DOES THIS HAPPEN TO YOU?
Another waterfront week raced, dashed, tore by, and was gone before I even knew what consumed all that time.
I’ve happily occupied the relatively small square footage of STEADFAST’s interior for somewhere around 2,000 days. It sounds like enough time, doesn’t it? Enough to know the ins and outs, the details of the systems that keep us self-sufficient, and more importantly to understand how they work, propel, cool, transfer, filter, lubricate and generate. But 2,000 is not enough. Every day I learn of something that needs to be added, adjusted, lubed, repaired, recoated or replaced. Life is like that, if you keep it interesting. Maybe even if you don’t. Something of yours probably needs attention, even if you didn’t know you owned it.
“It’s a shaft bonding commutator brush,” he annunciates it because he knows my intrigue may be sorely lacking. I’d never heard of such a thing and still don’t care about it much but perhaps I should; I almost want to be intrigued. Eyebrow raise/forehead crinkle. I can do those almost simultaneously now, after living so long in a world of things that for the first fifty years of my time on earth never crept, slid or dove into my realm. Now that my realm floats, well….new rivers to cross.
I peer closer, take a picture to contemplate if it could be something that leads to a conversation or a contemplation about something totally different. Clearly, it turned out to be, well, printable, comment-able. Now, stay with me on this one, if you please…
This particular little ‘brush’ is essential in getting us where we need to go, want to go, dream of going. As I hone in, he’s still describing what it does, how it does that and where it will live when he’s done tinkering, welding, manipulating and installing this custom version. My mind wanders. I drag it back by the scruff, squint a little, concentrating. Thirsty. Hot. Contemplating what to make for dinner that takes the least amount of oven and burner time.
I refocus on the diligent, life-long Sailor before me, seated in our living room (the pilothouse), rising to another challenge with torch, unworn gloves, tools, tobacco, YouTube, hot sauce and rum all within reach on this smokin’ steamy summer afternoon. Sweat runs down my ribcage. Again. And I’m just watching.
“You should come see what I’m doing,” he tells me. I have low interest but feel that I should understand, grasp, learn. A bit of a conundrum, don’tcha think? Gathering my resolve to be the best partner I can be, I bend over into a right angle and enter the intimidating, elaborate engine space where the sailor/mechanic/innovator is carefully installing said shaft bonding commutator brush. Most such operations include colorful language and awkward body position; today is no exception. I quell the desire to snap a photo of the part of his anatomy that was dominating my view, and instead tuck one leg between two extended ones to peer over a sturdy shoulder. Nothing. I kneel down on the engine room floor, trying to recall when I had ripped the whole place apart, scraped, sanded and painted it. Sixteen months ago (already), INVERTED & SOOTY told that gritty adventure in boat maintenance. The boards are already a tad pock-marked and splattered with engine lubricants, but look remarkably better than before I dove into that endlessly rewarding and, well, awful project.
After that reminisce I give up trying to stuff two adults in the awkward area above our 12-foot propeller shaft and later in the day return to peer at the rather mysterious shaft-bonding commutator brush.
This is what takes up the days. They slip by with sunrise, sustenance and caffeination, tide and moon, life and death, storms and rain, humidity and breezes, ducklings and friendships, writing and replying, health and sickness, sunset. I cook, tidy, scrub, organize, sand, paint, plan, observe, read, and provision.
Since we’re all here in this particular boat, I hope this episode is story-worthy. I imagine your weeks fly by, too, don’t they? The compression of age, the urgency to savor each moment even when things take longer than they used to, the loss of a dear friend. I remember less and backtrack more, stopping to pick the flowers. There are stars if I’m lucky, but this time of year clouds and humidity obscure those twinkling beauties. STEADFAST is back in the water but there’s still a tremendous list of components now needing a little attention, a little tweak, a little dusting off, an infusion of resources, as it were. Some I’m intricately familiar with, others, not so much, as you know.
It’s the price I pay for waterfront.
STEADFAST is waterfront property on all sides, not just one, as most homes are. That beautiful, unique quality in and of itself is worth the humility of learning, absorbing and understanding parts that never crossed my radar. It’s worth SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE, day in, day out.
I sleep with the motion of the ocean, I hear the waves lapping on the hull and can feel the tug of the tides taking us in the opposite direction. Neither STEADFAST nor I are too crazy about being tied to a dock instead of really swinging with the currents and winds as we’re used to, but this enviable location is working perfectly for now.
We were docked in Baltimore a few years back and wandered into one of the harbor restaurants. The hostess asked us if we wanted to wait for a waterside table and we glanced at each other quizzically; our immediate response was, no, we’ll just hit the bar, feast there. We don’t request or require waterfront. My world is (nearly) always waterfront. I try desperately not to take it for granted because I know that in this day and age, I’ll never be able to afford true waterfront property of my own, that’s only for the millionaires, now.
Ten years ago I would have waited a long time for that waterfront restaurant view, I can assure you of that. A true advantage of our complicated lifestyle.
We left Baltimore Harbor pre-dawn and it would be the last time STEADFAST & crew would or could marvel at the Frances Scott Key Bridge, which came down down in stunning fashion after being struck by a container ship in March of 2024.
Until next week! It’ll be here before we know it, and I’m so so glad that you read this far, that you’re going to open my email next week, too, and that we’re all aboard in this crazy-ass world. I’m thinking SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE is far more soothing than any other news you can absorb right now. Just sayin’. ~J
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For those that dont know a shaft brush is what helps the electrical potentials equal out with the metal below the water. All metal below the water must have a specific amount of electrical current in order to not erode. This is done by using a sacrificial anode like zinc. We try and keep the metal at this certin level for our fastenings holding the planks on the boat to stay in good condition also thruhulls, shaft and propeller. The shaft brush makes an electrical connection even when it is rotating. I know not of a lot of interest from the girls but it is part of what keeps a nearly 100 year old yacht secure and floating. That's my job.
I guess time moving more quickly than we thought possible is a lot better than wishing it away. The savoring is such a lovely perspective. I so enjoy your voice recordings, Janice, and the sparkle in your eye that was so evident in your voice today. I do look forward to cooler days sooner than later. Thanks for being a bright part of my afternoon. And my life.