Deadlights and downdogs

I dogged down the deadlights, rubber mallet and wrench in hand, sealing the foam gasket on oxidized steal over the portholes. So much for my view of icicle blue water rushing past the hull. But better than that water rushing into cabin if we hit rough seas.
Which were supposed to torment us but we have thus far avoided.
Knock on wood. Turn around three times. And spit over your shoulder.
I really shouldn't even be writing about what mishaps we have avoided. We sailors are a superstitious bunch and for good reason- when you are dealing with that capricious mama Gaia, you never know what she is going to throw at you no matter what your grainy weatherfax says.

We left the Bahamas this morning with the warning from our captain, "The first day is going to be rough. Get ready." We lashed chairs and stowed wine bottles, filled the sinks with galley gadgets and tea pots, taped closed cupboards and lockers, placed towels under possibly maybe wouldn't that suck if they were leaky portholes.

The sun rose over the fairytale towers of Atlantis as we shuffled past the small cargo ships rusting on the pilings and a mooring field of sailboats with laundry hanging out on the lifelines (Internal conversation: "I am one of you! I washed my clothes in a Tupperware bucket for a glorious year!" "Quiet down yachtie with your fancy washing machines AND driers." "Harumph.").
Past the cruise ships and homes on stilts, finally past the lighthouse at the breakwater bracing for the seas to rise and shake and pound us.
Instead, I did yoga in a guest cabin with little effort to counteract the gentle roll.

The deadlights on my portholes make my cabin eternally night as we glide through the Gulf Stream past the Florida Keys. My next watch will be at sunrise as we motor past Cuba and south and south and south to blue holes and banana milkshakes.

My hope is to loosen the dogs on the deadlights as the water gets greener, warmer, clearer and to practise my downdogs in the salon, looser, calmer, full of breath and stillness.
Well, probably not stillness.
After all we are at sea.