Week 12: taking risks--humor, exaggeration, juxtaposition

One day, last fall, when things were calming down I said to my husband:

“Let’s get a power boat and experience firsthand what seems to be a way of life for so many people around here.”

He looked at me like I was out of my mind but when he realized I was serious, tried to shake me off with all kind of excuses.

“I don’t like water,” was the first and obvious one. And I pushed it aside with ease.

“How do you know? It’s been years since you spent any time on a boat.”

I was referring to our short and almost disastrous attempt to rent a small motor boat on one of the lakes in British Colombia.  The boat had a leak we detected while already in the middle of the lake.  The day was grey with obvious hints of a looming storm, and we ‘ran’ back to shore feeling we got out of harm’s way in the neck of time.

”I know nothing about power boats, never owned one or even sailed in one, I wouldn’t know what to do,” was his second line of defense.

“Come on,” I said “You are so technically oriented, you can learn anything you put your mind to, look, you run a motel, you never did that before.” The blatant smooth talk did earn me a smile but not much more.

“I’ll tell you what,” I came few days later with a winning idea. “We will get the boat and start by docking it in the town marina; we’ll just sit in it and enjoy the sea breeze and the company of other boat owners.”

Truth be told, a short investigation on my side revealed that the idea as bizarre as it might sound is a rather common phenomenon. Quite a few people told me that the boat they own, and equipped with all type of luxuries, never left the dock.

“You mean like a houseboat or a floating condo?” I could see how the idea was catching on.

“And we will never move it?”

 “Only if you really feel up to it,” I felt a need to keep a narrow window open for unforeseen surprises.

***

It took us several months to find it. In the process we were excited to learn about different types of boats and their pro and cones.  We even adopted a whole new seamen’s vocabulary. Words like hull, depth finder, cuddy cabin, buoys, head, chart, current, outboard, stern, and so many more became part of our daily exchange. Also words like even keel, wake, and water line. Unfortunately while immersing ourselves in this new world we were also introduced to; take in water, stranded, life vest, righting and the big one capsize.

For awhile we stuck to the original plan, staying next to the dock, enjoying the light breeze, eating our lunch on the deck, peeking into our neighbors boats, and watching them pull in and out  of their docking spots sailing fearlessly into the open water.

It was just a matter of time before my husband became anxious to dare the ocean.

 Breaking our original plan turned out to be a huge mistake. With him at the helm and me frozen to my seat we were both watching horrified, in the depth finder, how we barely pass over the ominous rocks underneath or scarcely avoiding bumping into the marker buoys and the ledges.

The slight, almost soothing rocking movement of the boat, while docked and secured was replaced by much more violent movements while on the open water.

Only few attempts to get it out of the dock and it became painfully obvious to us. We were afraid, deathly afraid of the lurking dangers hiding in the icy cold water of the Union River Bay.

***

So one day, this fall, when things were calming down again, as they do every year when the last of the leaves falls to the ground, I said to my husband.

“I think we should sell it.”

By now the boat was idling in our backyard for months.

I could see from the spark in his eyes that he knew immediately what I was referring to and that he was not going to make it easy on me.

“You're sure you are not going to miss it? After all it was your idea, remember, floating condo, sea breeze, utter tranquility and the company of other seamen.”

“We should have stuck to the original plan,” I muttered gloomily but knew he was right.

 ***

It’s a beautiful boat, 23ft long, with a red and white cabin, a small sink and a table, even a toilet. It is docked in our parking lot, wrapped tight in white plastic against the winter.

 It’s yours if you want it.