The waves of Christmas

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 25^th.

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.

Merry Christmas from Shiloh

Merry Christmas. It’s pouring, the dark skies are dumping big time, and the wind is whistling. We awoke to a leak in the hatch above our heads. Drip, drip, drip.

At 4:30am the Holy Church of Blasting Music set up their deafening speakers somewhere on the beach to enlighten us out in the bay through distorted gospel tracks and pastor/DJ on a power trip. Welcome to Christmas morning, Carriacou style! The good thing about the rain was that it drowned out the sound system. Hopefully that was literally!

If I sound a bit bah-humbug, it’s not intentional. I am on a boat in the tropics after all. It just doesn’t seem like Christmas to a Canadian.

There was a time when a storm outside at Christmas meant cuddling up in bed, with the fireplace crackling and the sounds and smells of the season wafting through the house. Baking, cinnamon, dry warmth, the smell of new plastic toys…. Here it means jumping up and peering through the pocked Perspex windows, watching our position in the bay, with a keen eye on our proximity to the others – have we dragged? Is anyone else dragging? Are any hatches open or leaking? Do we have the rain catchers out? 

Shiloh all dolled up for Christmas

There is no commercialism here. No shopping - it's difficult to find carrots! No traffic, no hectic rushing around. Nothing to stress about (except the weather!). But also no family.

This is the first Christmas without any of our children. They have grown and have made other choices, spending time with other families, other friends, other countries. It’s a good feeling to know they are happily living their lives, as are we. But I still have those small pangs – wishing I could see their sleepy faces on Christmas morning, gifts under a tree… playing silly games, their youthful banter.

I must say though, that sailing friends are special. We’re all in the same boat, so to speak. Each of us with stories, families, lives far away that we’ve left behind in this nautical pursuit of freedom and fun and adventure. We connect. We gel. We bond instantly. And we learn how to say farewell as easily.

We definitely know how to have fun. So Carriacou it is for this holiday. It could be any island really, it's the people who make it shine. Along with a lot of rum!

The gang - pre-Xmas party at Miss Lucky's

But last night, as Shiloh lapped calmly in the bay, Christmas lights aglow, and we mulled amongst the party goers on shore, another Shiloh called me. All the happy voices muted, the festive faces blurred. An angel of Christmas past touched me lightly and settled into my heart.

A time before boats and bays, when my little one would wake on Christmas morning excited for the day. When his gaze, so deep would meet mine and melt me. The boy I could never hold tight enough. Couldn’t keep him here for the many more Christmas mornings he should have seen.

 He visited with a grin though, a deep wide grin and I held him there, oblivious to the chatter and cheer around me. That was my Christmas present this year. 

I am headed to a party of 20 on a boat. Good friends and good cheer. My boys are in my heart and they give me the happiness at the end of every day, that makes the season truly joyous. Merry Christmas Quinci and Merry Christmas Shiloh. Love you forever.