New Year’s Resolutions. Do you make them? I’ve made resolutions in the past, plenty of them. I’m guilty of the usual big ones like quit smoking, get in shape, be more health conscious. Some years I tried to keep it simple, like resolving to do better with remembering to send birthday cards and thank you notes. Some years I went a little manic and my list of resolutions was more like a “to do list.” Keep the house clean, balance the checkbook every week, join the PTA, have dinner on the table every evening by 7:00, make sure I returned the library books on time, and be a better mom/spouse/friend/employee/neighbor. In short, to become perfect between the time I went to sleep on December 31st and the time I woke up on January 1st. Needless to say, I stood a better chance of sprouting feathers and flying.
Why do we do it to ourselves? Is it a real desire to be better? Is it wishful thinking? Or do we take some twisted pleasure in torturing ourselves with guilt when we don’t succeed?
So this year, I’m going to try something a little different. Resolving to “do” something requires action. Resolving “not” to do something requires no action. Surely much easier! So here is my list of non-action resolutions for this year.
I will NOT buy anything that won’t fit on the boat. As much as I hate our dog-chewed and kid-damaged living room furniture, I won’t buy new. There’s no room on a boat (our boat anyway) for a new sofa unless I can find a way to stow a water tank under the cushions. Probably not.
I will NOT go to yard sales and buy someone else’s junk, only to try to sell it in my own yard sale six months later. I finally got rid of my bowling ball, the sewing machine I never used, the fondue pot, and a host of other items I’ve carried around for years and didn’t use. No more.
I will NOT spend a lot of money period. Easy enough if there isn’t any to spend, but what there is will go to the boat fund. New cookware doesn’t fall under the boat fund category. But a pressure cooker does!
I will NOT spend all day Saturday inside cleaning or working when I could be outside in the fresh air working on the boat. Gee, not doing housework? That’s going to be SO hard. Not.
I will NOT argue Mike into making any more structural changes to the boat. He’s agreed to my larger galley and the addition of a designated nav station. Butterfly hatches leak anyway. And who needs yet another hanging locker.
I will NOT force Mike to do all the hard or dirty work himself. Well, ok, so I probably will. But I won’t complain when he gets filthy and sits on the living room sofa. Unless I’ve figured out the water tank issue.
I will NOT subscribe to every boating magazine on the planet just so I can clip out pictures of boat interiors. And speaking of that, why hasn’t anyone come up with a boat interiors magazine? There are thousands of home interior magazines. Why not boats?
I will NOT go to West Marine unless I am accompanied by someone with more willpower than I possess. Mike does not fall into that category, so this non-action resolution is for him too.
I will NOT force the kids to spend time with us on the boat. They might get too comfortable with the idea and decide to live with us forever.
So there you have it. My list of non-resolutions for 2008. I’d report back periodically on my lack of progress, but I’m counting on the fact that you’ll all forget my list as quickly as you forget your own. But regardless of how well you stick to your list or I stick to mine, I do hope that you each have a wonderfully happy New Year and that good things continue for you all year long!
Showing posts with label Waterfront News. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Waterfront News. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Amy's Sailboat Campaign - July 07
I haven’t been out sailing since New Year’s Day. It was a day of firsts and lasts for me. My first “race” as skipper of my own boat with it’s newly acquired PHRF rating of 225. My first poker run. The first day of a new year. It was also the last time I would sail my boat before I sold it, my last sail on the lake before we moved, and sadly, my last sail since.
I didn’t win my hand of poker, even with three jacks, but it was an exhilarating day, none-the-less and my little sailboat handled beautifully. She’s since gone on to another lake, to teach other beginners the art of sailing, and strange as it sounds, this makes me proud. But I miss my boat and I miss going out for a late afternoon sail anytime I want.
Our first few months of living here, sailing was pushed to the back of my mind by such things as settling into a new house, finding a job, trying to help the kids adjust to a new location, and everything else that comes with a big move to a new place. But we’re all settled in now and I’m getting a little antsy to go sailing. Actually, obsessive might be a better word. Take pity on Mike because he bears the brunt of my obsession.
He had to deliver a sailboat to Bonaire recently. The trip was to take about ten days, which meant that I couldn’t go due to my work schedule. Miffed is a word one might use to describe my reaction to this. Jealous is another. They’re both milder than I would use if this wasn’t a family newspaper. I want to go SAILING!
And so began my campaign. I like to call it, “We’re buying a sailboat and that’s all there is to it!”
As we all know, any good campaign must begin with a substantial cash flow. Which I don’t have. So where to find it? Anywhere and everywhere. Every penny I make in tips at work goes into the boat fund. I do all the laundry now and the $27.00 I’ve found so far in the washer is now in the boat fund, including the five I found after doing a load of the kids clothes. Do I feel guilty? Nope. They probably stole it from my purse anyway. When Mike does remember to empty his pockets at the end of the day, any money mysteriously disappears by morning. I blame it on the kids, but we all know it’s in the boat fund.
I asked Mike to help someone who needed to move his boat to a transport ship. When the owner tipped him for helping, I snatched the cash out of Mike’s hand immediately. Boat fund. I went grocery shopping recently, a task I usually leave to Mike since he does most of the cooking, but I try to help out when I can. On this particular occasion, I saw some rather nice steaks that would have been great cooked on the grill. But the difference in price between five steaks and two packages of hotdogs looked much better in my boat fund.
It isn’t just money though. Another aspect of a good campaign is the skillful utilization of propaganda. For instance, I changed the screensavers on both our computers to text that floats and bounces across the screen with messages reading “Take Amy Sailing!” and “Buy a Sailboat!” Rather than writing “dust me” on the TV screen or the door of Mike’s truck, I write, “You should be out sailing with Amy!” I’ve also found I can get his attention by cutting out ads for sailboats and taping them in places he’s unlikely to miss. Like the lid of the toilet, the first fold of his wallet, his steering wheel, on his pillow, in his underwear drawer, the sole of his flip flops, on the grill cover, on the cover of the key lime pie I so thoughtfully picked up for him, and over the label on a bottle of rum.
I like to think of this as therapy for me, too. Coming up with creative ways to remind him that we need a sailboat keeps me from going out and stealing one.
