Versus
The trees visible through the porthole are seemingly traversing the length of the salty glass, but the slight rocking motion, felt in the pit of my stomach, a scribbled note in the back of my brain waiting for wakes and high wind, betrays the illusion.
My home is always in motion.
Yes, old houses creak and settle into their foundations, windows shake in thunderstorms, during wet damp summers the doors sway slowly on their hinges, frames swollen and uncompromising. But houses do not move like this, or if they do, there is more of a problem than humidity decoupling the otherwise content marriage of door and frame.
There are hundreds of funny things about living on a boat. When I was living on land I missed the hurried leaps up the companionway to check on lines during a storm and waking up to the pitch of the engine change as we motored our home from one port to the next. (OK, but I admit that it was also nice to sleep through the night without errant sounds rocketing me out of bed). You notice things you take for granted on land, like where your electricity comes from and where your waste (of all sorts) goes.
On this floating job of mine I'm not as connected to the sea as on sailboats of years past, but I still find a few things amusing, things that would be funny on land but are perfectly normal on board.
Like that every single cupboard has a latch that you either have to pop in and out or twist. There are no open shelves, no etageres, the bookshelves and most countertops have fiddles or raised edges to catch sliding novels, wine glasses, peanuts.
On land glass objects placed on open shelves high above the floor make me anxious in a totally laughable and ridiculous way. But maybe that also has something to do with growing up in earthquake-prone California. I was meant for latched cupboards!
We have a mug on board that is a replica of one found on the Titanic.
The superstitious sailor in me does not like this. The landlubber in me finds this hilarious.
We have a room (with a disco ball) dedicated to keeping the lights on, diesel flowing, fridges humming, propellers spinning, and toilets vacuuming poop.
We have a gourmet chef. I get to eat leftover creme brule. Funny? Not really. Tasty? Yes.
I have to work barefoot. The white carpet and teak dislike shoes. Unless they are cute little uniform shoes we only wear when the guests are onboard. And then we are the only ones wearing shoes because we make them take theirs off which of course makes many people uncomfortable. But being on a rocking boat is out of many peoples comfort zone anyway, so I see it as a chance for personal growth. Or a stubbed toe.
There are a lot of other things, like having to jump from the boat onto the dock or scaling up the side when the tide is high and the ice cream is melting in your canvas grocery bag and you can't wait the four hours for the boat to return to reasonable for stepping-onto-like-a-lady position. So I hurl my goods on the deck, grab at fiberglass and stainless steel, hoist my legs up a few feet and ignore the fact that my skort may or may not be covering what a stewardess on a big fancy boat should have covered.
But it is a boat, I am a sailor, and we do all find ourselves in funny situations in this funny situation of working on floating houses.
And I love (almost) every bizarre minute.
My home is always in motion.
Yes, old houses creak and settle into their foundations, windows shake in thunderstorms, during wet damp summers the doors sway slowly on their hinges, frames swollen and uncompromising. But houses do not move like this, or if they do, there is more of a problem than humidity decoupling the otherwise content marriage of door and frame.
There are hundreds of funny things about living on a boat. When I was living on land I missed the hurried leaps up the companionway to check on lines during a storm and waking up to the pitch of the engine change as we motored our home from one port to the next. (OK, but I admit that it was also nice to sleep through the night without errant sounds rocketing me out of bed). You notice things you take for granted on land, like where your electricity comes from and where your waste (of all sorts) goes.
On this floating job of mine I'm not as connected to the sea as on sailboats of years past, but I still find a few things amusing, things that would be funny on land but are perfectly normal on board.
Like that every single cupboard has a latch that you either have to pop in and out or twist. There are no open shelves, no etageres, the bookshelves and most countertops have fiddles or raised edges to catch sliding novels, wine glasses, peanuts.
On land glass objects placed on open shelves high above the floor make me anxious in a totally laughable and ridiculous way. But maybe that also has something to do with growing up in earthquake-prone California. I was meant for latched cupboards!
We have a mug on board that is a replica of one found on the Titanic.
The superstitious sailor in me does not like this. The landlubber in me finds this hilarious.
We have a room (with a disco ball) dedicated to keeping the lights on, diesel flowing, fridges humming, propellers spinning, and toilets vacuuming poop.
We have a gourmet chef. I get to eat leftover creme brule. Funny? Not really. Tasty? Yes.
I have to work barefoot. The white carpet and teak dislike shoes. Unless they are cute little uniform shoes we only wear when the guests are onboard. And then we are the only ones wearing shoes because we make them take theirs off which of course makes many people uncomfortable. But being on a rocking boat is out of many peoples comfort zone anyway, so I see it as a chance for personal growth. Or a stubbed toe.
There are a lot of other things, like having to jump from the boat onto the dock or scaling up the side when the tide is high and the ice cream is melting in your canvas grocery bag and you can't wait the four hours for the boat to return to reasonable for stepping-onto-like-a-lady position. So I hurl my goods on the deck, grab at fiberglass and stainless steel, hoist my legs up a few feet and ignore the fact that my skort may or may not be covering what a stewardess on a big fancy boat should have covered.
But it is a boat, I am a sailor, and we do all find ourselves in funny situations in this funny situation of working on floating houses.
And I love (almost) every bizarre minute.
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