We Surrender to our Spider Overlords

Boats and spiders just seem to go together. The first few nights I lived aboard, I was covered in spider bites. I could actually see the fang marks on my forearm with one particularly nasty bite. I started my campaign against the spiders. I spider bombed the boat when we were gone overnight. I sprayed the dock lines every couple days. I sprayed a lot of places. And it seemed to be working, for awhile. But then I'd step out into the cockpit in the morning only to walk through an enormous web. I started seeing spiders on the outside of the boat, webs were popping up overnight like Starbucks in gentrifying neighbourhoods. I was losing the battle. Just the other days, I was sitting in the cabin with my laptop open when a little spider dropped down from his long single thread right between me and the screen. I heard him ask, "What are you doing, updating your status on Facebook?". In May, I couldn't bear the thought of a spider in the same room with me. Now, I grabbed that nosy little spider in my fist and squeezed tight, merely wiping the carnage on my jeans. As the season wears on, you become a lot less squirmish about all kinds of things.

April Fresh Thundering Jesus

Nothing beats the smell of fresh laundry. It sure the hell beats the smell of mildew, wet dog and soggy parmasean cheese on carpet. And it seems I'm not the only one who agrees. After days and days of pouring rain, the marina laundry room is a hub of activity. Usually by Monday morning, all the weekenders are back on land using their own washing machines at home, leaving the marina to the full timers. I loaded all the wet stinking things into the washer, including the sheet covered in dog blood from when we slept on our friend's boat over on the island. Sadie ripped out a claw attempting to ascend a ladder into our berth. I said to my friend, it wouldn't be a real visit from us if we didn't leave some blood or other bodily fluids behind, our proverbial signature in your guest book. We have a day or two to dry out before the rain comes again. And no one could be more thankful that the storms are over than Ira. He is a tiny ball of trembling wide-eyed terror while the thunder claps overhead and the boat bangs into the dock.

Nobody Likes a Snitch

Word travels around a marina fast, like Peyton Place on meth. The list of marina rules and regulations is long and thorough. And like most rules, they are intended to protect the smart people from the stupid people. There are the obvious rules like you shouldn't fill your gas tank on the dock. One could construe this particular rule as a marina money grab, meaning you must buy more expensive marina gas rather than buying cheaper gas over at the gas station and bringing it here. But I don't mind a rule like that, a rule that prevents the stupid people from pouring flammable gas around willy nilly on the docks. I had a look at the rules the other day for the first time and was pleased to find I had broken a good deal of them, least of all, the leash rule. Rule #17 states that all dogs must be kept on leash everywhere on marina property. 95% of the dogs around here are well behaved and so that rule is frequently bent without incident. But there is a snitch among us. An anonymous tattle tale took a picture of two dogs offleash from a secret and undisclosed location and mailed it to the marina office. The rule violator owns two of the most well-behaved dogs in the marina but he received his 'first and final warning' as a result. Said rule violator unleashed his dogs for the homestretch down the dock to his boat, a distance of probably 100 feet. Grow some balls snitch cause when I find out who you are, I'm going to follow you day and night until I catch you cheating on your taxes, cheating on your wife, cheating at Scrabble and you are done for!