But the bottom line is, of course, the bottom line. Meaning, we can’t just afford to go buy the sort of boat we want. So what I would ask of all of you is, if you have or know of a sailboat that might be had for about what one might expect to pay for a month’s rent in a nice neighborhood, or even better, a month’s rent in a really bad neighborhood, please email me the info. Consider it an act of kindness toward Mike because until we find a sailboat, my campaign continues.
I didn’t win my hand of poker, even with three jacks, but it was an exhilarating day, none-the-less and my little sailboat handled beautifully. She’s since gone on to another lake, to teach other beginners the art of sailing, and strange as it sounds, this makes me proud. But I miss my boat and I miss going out for a late afternoon sail anytime I want.
Our first few months of living here, sailing was pushed to the back of my mind by such things as settling into a new house, finding a job, trying to help the kids adjust to a new location, and everything else that comes with a big move to a new place. But we’re all settled in now and I’m getting a little antsy to go sailing. Actually, obsessive might be a better word. Take pity on Mike because he bears the brunt of my obsession.
He had to deliver a sailboat to Bonaire recently. The trip was to take about ten days, which meant that I couldn’t go due to my work schedule. Miffed is a word one might use to describe my reaction to this. Jealous is another. They’re both milder than I would use if this wasn’t a family newspaper. I want to go SAILING!
And so began my campaign. I like to call it, “We’re buying a sailboat and that’s all there is to it!”
As we all know, any good campaign must begin with a substantial cash flow. Which I don’t have. So where to find it? Anywhere and everywhere. Every penny I make in tips at work goes into the boat fund. I do all the laundry now and the $27.00 I’ve found so far in the washer is now in the boat fund, including the five I found after doing a load of the kids clothes. Do I feel guilty? Nope. They probably stole it from my purse anyway. When Mike does remember to empty his pockets at the end of the day, any money mysteriously disappears by morning. I blame it on the kids, but we all know it’s in the boat fund.
I asked Mike to help someone who needed to move his boat to a transport ship. When the owner tipped him for helping, I snatched the cash out of Mike’s hand immediately. Boat fund. I went grocery shopping recently, a task I usually leave to Mike since he does most of the cooking, but I try to help out when I can. On this particular occasion, I saw some rather nice steaks that would have been great cooked on the grill. But the difference in price between five steaks and two packages of hotdogs looked much better in my boat fund.
It isn’t just money though. Another aspect of a good campaign is the skillful utilization of propaganda. For instance, I changed the screensavers on both our computers to text that floats and bounces across the screen with messages reading “Take Amy Sailing!” and “Buy a Sailboat!” Rather than writing “dust me” on the TV screen or the door of Mike’s truck, I write, “You should be out sailing with Amy!” I’ve also found I can get his attention by cutting out ads for sailboats and taping them in places he’s unlikely to miss. Like the lid of the toilet, the first fold of his wallet, his steering wheel, on his pillow, in his underwear drawer, the sole of his flip flops, on the grill cover, on the cover of the key lime pie I so thoughtfully picked up for him, and over the label on a bottle of rum.
I like to think of this as therapy for me, too. Coming up with creative ways to remind him that we need a sailboat keeps me from going out and stealing one.
But the bottom line is, of course, the bottom line. Meaning, we can’t just afford to go buy the sort of boat we want. So what I would ask of all of you is, if you have or know of a sailboat that might be had for about what one might expect to pay for a month’s rent in a nice neighborhood, or even better, a month’s rent in a really bad neighborhood, please email me the info. Consider it an act of kindness toward Mike because until we find a sailboat, my campaign continues.
The Story of Blow & Stink - May & June 07
[This was originally published as a two part column in May & June 07]
Stinkpots and Blowboats - A Little Perspective Part I
I think the rivalry between those who prefer power to those who prefer sail probably dates back to the very first time someone stuck a motor on the back of a boat with the hope of making it go faster. Imagine a traditional sailor, aptly named Blow, sitting in his cockpit watching a his dock neighbor, aptly named Stink, drill holes in the transom, attach a motor mount, then hoist a Honda onto it and lock it in. Blow, the sailor, asks, “Now why would you want to go and do something like that?” Stink, the proud owner of the newly designed motor boat says, “To make the boat go faster, of course!”
Blow smirks and offers Stink a beer because he’s pretty sure that with the rising cost of fuel, the poor soul won’t be able to afford his own beverages much longer. Stink accepts glady, for what boater turns down the offer of a free beer, then starts his motor and readies his boat to make way. Blow covers his ears and coughs as a cloud of exhaust drifts over him, then raises his beer and calls, “fair winds!” Stink smirks because he knows he doesn’t have to rely on the fickleness of mother nature to reach his destination.
And so Stink ventures out in his custom motor boat and true to his imaginings, he zips right past his old friends in their sail powered boats and soon has left them in the distance, mere dots on the horizon. He relishes the (apparent) wind blowing his hair back from his eyes, he loves the speed with which his little boat skims over the surface of the waves, and he loves the thrill of competition that comes from leaving everyone in his wake. And so he goes, merrily on his way. Until he notices the sun is sinking and glances at his watch. Uh oh, he’s been out for hours. He quickly checks his fuel tanks and realizes that if he turns around now, he might be able to make it back to the dock before he runs out of fuel. Whipping the boat in a quick U, he heads back to his slip and coasts in on fumes.
Blow is flaking his mainsail, sipping on a rum drink and listening to Jimmy Buffet when Stink pulls into the slip. Stepping onto the dock, Blow takes the dockline Stink tosses to him and casually whips it around the cleat in a perfect knot, then asks, “So how was your sail?” Stink quickly corrects him. “I had a great boat ride. Left everyone wallowing in my wake, not a single boat could catch me! It was amazing, Blow! Amazing! You should get a motor too! I know a guy!”
Blow ponders this for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, Stink, as much as I appreciate the offer, I’ll stick to my sails. I had a fine ‘boat ride’ myself this evening.”
“You went for a boat ride this evening too?” Blow asks, looking at the slow little boat sitting peacefully in its berth next to his.
“Well of course. Why else does one own a boat but to take her out and enjoy a peaceful sunset sail? I happened upon a flock of albatross heading for shore and one landed on my bow pulpet for a rest I presume. He was silhouetted perfectly against the setting sun. I tell you it was an amazing image,” Blow says, a far away look in his eyes. “Did you enjoy the sunset? It was the most beautiful I’ve seen in years.”
