Twizlers and Pink Floyd for Breakfast
The sun was already streaming into the wheelhouse when I made my way up the plastic covered stairs.
Squeak
squeak
"Good mornings-" some bright with the burgeoning day, some beleaguered by lack of sleep- chimed all around. The sea had flattened out during the night, wind and waves receding as the sky grew pink purple blue then white behind the rising ball of fire on the horizon
Sunnies on, I yawn and plop into the captains chair, mug of tea waiting patiently on the varnished table next to a basket full of tempting sweets and savories. I had broken into the Fritos the night before, crispy fried corn deliciousness at that late hour crunching me awake. I do not normally eat chips or candy, but being on navigational watch bends all the rules. I eat handfuls of fritos or m&m's without guilt, propping my eyes open with sugar and salt. I pace the wheelhouse with mugfuls of strong tea or sweet twizzler vines gummy and artificial cherry making my lips sticky and pink. I've been known to eat a half jar of peanut butter on previous boats, previous watches where the arm motion of jar to lips seemed to keep me awake more than situps or playing with the GPS.
Pink Floyd accompanied us into mid-morning, gunshots and the wall somehow taking my mind back to land. But the water recaptured my attention with its swirling and fish jumping and glassy calmness stretching and pulling and rolling to the edge of the world.
Nine AM. I had slept eight hours before my watch and like the food thing, passages change normal habits. I crawled out of the captains chair, down the squeaky plastic stairs and back into my dark bunk where I would not remember my dreams for the next eight hours.
Repeat, only this time its Twizzlers for sundowners and the sun is on the other side of this big old ship plowing through the Gulf Stream, New York bound.
Squeak
squeak
"Good mornings-" some bright with the burgeoning day, some beleaguered by lack of sleep- chimed all around. The sea had flattened out during the night, wind and waves receding as the sky grew pink purple blue then white behind the rising ball of fire on the horizon
Sunnies on, I yawn and plop into the captains chair, mug of tea waiting patiently on the varnished table next to a basket full of tempting sweets and savories. I had broken into the Fritos the night before, crispy fried corn deliciousness at that late hour crunching me awake. I do not normally eat chips or candy, but being on navigational watch bends all the rules. I eat handfuls of fritos or m&m's without guilt, propping my eyes open with sugar and salt. I pace the wheelhouse with mugfuls of strong tea or sweet twizzler vines gummy and artificial cherry making my lips sticky and pink. I've been known to eat a half jar of peanut butter on previous boats, previous watches where the arm motion of jar to lips seemed to keep me awake more than situps or playing with the GPS.
Pink Floyd accompanied us into mid-morning, gunshots and the wall somehow taking my mind back to land. But the water recaptured my attention with its swirling and fish jumping and glassy calmness stretching and pulling and rolling to the edge of the world.
Nine AM. I had slept eight hours before my watch and like the food thing, passages change normal habits. I crawled out of the captains chair, down the squeaky plastic stairs and back into my dark bunk where I would not remember my dreams for the next eight hours.
Repeat, only this time its Twizzlers for sundowners and the sun is on the other side of this big old ship plowing through the Gulf Stream, New York bound.
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