susys running away to sea

"The rigors (sic) of an expeditionary lifestyle"

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Fri 2 June

That night the weather forecast threatened thunderstorms, high winds, rain and fog. Hmmm. So today is a lost day. We are staying put.

Oh my, but this surely is a man’s boat! It’s functional and it works, but apart from a couple of rugs, it does lack a woman’s touch. I decide to start spring cleaning. And the rate I’m going it’ll be all Mom and Apple Pie here soon.

From here on in, we might be going back in time, when Dad went to work and Mom stayed home wearing a pretty summer dress protected by a flouncy apron, her makeup immaculate, her neat hair patted into place, her home kept in perfect order.

How we have reverted so quickly under these circumstances. While J is ‘at work’ fixing the compass light, sorting out the fridge, spreading enormous boxes of tools, sorting out waypoints on his new GPS, I am doing the housework. I have already scoured the taps, the sink and the worksurfaces in the galley. Today, it’s the turn of the pots and pans and kitchen equipment. Unfortunately, J is occupying the galley, so – no sink. Also, the fridge has all but drained the batteries, so – no water from the tank. Also, a large toolbox is on top of the cooker – so, even if I could get water, I wouldn’t be able to heat it to wash out the locker and wash up the saucepans. So – what to do?

Picture me, my children, squatting crosslegged on the saloon floor, swilling a few precious centilitres of ‘found’ water from a bottle and a couple of drops of washing up liquid in my new sink – the largest saucepan. I am now washing the contents of the galley locker in this saucepan and putting them to drain on an adjacent drying up cloth – my new draining board. I also clean out the locker, sweeping it clear of a remarkable amount of flaking paint and ‘extravagantly’ throwing away the old rusty non-slip liner of yore. Into this new, hygienic, relined locker, I replace the shining contents. It’s actually pretty well stocked. J wanders by, remarking that it wasn’t that dirty, was it? He seems happy to let me potter, so I just give him a grin and warn him I shall now nag him about oily hands. He grins back – a joke, right? – but little does he know …

I shall expect J to be saying ‘Hey, honey, I’m home’ every time he comes below.
Next stop, the heads. Glad I’m not squeamish.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home