Stink stops for a moment and tries to recall if he noticed the sunset, but couldn’t bring an image to mind. On the way out, he was consumed with the thrill of his boat and on the way back, he was worried about making it back with the fuel he had left.
“I can’t say that I noticed, Blow, but there will be other sunsets. Tomorrow, in fact!” Stink said with a grin. “Thanks for the hand tying up. You have a great evening and I’ll see you again soon.”
“Not coming back tomorrow, Stink?”
“No, I’m going to put in some overtime tomorrow so I can buy more fuel for my motor and go out again next weekend. Aren’t you working tomorrow?”
“Oh no. I’m going out for a long sail tomorrow. A bunch of us are going to head for the islands and raft up for the rest of the weekend. Good company, good food, good music. I’ll head back in and go to work on Monday. But I’m sure we’ll see you out next weekend if you aren’t too busy. We’ll raise a glass to you though!”
Stinkpots and Blowboats - A Little Perspective Part II
Last month you were introduced to Stink and Blow. The tale closed with Stink working overtime to afford fuel for his motor and Blow headed off for a weekend on the water. Now we return to find both boaters ready to enjoy a weekend trip to their favorite island.
Blow stows the last of his provisions and checks the weather which looks clear. Glancing at the little power boat sitting idly in the slip beside his, he decides to leave a note for his friend, who won’t be departing until later. “I have the Rum, you bring the ice!” he writes, and leaves the note in Stink’s cockpit. After hoisting his main and slipping the docklines, he makes his way steadily out to sea, relishing the breeze, the sound of waves breaking against his bow, and the feel of his little boat sliding up and down the swells. It doesn’t get much better, Blow thinks to himself as he trims the main and his vessel surges ahead.
Some time later, Stink arrives at the marina and discovers the note left by his friend Blow. Grinning, he thinks to himself, “Of course I’ll bring the ice. If you’d taken it, it surely would have melted before you reach our destination!” He lets his motor warm up while stowing his gear, baits a hook to drag behind him and leaves the dock. He eases through the no-wake zone until reaching open water then pushes back the throttle. He mentally calculates where Blow should be by now and figures that at his present speed he ought to beat his friend to the island with time for a cocktail to spare. Just to be sure, he nudges the throttle a little more, then hears the scream of his reel, announcing a fish on the line. It doesn’t get much better, Stink thinks to himself as he reels his fish across the foam of his wake.
A small cloud formation on the horizon has now become a towering front looming over Blow. He eyes the cloud and the lightening flashing below it with some trepidation, but decides to tack toward the edge of the storm and hopefully bypass it with minimal trouble. All seems to be going according to plan until the wind shifts directions and he finds himself in the middle of the gale. He furls his jib, reefs his main and turns to weather, knowing he has to ride it out. Seeing blue skies ahead, he lets out a sigh of relief that is cut off by a sharp snap, then the horrible sound of tearing sailcloth. A shroud has pulled free of the deck and whipped around flaying his main sail neatly in two before twisting around the furled jib. Her sails useless the little boat continues to rise and plunge through the waves while Blow tries to steer for the edge of the storm.
Stink sees the storm ahead and skirts around it easily before returning to his course. As he leaves the storm behind, he glances at it over his stern and notices a boat drifting with the current. A quick scan with his binoculars and he realizes the disabled vessel is his friend Blow. Whipping his own boat around, he zooms over. Blow stands at the bow with a coiled line in his hand. Without a word, Stink turns into position and catches the line when Blow tosses it. Stink eyes the shredded sail and the slump of his friend’s shoulders, then turns back to the wheel.
The two boats and their owners slowly make their way back home. Just as they enter the harbor, Stink’s engine makes an awful racket and clatters to silence. Quickly untying, the two friends steer and rock their boats into open slips where they’re assisted by friends and strangers alike. When they’ve tied up their boats and stepped onto the dock, Blow extends his hand to Stink.
“Thank you,” he says simply. “I’m sorry about your engine trouble and I’ll do what I can to help you fix it.”
“Thank you, my friend. But the sun is nearly down and I suspect we’ll both be better served by starting fresh in the morning. Now I believe you mentioned something about rum?”
Blow grins and retrieves the bottle from his galley, along with a lounge chair, which he sets up on the dock facing west. Stink returns a moment later with a chair of his own and two cups of ice.
Sipping cold drinks and watching the sun set, the two men are silent for a time. Then Blow speaks. “You know, Stink, maybe all that matters right now is sitting here enjoying the sunset.”
“I think you might be right, Blow. Our boats are floating, the rum is good, and-Last month you were introduced to Stink and Blow. The tale closed with Stink working overtime to afford fuel for his motor and Blow headed off for a weekend on the water. Now we return to find both boaters ready to enjoy a weekend trip to their favorite island.
Blow stows the last of his provisions and checks the weather which looks clear. Glancing at the little power boat sitting idly in the slip beside his, he decides to leave a note for his friend, who won’t be departing until later. “I have the Rum, you bring the ice!” he writes, and leaves the note in Stink’s cockpit. After hoisting his main and slipping the docklines, he makes his way steadily out to sea, relishing the breeze, the sound of waves breaking against his bow, and the feel of his little boat sliding up and down the swells. It doesn’t get much better, Blow thinks to himself as he trims the main and his vessel surges ahead.
Some time later, Stink arrives at the marina and discovers the note left by his friend Blow. Grinning, he thinks to himself, “Of course I’ll bring the ice. If you’d taken it, it surely would have melted before you reach our destination!” He lets his motor warm up while stowing his gear, baits a hook to drag behind him and leaves the dock. He eases through the no-wake zone until reaching open water then pushes back the throttle. He mentally calculates where Blow should be by now and figures that at his present speed he ought to beat his friend to the island with time for a cocktail to spare. Just to be sure, he nudges the throttle a little more, then hears the scream of his reel, announcing a fish on the line. It doesn’t get much better, Stink thinks to himself as he reels his fish across the foam of his wake.
A small cloud formation on the horizon has now become a towering front looming over Blow. He eyes the cloud and the lightening flashing below it with some trepidation, but decides to tack toward the edge of the storm and hopefully bypass it with minimal trouble. All seems to be going according to plan until the wind shifts directions and he finds himself in the middle of the gale. He furls his jib, reefs his main and turns to weather, knowing he has to ride it out. Seeing blue skies ahead, he lets out a sigh of relief that is cut off by a sharp snap, then the horrible sound of tearing sailcloth. A shroud has pulled free of the deck and whipped around flaying his main sail neatly in two before twisting around the furled jib. Her sails useless the little boat continues to rise and plunge through the waves while Blow tries to steer for the edge of the storm.
