It Ain't All It's Cracked Up to Be

It Ain't All It's Cracked Up to Be

"When we were on the boat…" most often elicits comments about how wonderful such a thing must be, living aboard, cruising the high seas, and how that is life's dream come true.  I smile, nod, not wanting to shatter their happy wondering, but I'm telling you, it ain't all it's cracked up to be.

After a little aimless chat about our three-year adventure aboard, the statement is made, "You're a writer," followed by the question, "why don't you write about it?"  I explain that every family who cruises has written about it to the point the market is flooded by such books, but the truth is, it ain't all it's cracked up to be, and folks don't want to hear that.

I have succumbed.  I am writing about it.  If your dream is to sail away and live forever cruising the blue, calm waters of the Caribbean, or the world's oceans, visiting exotic ports, and even more exotic, secluded anchorages off tiny, uncharted islands, catching your own lobster which are cooked right out of the water, drinking your favorite beverage while dining and watching the sun set on another perfect day, as you listen to Jimmy Buffet, stop right now.  Do not read any further.  That is the dream, but a dream is not reality.  I'm telling you, it ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Sailing is hard work.  You see these idyllic pictures of a tanned couple standing at the helm of an immaculate sailboat, smiling, and saying something like, "Now, bring me that horizon," a 'la Captain Jack Sparrow.  That is not the reality. 

A cruising vessel, if it has been to sea longer than a day is not clean and uncluttered.  There is all manner of gear lashed to the deck, all salt encrusted, and all a daily necessity.  The idyllic, smiling couple, after a week at sea, will both look as salty as the gear on deck. 

If there are only two of you and you are making a several day crossing, you are likely to be sailing in four-hour watches, which do not allow for much sleep, and even basic personal hygiene is abandoned.  Showering on a pitching, rolling boat is almost out of the question even if you have the water on board to take one.

After four hours of standing watch, the only thing you want to do is lie down, and as soon as you do, you're out…cold until the Admiral hollers, "I need you up here, QUICK!"  It is usually minor, sometimes not, but the adrenalin is surging, and sleep of any sort is now only a wish.

Put two little girls, a dog, and two frogs into this mix, and there is no way you are ever going to capture the attention of the ad agency that took the idyllic smile photo.  You soon realize why sailors are characterized as surly, unshaven, and ill kept.  It is now embarrassingly clear where, and how, the term "cusses like a sailor" came about. 

In your cruising dream, if you imagine hours of lounging at anchor reading a book, swimming, or resting, if you are the captain, forget it.  Your time at anchor will be spent repairing all the stuff that broke on the crossing while the Admiral and the Princesses do all the things they dreamed of…washing dishes, doing laundry, re-supplying, and handing me tools.

As captain of a sailing vessel, you are ultimately responsible for everything.  You are plumber, carpenter, electrician, rigger, painter, mechanic, minister, doctor/nurse, meteorologist, navigator, hydrologist, sail maker, and all around encyclopedia.  Heaven help you if you ever say the words, "I don't know."  If you do, you might as well get off at the next port and give the boat away.  Your credibility with the crew is shot.   

You have to be all of these things because, in the middle of the big, blue, wet thing, there is no roadside assistance or anyone likely to pass near if you break down.  You are on your own.  At sea, as captain, there is God, then you.  It is all on you.      

There comes a point when you wear down and instead of settling in some exotic locale that you dreamed of, you end up in Fairhope, Alabama…never a sweeter place on all the globe.  "What made you stop here?"  I am asked. 

"This is where the anchor fouled," I answer.

"Really?  Tell me about it."

I smile and will, but the truth is, it ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Chocolate Doughnuts

Chocolate Doughnuts

I love chocolate doughnuts.  I don’t mean the chocolate covered regular size ones; I love the little cake ones that are dipped in thick chocolate that come in packages of five or six that you buy at convenience stores.  Those are the ones I love.  I don’t just love them, I crave them.

If there is a twelve-step program for chocolate doughnut eaters, I am a candidate.  "Hi, my name is David.  I'm a chocolate-doughnut-aholic."

"Hi David."  Ah, I am not alone. 

I am writing this at nine-fifteen in the morning, checking my watch to see how long it is until ten-thirty.  That’s when I can go get my package of chocolate doughnuts and my diet Dr. Pepper, I don't want to overdo the sugar thing, and take my morning break.  See, I do have some self-discipline.

I blame this all on my mother.  She’s passed, so she can’t defend herself, and it may not be fair, but it is her fault.  I was a finicky eater as a child (I wish I had that problem now) and on into high school.  I would eat no reasonable breakfast food, not even cereals.  My mom, a nurse, having more than a working knowledgeable of nutrition and the importance of a good breakfast, gave up and one morning plopped down in front of me a box of chocolate doughnuts with a Coca-cola, and with a disgusted and defeated tone, said, “Here”, and walked away.

