Forgive me blogger for I have sinned. It’s been 52 days since
my last post.
I’ve been caught up. We’ve been relaunched – set free from
the confines of a dusty boatyard and allowed to sail along a waterway that
offers up town and city, each becoming warmer as we head further and further
south.
 |
| Our amazing friends in St Augustine have set us free, cut the cord. The farewells were part of our nomadic reality. |
We’ve been hugging a coastline and clinging to it’s
landlubber luxuries. Getting caught up in it’s busy motorway reality…
Seasons have changed. Holidays have come and gone. To some,
it’s now winter.
 B |
| Enjoying the lights and sand Christmas tree in West Palm Beach |
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Accosted by perfume wielding retail warriors, shoving by
glossy displays of patent leather footwear, obese flesh in motorized lazy
chairs, shrill echoes of the kids swooshing by below the adult faces, sneezes,
sniffles, we wind our way through the mayhem of pre Christmas in a shopping
mall.
Dry air and jolly carols pumped through the vents above,
tinsel, trees, BOGO signs, we are drawn along with the crowds in a cinnamon
scented coma.
On days like these I remember 20 years ago where this was
the norm. When I headed into that, armed with gift lists. When my family lived
close by. When I was part of it all. Days of stocking stuffers, huge turkey in
the oven all day, a fresh new Christmas outfit for when the relatives arrived.
Nowadays, after 17 years worlds away in Ghana, I find myself
nearly 4 years living on a boat. A boat that takes me to remote islands, that
has taken me to the feet of the Statue of Liberty. A boat that now sits
anchored outside a touristy little enclave south of Miami called Coconut Grove.
Here, the people go to malls with gift lists. They buy
turkeys, they drag 8 foot tall Christmas trees home and decorate them.
It’s easy to forget that we are here in the mall to check
the weather online. That the impending cold front is due to bring in high winds
and choppy seas. That we may have to re-anchor the boat or at least let out
more chain so we don’t drag into a pole and have a hole in the hull for
Christmas.
It’s easy to forget, when in the mall, that for us there is
no pine tree or even a turkey. That my galley oven can barely fit a small
chicken. That there is no family close by and that the Christmas outfit will be
flip flops and shorts. Maybe I’ll wear my new novelty light up Christmas
earrings to the cruiser’s potluck on the 25th.
For now we head out of the mall as darkness closes in. We
need to take two buses to get back to the dinghies and get across to the boats
before it’s too late. Others in the mall are thinking of supper, of the weekend
ahead. Of all the plans for Christmas. Me, I’m thinking this: We don’t have
regulation navigation lights on the dinghy, just a flashlight and the Florida
boat patrol police do not approve. We’ve heard they pull little dinghies over and they hand out harsh
fines. We need to get back before it’s too dark.
My new pants are tacky with dried salt water from the ride
into shore earlier. My waterproof backpack is sealed up and ready. We arrive
back at the dock and climb like awkward spiders across the dinghies in the
watery parking lot. Flashlight on, and we’re off.
And since then two days have passed. Days where my view of
shore bounces by 4 feet every two seconds. I hold on to everything I can as I
bump my bruised hips along from one side of the boat to the other. The wind is
blowing 25 knots and gusting to 32 knots. Shore life is a far off concept. Our
dinghy bounces and flails wildly at the back of Shiloh, drenched with salt
water, thrown by waves and tugged back violently by it’s ‘leash’. Heading
toward land would mean a full salt water shower. Probably closer to a bath.
Days like this I can barely remember what it was like to
live in a house where weather is something separated from your life. Where the
winds don’t play a role in your plans for the day. Where the floor of your
house isn’t moving 4 feet up and down and the view out your window is
stationary.
Mantras about travel and expanding horizons run through my
head over and over. They try hard to drown out any naysayers up there in my
mind who may wonder what the hell I’m doing out here a mile from shore being
thrown around for days at a time.
But there is one little voice that remains
strong and steady. It is strongest at Christmas. It’s the voice that makes me
wish the world was small. Where I could see the faces of my niece and nephew on
Christmas morning, begging to open their stockings, excited that Santa ate his
cookies and drank his milk, tearing open presents, while the adults sit blurry
eyed clinging to coffee cups, looking for strength to face this hectic day.
It’s those moments that travel can never replace. For us,
home is where the anchor drops and that is a glorious indescribable freedom.
But for a big part of my heart, it comes in waves of emotion: home is where that family is on Christmas
morning by the tree.