Stink sees the storm ahead and skirts around it easily before returning to his course. As he leaves the storm behind, he glances at it over his stern and notices a boat drifting with the current. A quick scan with his binoculars and he realizes the disabled vessel is his friend Blow. Whipping his own boat around, he zooms over. Blow stands at the bow with a coiled line in his hand. Without a word, Stink turns into position and catches the line when Blow tosses it. Stink eyes the shredded sail and the slump of his friend’s shoulders, then turns back to the wheel.
The two boats and their owners slowly make their way to the island. Just as they enter the harbor, Stink’s engine makes an awful racket and clatters to silence. Quickly untying, the two friends steer and rock their boats into open slips where they’re assisted by friends and strangers alike. When they’ve tied up their boats and stepped onto the dock, Blow extends his hand to Stink.
“Thank you,” he says simply. “I’m sorry about your engine trouble and I’ll do what I can to help you fix it.”
“Thank you, my friend. But the sun is nearly down and I suspect we’ll both be better served by starting fresh in the morning. Now I believe you mentioned something about rum?”
Blow grins and retrieves the bottle from his galley, along with a lounge chair, which he sets up on the dock facing west. Stink returns a moment later with a chair of his own and two cups of ice.
Sipping cold drinks and watching the sun set, the two men are silent for a time. Then Blow speaks. “You know, Stink, maybe all that matters right now is sitting here enjoying the sunset.”
“I think you might be right, Blow. Our boats are floating, the rum is good, and-“ the rest of his thought is cut off as the sun dips below the horizon and a brilliant green flash lights the sky for a fraction of an instant. Blow and Stink raise their glasses to each other in silence and smile.
Stinkpots and Blowboats - A Little Perspective Part I
I think the rivalry between those who prefer power to those who prefer sail probably dates back to the very first time someone stuck a motor on the back of a boat with the hope of making it go faster. Imagine a traditional sailor, aptly named Blow, sitting in his cockpit watching a his dock neighbor, aptly named Stink, drill holes in the transom, attach a motor mount, then hoist a Honda onto it and lock it in. Blow, the sailor, asks, “Now why would you want to go and do something like that?” Stink, the proud owner of the newly designed motor boat says, “To make the boat go faster, of course!”
Blow smirks and offers Stink a beer because he’s pretty sure that with the rising cost of fuel, the poor soul won’t be able to afford his own beverages much longer. Stink accepts glady, for what boater turns down the offer of a free beer, then starts his motor and readies his boat to make way. Blow covers his ears and coughs as a cloud of exhaust drifts over him, then raises his beer and calls, “fair winds!” Stink smirks because he knows he doesn’t have to rely on the fickleness of mother nature to reach his destination.
And so Stink ventures out in his custom motor boat and true to his imaginings, he zips right past his old friends in their sail powered boats and soon has left them in the distance, mere dots on the horizon. He relishes the (apparent) wind blowing his hair back from his eyes, he loves the speed with which his little boat skims over the surface of the waves, and he loves the thrill of competition that comes from leaving everyone in his wake. And so he goes, merrily on his way. Until he notices the sun is sinking and glances at his watch. Uh oh, he’s been out for hours. He quickly checks his fuel tanks and realizes that if he turns around now, he might be able to make it back to the dock before he runs out of fuel. Whipping the boat in a quick U, he heads back to his slip and coasts in on fumes.
Blow is flaking his mainsail, sipping on a rum drink and listening to Jimmy Buffet when Stink pulls into the slip. Stepping onto the dock, Blow takes the dockline Stink tosses to him and casually whips it around the cleat in a perfect knot, then asks, “So how was your sail?” Stink quickly corrects him. “I had a great boat ride. Left everyone wallowing in my wake, not a single boat could catch me! It was amazing, Blow! Amazing! You should get a motor too! I know a guy!”
Blow ponders this for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, Stink, as much as I appreciate the offer, I’ll stick to my sails. I had a fine ‘boat ride’ myself this evening.”
“You went for a boat ride this evening too?” Blow asks, looking at the slow little boat sitting peacefully in its berth next to his.
“Well of course. Why else does one own a boat but to take her out and enjoy a peaceful sunset sail? I happened upon a flock of albatross heading for shore and one landed on my bow pulpet for a rest I presume. He was silhouetted perfectly against the setting sun. I tell you it was an amazing image,” Blow says, a far away look in his eyes. “Did you enjoy the sunset? It was the most beautiful I’ve seen in years.”
Stink stops for a moment and tries to recall if he noticed the sunset, but couldn’t bring an image to mind. On the way out, he was consumed with the thrill of his boat and on the way back, he was worried about making it back with the fuel he had left.
“I can’t say that I noticed, Blow, but there will be other sunsets. Tomorrow, in fact!” Stink said with a grin. “Thanks for the hand tying up. You have a great evening and I’ll see you again soon.”
“Not coming back tomorrow, Stink?”
“No, I’m going to put in some overtime tomorrow so I can buy more fuel for my motor and go out again next weekend. Aren’t you working tomorrow?”
“Oh no. I’m going out for a long sail tomorrow. A bunch of us are going to head for the islands and raft up for the rest of the weekend. Good company, good food, good music. I’ll head back in and go to work on Monday. But I’m sure we’ll see you out next weekend if you aren’t too busy. We’ll raise a glass to you though!”
Stinkpots and Blowboats - A Little Perspective Part II
Last month you were introduced to Stink and Blow. The tale closed with Stink working overtime to afford fuel for his motor and Blow headed off for a weekend on the water. Now we return to find both boaters ready to enjoy a weekend trip to their favorite island.
Blow stows the last of his provisions and checks the weather which looks clear. Glancing at the little power boat sitting idly in the slip beside his, he decides to leave a note for his friend, who won’t be departing until later. “I have the Rum, you bring the ice!” he writes, and leaves the note in Stink’s cockpit. After hoisting his main and slipping the docklines, he makes his way steadily out to sea, relishing the breeze, the sound of waves breaking against his bow, and the feel of his little boat sliding up and down the swells. It doesn’t get much better, Blow thinks to himself as he trims the main and his vessel surges ahead.
