Mother Mother Ocean

What is it about the water that washes away worries?

The very second the boat starts away from the dock, in that split second between when my sandal leaves the weathered wood until it finds its footing on the deck of the boat all of the weight of the world just floats away. Granted, I usually find it shortly after returning to dry land, but for those golden hours afloat I am living one wonderful moment at a time.

It’s been a few years now since I last had the chance to get out in my boat, kids tend to get in the way of selfish endeavors, but there was one summer in particular that I truly found my sea legs and my pirate soul. The previous year I had resurrected a 40 year old Starcraft runabout powered by an equally classic or as most people would say, old, 1958 Evinrude outboard. The boat was, and still is, a mighty fine piece of work.

The summer I really fell in love with the water was in most respects a pretty tumultuous one. The company I was running was bought by a larger one, which in turn was bought by an even larger one which was unsure what they wanted to do with my little slice of the pie. I spent most days reading memos written more at me than to me and doing my best to read between the lines to try to figure out what would become of us. I was paraded around to several mysterious suitors who one after another decided my company was either too small, too large or just not the right fit, all the while being yanked back and forth from meeting to meeting listening to people who as far as I can figure were in charge of quantifying the human value of treating people with respect vs. the collateral damage of giving mass quantities of good people the proverbial axe. I would later find out that when it comes to large “National” companies, the axe always tips the scale. But that’s a story for another night. Tonight I’m longing for the lake.

My saving grace that summer came in the form of solitary voyages on a nice quiet local lake. I would get to the point that the rubber band in my head would start to twist a bit too tight, and if the sun was shining, I’d head out for an emergency appointment with a “client” grumbling on the way out of the office about "last minute" this or that...The fact that I generally had accumulated 45 hours by Wednesday let me do this without much guilt. I would head home, get out of my suit and into my shorts and T-shirt and grab a cooler and my sidekick Eli the super-mutt. We would leave a quick note for my wife hook up the boat and take off.

By the time the trailer tires were on the street Jimmy Buffet would be telling us stories of life and laughs on the water and Eli, with his head out the window would remind me that this was not a trip to be taken lightly, this was serious escapism and it was what he lived for, this and the Frisbee.

Once we got to the boat ramp we were both in the zone. We were like a well practiced pit crew. We both knew our roles and communicated with few words. I would pull off to the prep lane, go through the mental checklist…drain plug in, cooler in, battery hooked up, fuel tank full and primed and cell phone out of my pocket (just in case). I would then back into position and ease down the ramp like a seasoned pro, Eli looking back at the boat as if he were my spotter, ready to bark if the trailer started to go astray. When the boat was in far enough I would pull the emergency break and the two of us would head out and jump on the dock. Eli would wait until the boat was loose from the trailer and tied off and then would jump in and assume his position as first mate, keeping a weathered eye on the horizon. I would pull the rig up to the parking lot and head back down to the dock, a pocket full of milkbones for my fellow sailor. We would shove off and leave all the stress of corporate mergers and acquisitions on dry land. We never brought a fishing pole and rarely swam, intentionally at least. We just put the old motor at a nice smooth idle and would cruise the lake. I always had a Buffet CD in the player I had installed on the old vessel and had a supply of Captain Black’s Cherry Cavendish at the ready under the dash with my pipe. Eli would pace around on the deck for the first 30 minutes or so, checking the boat out for seaworthiness and making sure I had remembered everything, mainly treats and tennis balls and would then find a comfy spot in the sun beside me. Damn I miss my friend Eli. We didn’t have enough of these voyages before the kids came along and the boat just became something to move when I mowed. The memories of these trips are so vivid though that if I close my eyes tonight I can still smell the exhaust of the old outboard and feel the soft fur on Eli’s head as I reach over and pat him between the ears and tell him “good day on the water eh boy?.”

Eli is gone now. The boat is covered and parked behind the garage with expired tags and flat trailer tires. My boys will enjoy her. She’ll sail again. Same old captain, eager new crew. Same old destination. We’ll step off dry land and into a world where worries are nowhere on the agenda. The big decisions will be where to sail to next and who gets to drive the boat. Jimmy will be telling us stories about island life and we just might have to fly the pirate flag now and then. If I’m lucky my crew will settle into comfy spots in the sun after walking around the deck for awhile and feel the water move beneath them. If I’m lucky they too will fall in love with the water and find their sea legs. I’m looking forward to shoving off.