Deluge Dread

If anyone in Portland is reading this, who also happened to have stayed up late last night, you know what I speak of is true when I say VOILA LA DELUGE! Since that torrential rain pounding on the windowpanes I have had an image burned in my mind of me in the cockpit, drenched to the bone, resembling a large soggy pile of dirty laundry with a furrowed brow and tearful eyes.

This obsession has manifested itself out of several fears....#1. That once soaked on a boat it is a trial to dry out completely. #2. I will have the dirty clothes of three males rising like, as one woman put it, "an accusation". #3. When the going gets tough I might not get going but, may prefer to curl up in the fetal position and cry.

I'm trying to wrestle these fears down with undeniable facts...#1. The sun does eventually come out, even in the middle of an ocean. #2. No one will have many clothes, so, good grief, how big can the pile really get? #3. Perhaps most importantly, I have handled adversity well thus far...

A. On our first shakedown sail, we lost our dinghy. After finding it, I almost fell overboard trying to retrieve it with a boat hook. I watched my husband leap off of the Vindhler to the small craft and become smaller and smaller. Blake then asked why his father was waving his arms over his head. I was figuring on him starting up the dinghy engine and catching up to us ...no problem. But, the starter cord had ripped right out of the motor thanks to the adrenaline filled gladiator pull he used. He now looked like a small blip on the horizon. All I said calmly as I turned our 37 foot vessel around in a heavy chop was "this is not good". When Blake and I approached, we heard him yelling..."Aim right for me...Hit me honey...HIT ME". The temptation was very strong not to make that final swerve to port (that's left for all of you landlubbers). After a safe rescue, Mom could do no wrong...at least for a few hours.

B. I have handled my battery of pre-voyage physicals and immunizations with relative good humor and a high threshold for discomfort.

C. I have survived running out of food and snacks for our children, with minimal freaking out, as we tried to pull up our anchor for three hours. I refused to cut our tackle when we discovered we were tangled up with two lobster pots. Instead, I had faith someone would come to our aid. Sure enough, a salty lobster boat pulled up and separated the mess in return for a half bottle of gin and some rum. The kids survived and I had a new found admiration for the many good samaritans of the sea.

I am going to sign off...

Those fears are, at least momentarily, down for the count!