Some time later, Stink arrives at the marina and discovers the note left by his friend Blow. Grinning, he thinks to himself, “Of course I’ll bring the ice. If you’d taken it, it surely would have melted before you reach our destination!” He lets his motor warm up while stowing his gear, baits a hook to drag behind him and leaves the dock. He eases through the no-wake zone until reaching open water then pushes back the throttle. He mentally calculates where Blow should be by now and figures that at his present speed he ought to beat his friend to the island with time for a cocktail to spare. Just to be sure, he nudges the throttle a little more, then hears the scream of his reel, announcing a fish on the line. It doesn’t get much better, Stink thinks to himself as he reels his fish across the foam of his wake.
A small cloud formation on the horizon has now become a towering front looming over Blow. He eyes the cloud and the lightening flashing below it with some trepidation, but decides to tack toward the edge of the storm and hopefully bypass it with minimal trouble. All seems to be going according to plan until the wind shifts directions and he finds himself in the middle of the gale. He furls his jib, reefs his main and turns to weather, knowing he has to ride it out. Seeing blue skies ahead, he lets out a sigh of relief that is cut off by a sharp snap, then the horrible sound of tearing sailcloth. A shroud has pulled free of the deck and whipped around flaying his main sail neatly in two before twisting around the furled jib. Her sails useless the little boat continues to rise and plunge through the waves while Blow tries to steer for the edge of the storm.
Stink sees the storm ahead and skirts around it easily before returning to his course. As he leaves the storm behind, he glances at it over his stern and notices a boat drifting with the current. A quick scan with his binoculars and he realizes the disabled vessel is his friend Blow. Whipping his own boat around, he zooms over. Blow stands at the bow with a coiled line in his hand. Without a word, Stink turns into position and catches the line when Blow tosses it. Stink eyes the shredded sail and the slump of his friend’s shoulders, then turns back to the wheel.
The two boats and their owners slowly make their way back home. Just as they enter the harbor, Stink’s engine makes an awful racket and clatters to silence. Quickly untying, the two friends steer and rock their boats into open slips where they’re assisted by friends and strangers alike. When they’ve tied up their boats and stepped onto the dock, Blow extends his hand to Stink.
“Thank you,” he says simply. “I’m sorry about your engine trouble and I’ll do what I can to help you fix it.”
“Thank you, my friend. But the sun is nearly down and I suspect we’ll both be better served by starting fresh in the morning. Now I believe you mentioned something about rum?”
Blow grins and retrieves the bottle from his galley, along with a lounge chair, which he sets up on the dock facing west. Stink returns a moment later with a chair of his own and two cups of ice.
Sipping cold drinks and watching the sun set, the two men are silent for a time. Then Blow speaks. “You know, Stink, maybe all that matters right now is sitting here enjoying the sunset.”
“I think you might be right, Blow. Our boats are floating, the rum is good, and-Last month you were introduced to Stink and Blow. The tale closed with Stink working overtime to afford fuel for his motor and Blow headed off for a weekend on the water. Now we return to find both boaters ready to enjoy a weekend trip to their favorite island.
Blow stows the last of his provisions and checks the weather which looks clear. Glancing at the little power boat sitting idly in the slip beside his, he decides to leave a note for his friend, who won’t be departing until later. “I have the Rum, you bring the ice!” he writes, and leaves the note in Stink’s cockpit. After hoisting his main and slipping the docklines, he makes his way steadily out to sea, relishing the breeze, the sound of waves breaking against his bow, and the feel of his little boat sliding up and down the swells. It doesn’t get much better, Blow thinks to himself as he trims the main and his vessel surges ahead.
Some time later, Stink arrives at the marina and discovers the note left by his friend Blow. Grinning, he thinks to himself, “Of course I’ll bring the ice. If you’d taken it, it surely would have melted before you reach our destination!” He lets his motor warm up while stowing his gear, baits a hook to drag behind him and leaves the dock. He eases through the no-wake zone until reaching open water then pushes back the throttle. He mentally calculates where Blow should be by now and figures that at his present speed he ought to beat his friend to the island with time for a cocktail to spare. Just to be sure, he nudges the throttle a little more, then hears the scream of his reel, announcing a fish on the line. It doesn’t get much better, Stink thinks to himself as he reels his fish across the foam of his wake.
A small cloud formation on the horizon has now become a towering front looming over Blow. He eyes the cloud and the lightening flashing below it with some trepidation, but decides to tack toward the edge of the storm and hopefully bypass it with minimal trouble. All seems to be going according to plan until the wind shifts directions and he finds himself in the middle of the gale. He furls his jib, reefs his main and turns to weather, knowing he has to ride it out. Seeing blue skies ahead, he lets out a sigh of relief that is cut off by a sharp snap, then the horrible sound of tearing sailcloth. A shroud has pulled free of the deck and whipped around flaying his main sail neatly in two before twisting around the furled jib. Her sails useless the little boat continues to rise and plunge through the waves while Blow tries to steer for the edge of the storm.
Stink sees the storm ahead and skirts around it easily before returning to his course. As he leaves the storm behind, he glances at it over his stern and notices a boat drifting with the current. A quick scan with his binoculars and he realizes the disabled vessel is his friend Blow. Whipping his own boat around, he zooms over. Blow stands at the bow with a coiled line in his hand. Without a word, Stink turns into position and catches the line when Blow tosses it. Stink eyes the shredded sail and the slump of his friend’s shoulders, then turns back to the wheel.
The two boats and their owners slowly make their way to the island. Just as they enter the harbor, Stink’s engine makes an awful racket and clatters to silence. Quickly untying, the two friends steer and rock their boats into open slips where they’re assisted by friends and strangers alike. When they’ve tied up their boats and stepped onto the dock, Blow extends his hand to Stink.
“Thank you,” he says simply. “I’m sorry about your engine trouble and I’ll do what I can to help you fix it.”
“Thank you, my friend. But the sun is nearly down and I suspect we’ll both be better served by starting fresh in the morning. Now I believe you mentioned something about rum?”
Blow grins and retrieves the bottle from his galley, along with a lounge chair, which he sets up on the dock facing west. Stink returns a moment later with a chair of his own and two cups of ice.
Sipping cold drinks and watching the sun set, the two men are silent for a time. Then Blow speaks. “You know, Stink, maybe all that matters right now is sitting here enjoying the sunset.”
