concept.

We can apply this concept afloat with one major caveat: we both have to know how to handle all the duties. Unlike on the road, on the water, the lives of those onboard depend on maintaining systems. If the rigging isn't inspected and there's a failure, it can be both catastrophic and life threatening. The same goes for lifelines, leashes, life preservers, etc. To a lesser degree, if things aren't stowed properly they become hazardous or, if left up top, can be ruined or worse, disappear.

So what's the solution? We're thinking we create two carefully delineated duty lists that we alternate every month or so on a regular basis. That way, we know what our responsibilities are plus we know how to manage all the duties.

Now about that duty list .....

STRUGGLING WITH TECHNOLOGY

We have intentionally waited as long as possible to let technology grow up around us, but as we get closer to living onboard, we're now surveying what technologies are not only cool but indispensable. While neither of us are gadgeteers (you should see our antique cell phones), we do appreciate the conveniences and compact qualities of some electronic gadgets.

Take music for instance. When we bought our current boat in 2004, listening to music onboard required a receiver, a CD player, speakers and a cache of CDs. Five years later, we can now put our entire CD music library on an iPod the size of a thick credit card and listen to the songs on a deck the size of a box of Twinkies. That's a no-brainer.

And then there's books. I've been monitoring and studying amazon.com's Kindle electronic book since it first came out in November 2007. The new version released this month is a 10.2 ounce device that stores 1500 books. Its display is not backlit but looks like ink on paper. The Kindle does for books what the iPod does for music, sort of. The thing I can't do is dump my current library into the Kindle without purchasing the books again in electronic form, although some classics that are available for free. At first I worried that it might not hold up in a marine environment but I know of some live-aboards such as Captain Fatty Goodlander, who are using them without a problem.

There's also the allure of having the New York Times or The Washington Post waiting for me when I wake up onboard every morning. The library Amazon offers will surely grow over the years. (Hey, Amazon, how about some sailing magazines?)

Clearly the advantages are huge, but so is the price. It's a $349 initial investment plus a cover plus a waterproof cover. Any books that aren't free will run $3-$10. So I ponder whether or not to buy a used one on eBay, buy a new old version, wait.

We go through similar thoughts with the iPhone from Apple. While neither of us has any interest in it as a phone, having a small computer with internet access using cell phone technology gets us jazzed. There are lots of issues and expenses involved in getting internet connection on a moving water vessel, most are really expensive. The iPhone would be a reasonably cost effective way to get connection although I've yet to explore how comprehensive its connectivity.

And so, the technology part of the plod continues. Next we must ponder navigation, instrumentation, solar power, watermakers, etc.

UPDATE:
--My health woes continue. I go for another CAT scan tomorrow to see if antibiotics made an impact. I still don't feel good 75% of the time. Sigh.
--Checking out rates for advertising the business and at the same time wondering if we should wait until after the summer season.
--Focusing on advertising Isabella and getting the house sold.