You must be kidding me, chocolate doughnuts for breakfast?!  Oh, there is a God, and he loves me!  I was elated; I was hooked.  From that day on until I left for college and then the service, I had chocolate doughnuts for breakfast.

They were not practical in college. I mean, I would have to buy them myself and I had better things to spend my money on.  In the Marine Corps, they weren’t available.  There, I ate anything I could get my hands on.  Finicky wasn’t an option.  See, I can do without them, and have for varying periods of time, sometimes, years.  Well, that might be stretching it a little, but I can do without them…for a while…maybe.

I have forgotten about them at times, but then out of nowhere, I get this craving and have to have them.  Or, more likely, I’ll be walking through a store and spy them on the shelf and they cry out to me, no, they sing to me, “Remember me?"  In two-part harmony, "Don’t you want me?  You can’t live without me.”  The sad thing is that they are right.  With a defeated, hangdog expression, and shuffling gait, I'll make my way toward the singing.  Guilt is a terrible thing, weakness is worse, but by the time I am at the shelf, my stomach, and temporal self have regained control of my common sense and I gleefully take the package(s) and make my way to the checkout counter. 

There have been many occasions when I hand an empty wrapper to the cashier.  I smile as I wipe chocolate from my fingers and mouth onto my pants and sleeve respectively.  She smiles back in a condescending manner, but I don't care.  I'm fixed for the day.   Such is the need for a chocolate doughnut junky.

Then I’ll go through a period where the Admiral buys them in quantities to stock the pantry.  That’s nice, and she says that if I insist on being addicted, that it’s more economical, but sneaking off to the corner store is so much more satisfying.

I’m sure I’ll quit again soon.  I don’t seem to crave them in the hotter weather; I don’t like the chocolate melting on my hands.  They’re so gooey and gummy in your mouth when they’re melty like that; yuck!  The doughnuts will slip away from my conscious awareness, but I know they are lurking back there somewhere, waiting and plotting.

A price will have to be paid for this as it is with all things that feel, or taste good, but until then, I’m loving them.  I look at my watch, oh no, I still have thirty minutes until 10:30!  Maybe I’ll break early today.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at: david@starchasers.us.

What It's All About

Blogging is new to me, but I have decided to give it a go.  You can expect a weekly post from my column, Points of the Compass, which runs weekly in all the Gulf Coast News Papers after publication.  I have been writing Points of the Compass for a good number of years, and want to expand its readership.  I do hope you will enjoy the entries, and I welcome any, and all comments. 

What it’s All About

There are 360 degrees on the face of a compass with an infinite number of minutes and seconds between the points. All of these combine to give a seeker a sense of direction. That is the purpose of this column; to give you, the reader, a point of direction.  As an object on a map can be viewed from any number of points relative to your position so can an idea, event, or even a random thought, and all are different depending on where you stand.

This column, new to The Talk of the Bay, has appeared for many years in various publications. It had its beginning when I encountered a long lost fellow Marine whose appearance struck me so deeply that I had to write about it. The response was overwhelming and made me think that there might be people interested in what I have to say. I began to write, and people kept reading. I hope you do too.

It will be my privilege over the next many months to give you points of view that you might not have considered. The views I present will be poignant, humorous, reverent, irreverent, sad, happy, angelic, devilish, harsh, and gentle; well, you get the point; there are 360 of them.

The subjects will be myriad, ranging from people, to places, to situations, emotions, or just things; whatever I think needs attention, or strikes me as interesting and in need of comment. All will be of human interest. Some points of the compass you will agree with, some you will take serious issue with, but all of them should make you think. That is my goal.

I have led a full and wonderful life. I have fought in a war, loved passionately, lost painfully, and adventured greatly. The greatest adventure of my life is being the father of eight children. They have been the source of my greatest joy, inspiration, loss, achievement, and hope. You will hear much of them and the things they have taught me.

My wife and I, with our two youngest daughters have lived in the area for less than three years. We arrived from Alaska by sail boat after three years of traveling, dragged the anchor, and here we are. I, with them, have seen much, done much, and learned a lot. 

In addition to being the author of this column, I have written articles for various publications on various subjects. I am the author of two books. The first is a parenting guide called The Common Guy’s Guide to Raising Children; the second is a historical novel set in the Civil War titled Where the Mockingbird Sang. The first is available online; the second is due out next year.

Hopefully I will be able to pass along the things I see and know in a way that will make your life richer. If what you read here makes you think, you are richer, and thinking is the goal.