“I think you might be right, Blow. Our boats are floating, the rum is good, and-“ the rest of his thought is cut off as the sun dips below the horizon and a brilliant green flash lights the sky for a fraction of an instant. Blow and Stink raise their glasses to each other in silence and smile.
Gone Sailing - August 07
I finally, FINALLY, got a chance to go sailing! Mike and I went out for an afternoon with our friends Harry and Frances on their Gulfstar 47 and it was divine. Mike and Harry spent most of the cruise fine tuning the rigging, fiddling with the instruments and otherwise immersing themselves in the technical stuff while Frances and I stood on deck and enjoyed the sail and good conversation. It was a wonderful afternoon.
On our way out, we encountered a storm, of course, but even that was enjoyable. There’s something about watching a storm roll toward you over the water that’s invigorating. And a first for me in that I wasn’t drenched to the skin because when the rain began, we simply went into the partially enclosed pilothouse and stayed dry! Although I’ve never cared much for the way a pilothouse looks on a sailboat, I have to say it was much more comfortable than simply hunkering under the dodger.
We motored a good ways out before hoisting the sails but when we finally did it was heaven. Standing on deck with only the sounds of the wind and water, feeling the boat pull ahead as the sails were trimmed properly, the breeze in my face…it was beyond words for me. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, a school of dolphin (porpoise, not Mahi) joined us, leaping and diving in our bow wake.
After the sail we sat with our friends for a cocktail and discussed their plans to sail offshore up the coast to New England and Frances showed me all she’d done to the cabin to make it their home. Varnish work was everywhere and she did it all. She’d modified many of the lockers, galley cabinets, and even access to the bilge, all to be more efficient and user friendly. So many improvements at the hands of this grandmother; she is truly inspiring!
Eventually the day came to an end and we returned home. It was a difficult evening for me. The chance to go sailing again after so many months was bittersweet. It was less difficult to push sailing out of my mind when I was so occupied with a new job, new house, new life and had little time to miss it. But lately schedules have leveled off, we’ve settled into routines that allow us more free time, and I’ve grown wistful to be out there. Still, after so many months, I’d almost forgotten the feeling of being out on the water under sail and that day was a heart wrenching reminder of what I was missing. Ironically, this was the same week our sailboat, which we affectionately called “The Beast” sold. We agonized over the decision for months and finally decided that bringing it down here from Georgia wouldn’t be practical. Re-experiencing the joy I feel while sailing, coming on the heals of realizing that we’re actually without a sailboat was a horrible feeling. I wasn’t pleasant to be around that night.
And so our search for our next boat has kicked into full gear. Overdrive mode, really. I’ve had several leads from readers (thank you!) on boats for sail and we’ve gone to look at several that meet our needs. We need something in the mid-thirty to mid-forty foot range, a well laid out cabin, an adequate number of sails, a trustworthy rig, stable hull, the list goes on. The thing is I’m so desperate for a boat I would have just written a check for nearly every single one we’ve looked at, regardless of the state it was in. Mike has been the voice of sanity and reason and in my more rational moods I’m thankful for this. In my less rational moods I blame him for selling The Beast and threaten to buy the next boat we look at, even if we have to have it towed to our dock! But we’ll find the boat for us eventually and we’ll get out there on the water and once again feel the wind in the sails. In the meantime, we’re very grateful for Harry and Frances and other sailors who’ve been so willing to let us get our sailing fix. Thank you.
On our way out, we encountered a storm, of course, but even that was enjoyable. There’s something about watching a storm roll toward you over the water that’s invigorating. And a first for me in that I wasn’t drenched to the skin because when the rain began, we simply went into the partially enclosed pilothouse and stayed dry! Although I’ve never cared much for the way a pilothouse looks on a sailboat, I have to say it was much more comfortable than simply hunkering under the dodger.
We motored a good ways out before hoisting the sails but when we finally did it was heaven. Standing on deck with only the sounds of the wind and water, feeling the boat pull ahead as the sails were trimmed properly, the breeze in my face…it was beyond words for me. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, a school of dolphin (porpoise, not Mahi) joined us, leaping and diving in our bow wake.
After the sail we sat with our friends for a cocktail and discussed their plans to sail offshore up the coast to New England and Frances showed me all she’d done to the cabin to make it their home. Varnish work was everywhere and she did it all. She’d modified many of the lockers, galley cabinets, and even access to the bilge, all to be more efficient and user friendly. So many improvements at the hands of this grandmother; she is truly inspiring!
Eventually the day came to an end and we returned home. It was a difficult evening for me. The chance to go sailing again after so many months was bittersweet. It was less difficult to push sailing out of my mind when I was so occupied with a new job, new house, new life and had little time to miss it. But lately schedules have leveled off, we’ve settled into routines that allow us more free time, and I’ve grown wistful to be out there. Still, after so many months, I’d almost forgotten the feeling of being out on the water under sail and that day was a heart wrenching reminder of what I was missing. Ironically, this was the same week our sailboat, which we affectionately called “The Beast” sold. We agonized over the decision for months and finally decided that bringing it down here from Georgia wouldn’t be practical. Re-experiencing the joy I feel while sailing, coming on the heals of realizing that we’re actually without a sailboat was a horrible feeling. I wasn’t pleasant to be around that night.
And so our search for our next boat has kicked into full gear. Overdrive mode, really. I’ve had several leads from readers (thank you!) on boats for sail and we’ve gone to look at several that meet our needs. We need something in the mid-thirty to mid-forty foot range, a well laid out cabin, an adequate number of sails, a trustworthy rig, stable hull, the list goes on. The thing is I’m so desperate for a boat I would have just written a check for nearly every single one we’ve looked at, regardless of the state it was in. Mike has been the voice of sanity and reason and in my more rational moods I’m thankful for this. In my less rational moods I blame him for selling The Beast and threaten to buy the next boat we look at, even if we have to have it towed to our dock! But we’ll find the boat for us eventually and we’ll get out there on the water and once again feel the wind in the sails. In the meantime, we’re very grateful for Harry and Frances and other sailors who’ve been so willing to let us get our sailing fix. Thank you.
Boat vs. House - November 07
I work (at the moment) for an organization that provides information and support for people who cruise around the world and live on their boats. When I meet people, I’m often asked about what I do and my explanation is always met with questions.
“What size boats?” Generally 30 – 45 feet.
“Where do they go?” Everywhere.
