But we don't roll that way. We're impulsive and whimsical. We like to let life surprise us.
Or we're just incredibly stupid.
We moved onto our boat in April. Which is to say that the seller's broker moved the boat for us to our home marina in Charlestown because we didn't know how to move the thing ourselves. The baby and I flew out the next morning and we met Jon via water taxi at the boat. Our new home-sweet-home. We proudly stepped aboard. Jesus, it was cold. And I really wanted to wash my hands to get rid of all the airplane germs. But how do we turn on the water? What electrical outlet do we plug into? Oh, hey! They left the flag. Let's put that out on the stern. There. That looks good and official.
Okay. ***Claps hands***
Water. Electricity.
Um?
Oh God. What did we do?
We moved onto a boat without knowing a single useful thing about boats. I knew the electricity would come via a shore power cord, but I didn't know how to hook it up. I knew we had water tanks, but who the hell knew how to fill them? Not me. I felt a few death stares from Jon. The baby was whiny and cold. Think fast. Think fast.
"Hey. That guy in the office? He seemed really helpful. Was his name Howie? Go ask him if he knows how this works." I made a sweeping gesture at the whole boat and Jon hurried off.
He came back a few minutes later with Howie. Howie looks sea captain tough, like the fisherman on the pack of frozen clams.
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| Frozen clams guy. |
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| Howie. With a bird. |
He glanced around at me and the helpless shivering baby and our twenty boxes full of shit stacked haphazardly around the boat and he kind of shook his head and sighed. I imagine if it weren't for the shivering baby he would've walked right back up to the office and laughed with everybody about the new idiots who couldn't even hook up a hose. But instead he took pity. He helped us with the basic things needed for survival. He sent a mechanic down to fix our broken bilge pump. He gave us some basic pointers on how to stay afloat for the next few days.
We survived the first night.
I remember waking up surprised that we were still snug in our slip, that when I stepped out of bed I didn't feel water between my toes.
I remember waking up that first morning freezing, because we underestimated how cold Boston was in April. We piled on the blankets and turned all three stove burners on high. Later that day we went grocery shopping and completely stocked our little fridge. And then I accidentally broke the refrigerator's latch which left all of our food locked inside, no way to get it out. Our stove quit working. There were weird smells. The toilet was rebelling. We didn't know how to go about pumping out the holding tank. The baby kept running into things and hitting his head and trying to play with the fire extinguisher.
We didn't know jack shit.
But we made it through day one. And then days two and three. And then a week passed, a month. We had no clue what we were doing but we made it with the help of new friends. I'll never forget the look on Howie's face when he took that first glance around our boat, when he saw our popsicle baby. But he helped us that first day and he continued to help us through the years we spent living at the marina. The staff at Constitution Marina made us feel welcome even though we were clueless morons. In time they'd all become our friends and eventually I'd work alongside them.
We couldn't have done it without the help of friends. It didn't take long to get to know the other live aboards. One of the things I loved best about living aboard is the community, the willingness of everybody to come together and help the helpless.
I still look back on that day and can't help but laugh and feel so incredibly stupid. But we made it. Thanks, Howie.
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