In which I look out upon the myriad harbor
There was, in fact, a light fog on the water, fading up through the assembled masts into a pale blue, clear sky. The gentle light and the mist softened the edges of the boats tied in their berths, making the experience of walking up the dock seem like a trip through a Monet. A beautiful, beautiful Monet of fog-shrouded, mitten-wearing kittens. I stopped at the top of the ramp leading to the parking lot, and turned to appreciate the view. It looked like I�d imagined, before buying a boat, marina life would be.
In the soft sunlight, it is almost possible to forget the less romantic aspects of living aboard a boat, which are legion. A partial list, just off the top of my head, might include, oh:
- The music of Jimmy Buffett being played at high decibel levels, throughout the day;
- Dock parties made up of shirtless power-boaters tanned the rich hue of a Beggin� Strip, holding conversations heavy on leaden sexual innuendo and the phrases That�s just the type of person I am and I never got nothin� from nobody;
- Owls which perch atop the mast, and send down periodic showers of mouse-bone-laden vomit;
- The necessity of hosing off the docks to rid them of the blood of a drunken neighbor who, after falling flat on his face atop a bottle of rum, dragged himself past my boat, to his own;
- Those who insist on making and sharing mayonnaise-drenched macaroni salads and will not take no for an answer;
- The sinister guy who slicks his hair straight back and lives with an emaciated Beggin� Strip girlfriend who refers to herself as �the dock slut� and to their 30-foot sailboat as a �double-wide.�
But, you know, other than that, life in the marina is enchanting. I took in the view from the top of the ramp, enjoying the glassy blue of the water and the quiet, broken only by birds fussing in the leaves of a nearby palm. Then, I turned away and went quickly to my car, before the illusion could fade.
Star of the day. . .Carl Newman