“Do they go home between trips?” They are home. They live on their boats. And someday Mike and I are going to live on ours, too.
“Why would you want to do that?”
That’s the biggest question. Why would anyone want to live on a boat, especially a small boat? I also suspect that when they think about someone living on their boats, one of two images come to mind. Either Detective Crockett with his reptile watchdog from the old Miami Vice TV show, or some of the derelicts that mar the view in Biscayne Bay. Neither of which is realistic.
So why live aboard? Here are some of my reasons (realistic and otherwise).
Boats don’t require the same kind of maintenance a house does:
- Boats don’t get termites
- There’s no grass to mow
- No roofing shingles to replace after high winds
- Far fewer light bulbs to change
- No septic tank to have serviced
- No driveway to repave
- The likelihood of a tree falling on your boat during a storm is slim
- Far less power required to heat, cool and light your boat
Boats have less space than a house, which certainly has its benefits:
- Far less square footage to cover during your Saturday morning housecleaning
- When the kids come home to visit they don’t feel compelled to move back in
- The family member you get along with so much better from a distance is more likely to stay at a distance
- You can simply refuse that ugly duck lamp your great Aunt gave you for Christmas citing that it won’t fit on the boat
Houses aren’t mobile:
- You can’t sail your house out of the area during hurricane season
- You can’t troll for dolphin or tuna from the front porch of your house
- You can’t invite a few friends over for the weekend and sail down to the keys in your house
- If you don’t like your neighbors, you can’t haul anchor and move your house around the block
- You can’t rendezvous with friends from far away places by gathering your houses together on the leeward side of some exotic island
Far fewer worries when you travel with your home rather than leave it behind:
- You never forget to pack the shoes that go with your favorite dress
- You won’t wake up in some strange hotel room and worry that you left the iron on at home
- You can miss a flight, but your boat isn’t going to leave port without you
- No additional fees or special carrier required to bring your dog (and he doesn’t travel in the cargo hold)
Boats have benefits most houses don’t:
- Your house doesn’t rock you to sleep at night with the movement of the tides
- A waterfront view is far less expensive from a boat and you can change the view at will
- Sea turtles, porpoises and sea rays don’t frolic and beg for food in the front yard of your house
- When you live and work on your boat, you can go snorkeling over your lunch break
For every benefit I could name to living on a boat, there are an equal number of challenges, so it isn’t for everyone. But some of us thrive on those challenges and find them worth the freedom we get in return. There’s a big world out there and when we finally get our boat finished (current estimate is sometime in 2017, ha!) we’re going out there to explore it.
“What size boats?” Generally 30 – 45 feet.
“Where do they go?” Everywhere.
“Do they go home between trips?” They are home. They live on their boats. And someday Mike and I are going to live on ours, too.
“Why would you want to do that?”
That’s the biggest question. Why would anyone want to live on a boat, especially a small boat? I also suspect that when they think about someone living on their boats, one of two images come to mind. Either Detective Crockett with his reptile watchdog from the old Miami Vice TV show, or some of the derelicts that mar the view in Biscayne Bay. Neither of which is realistic.
So why live aboard? Here are some of my reasons (realistic and otherwise).
Boats don’t require the same kind of maintenance a house does:
- Boats don’t get termites
- There’s no grass to mow
- No roofing shingles to replace after high winds
- Far fewer light bulbs to change
- No septic tank to have serviced
- No driveway to repave
- The likelihood of a tree falling on your boat during a storm is slim
- Far less power required to heat, cool and light your boat
Boats have less space than a house, which certainly has its benefits:
- Far less square footage to cover during your Saturday morning housecleaning
- When the kids come home to visit they don’t feel compelled to move back in
- The family member you get along with so much better from a distance is more likely to stay at a distance
- You can simply refuse that ugly duck lamp your great Aunt gave you for Christmas citing that it won’t fit on the boat
Houses aren’t mobile:
- You can’t sail your house out of the area during hurricane season
- You can’t troll for dolphin or tuna from the front porch of your house
- You can’t invite a few friends over for the weekend and sail down to the keys in your house
- If you don’t like your neighbors, you can’t haul anchor and move your house around the block
- You can’t rendezvous with friends from far away places by gathering your houses together on the leeward side of some exotic island
Far fewer worries when you travel with your home rather than leave it behind:
- You never forget to pack the shoes that go with your favorite dress
- You won’t wake up in some strange hotel room and worry that you left the iron on at home
- You can miss a flight, but your boat isn’t going to leave port without you
- No additional fees or special carrier required to bring your dog (and he doesn’t travel in the cargo hold)
Boats have benefits most houses don’t:
- Your house doesn’t rock you to sleep at night with the movement of the tides
- A waterfront view is far less expensive from a boat and you can change the view at will
- Sea turtles, porpoises and sea rays don’t frolic and beg for food in the front yard of your house
- When you live and work on your boat, you can go snorkeling over your lunch break
For every benefit I could name to living on a boat, there are an equal number of challenges, so it isn’t for everyone. But some of us thrive on those challenges and find them worth the freedom we get in return. There’s a big world out there and when we finally get our boat finished (current estimate is sometime in 2017, ha!) we’re going out there to explore it.
Boat Trouble - March 07
The plan was to get up Saturday morning and take the kids out on the boat. When Saturday finally dawned, I was excited. Ok everybody, let’s hustle! The weather is cooperating and I want to get out there! I’m tired of my pale white “transplanted northerner” skin tone. I want sun and saltwater. Let’s go!
“I don’t want to sit around on a boat all day. This is going to be boring! Can we at least fish?” from Lane. My thinking is that a little boredom will give my son’s 16-year-old hormones a rest, but who am I? So I stand there by the door tapping my foot while Mike gathers up the fishing gear, the kids lollygag, and sunlight is wasting. Wait! Do we have drinks? Yes, they’re in the cooler. But I just saw you put bait in the cooler! Gross! Do we have sunscreen? Sunglasses? Fishing licenses? Check. Check. Check. Finally!
Then I noticed the skeptical look on Mike’s face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Let me check the weather one more time.”
“You don’t NEED to check the weather. We have two foot seas, light wind, and SUNSHINE! Let’s go!”
He looks around once more as if looking for a reason not to go, then shrugs his shoulders and we leave. Finally!
On the boat heading down the river, Bridgette laid on the bow to get some sun while Lane and his buddy T.J. sat in back making lascivious comments about passing bikinis. Mike drove and I positioned myself to maximize my tanning and enjoy the scenery. All was good and right in the world.
Until one of the boys said, “We’re hungry. What did you bring to eat?” Mike and I looked at each other realizing we’d forgotten to pack snacks. A fate worse than hugging them in public when it comes to teenagers.
“There’s squid in the cooler.”
“Ha ha, very funny Mom. Great. She forgot to pack food. We’re going to starve to death.” So once again, I’ve been dramatically presented with the Mother-of-the-Year award. I accept, thank you. “It may seem like it, but it isn’t going to kill you to go a couple hours without food. We’ll stop somewhere on the way back in and get snacks. Now shut up and fish.”
We motored out to open water and I learned pretty quickly that two foot seas in a 24 foot boat still means a lot of jostling and bouncing around. I finally figured out that facing into the swells meant less sliding around on deck, but when I saw my first-ever flying fish and turned to watch it, I earned a couple more bruises. Still, we were having fun, getting sun, and it was good to be on the water as a family. I should have knocked on wood. Or at least my own head.
About an hour later as we’re cruising along enjoying ourselves, the horrible sound of the engine dying filled our ears. I looked at Mike and he looked at the gauges. I looked at the shore and calculated us to be about 20 miles out. Actually it was only about a mile, but still. Then I looked around for the other boats we’d been seeing all afternoon. Gone, of course.
Mike got the engine going again, but only long enough to determine it was the fuel filter. “Don’t worry, I have a spare and it won’t take long to change.”
Whew! He’s prepared. I held the wheel steady as he got the tool kit and filter, opened the engine compartment and got to work. Lane complained once more about being hungry and I shot him the mom look that said “now is not the time.” I also shoved my bladder to the back of my mind and smiled at the kids to let them know I wasn’t worried.
Then came a sound worse than the engine cutting out: Mike saying, “Great!” followed by a short string of unprintable cursing. It seems the tool kit was missing the one wrench he needed to change the filter. Whistling the theme song to Gilligan’s Island didn’t seem appropriate so I asked if I should call someone. By then the sun was sinking and the crew was grumbling mutinously. Mike sucked up his pride and nodded curtly.
Our rescuer arrived just as the sun dipped behind the horizon and we sat in humble silence as we were towed back in. Then Mike looked at me and said, “I wasn’t sure about this. I should have trusted my gut.” And he might have heard it better if I hadn’t been so adamant about going.
Later, after the boat was secured, bladders were emptied, teenagers were fed and the crisis over, the kids rebounded quickly. “Thanks for taking us out! That was SO cool!”
Go figure.
Our heartfelt, stomach-felt, and bladder-felt gratitude to our rescuer, Kenny Schliessman.
“I don’t want to sit around on a boat all day. This is going to be boring! Can we at least fish?” from Lane. My thinking is that a little boredom will give my son’s 16-year-old hormones a rest, but who am I? So I stand there by the door tapping my foot while Mike gathers up the fishing gear, the kids lollygag, and sunlight is wasting. Wait! Do we have drinks? Yes, they’re in the cooler. But I just saw you put bait in the cooler! Gross! Do we have sunscreen? Sunglasses? Fishing licenses? Check. Check. Check. Finally!
Then I noticed the skeptical look on Mike’s face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Let me check the weather one more time.”
“You don’t NEED to check the weather. We have two foot seas, light wind, and SUNSHINE! Let’s go!”
He looks around once more as if looking for a reason not to go, then shrugs his shoulders and we leave. Finally!
On the boat heading down the river, Bridgette laid on the bow to get some sun while Lane and his buddy T.J. sat in back making lascivious comments about passing bikinis. Mike drove and I positioned myself to maximize my tanning and enjoy the scenery. All was good and right in the world.
Until one of the boys said, “We’re hungry. What did you bring to eat?” Mike and I looked at each other realizing we’d forgotten to pack snacks. A fate worse than hugging them in public when it comes to teenagers.
“There’s squid in the cooler.”
“Ha ha, very funny Mom. Great. She forgot to pack food. We’re going to starve to death.” So once again, I’ve been dramatically presented with the Mother-of-the-Year award. I accept, thank you. “It may seem like it, but it isn’t going to kill you to go a couple hours without food. We’ll stop somewhere on the way back in and get snacks. Now shut up and fish.”
We motored out to open water and I learned pretty quickly that two foot seas in a 24 foot boat still means a lot of jostling and bouncing around. I finally figured out that facing into the swells meant less sliding around on deck, but when I saw my first-ever flying fish and turned to watch it, I earned a couple more bruises. Still, we were having fun, getting sun, and it was good to be on the water as a family. I should have knocked on wood. Or at least my own head.
About an hour later as we’re cruising along enjoying ourselves, the horrible sound of the engine dying filled our ears. I looked at Mike and he looked at the gauges. I looked at the shore and calculated us to be about 20 miles out. Actually it was only about a mile, but still. Then I looked around for the other boats we’d been seeing all afternoon. Gone, of course.
Mike got the engine going again, but only long enough to determine it was the fuel filter. “Don’t worry, I have a spare and it won’t take long to change.”
Whew! He’s prepared. I held the wheel steady as he got the tool kit and filter, opened the engine compartment and got to work. Lane complained once more about being hungry and I shot him the mom look that said “now is not the time.” I also shoved my bladder to the back of my mind and smiled at the kids to let them know I wasn’t worried.
Then came a sound worse than the engine cutting out: Mike saying, “Great!” followed by a short string of unprintable cursing. It seems the tool kit was missing the one wrench he needed to change the filter. Whistling the theme song to Gilligan’s Island didn’t seem appropriate so I asked if I should call someone. By then the sun was sinking and the crew was grumbling mutinously. Mike sucked up his pride and nodded curtly.
Our rescuer arrived just as the sun dipped behind the horizon and we sat in humble silence as we were towed back in. Then Mike looked at me and said, “I wasn’t sure about this. I should have trusted my gut.” And he might have heard it better if I hadn’t been so adamant about going.
Later, after the boat was secured, bladders were emptied, teenagers were fed and the crisis over, the kids rebounded quickly. “Thanks for taking us out! That was SO cool!”
Go figure.
Our heartfelt, stomach-felt, and bladder-felt gratitude to our rescuer, Kenny Schliessman.
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