AFTER A LONG COLD winter deprived
of sailing, the time for renewal and reaquaintance has arrived. Time to take up
again with the old flame.
Have you caught yourself
marveling at how beautiful your boat is? Are you constantly planning to make her
even prettier? Does it make you sigh and bring on that deep feeling of joy when
you close your eyes at night and remember what she looks like? Do you show
pictures of her to your friends?
Be careful, my friend, you may be
in love. Love is dangerous. Love is temporary insanity, a mind, soul, and body
out of control. Love is blind to all faults. It lives only in the present,
ignoring the lessons of the past and warnings about the future. Love has no
strings on its purse; it never balances its checkbook. This is a recipe for
several disasters — definitely financial, possibly mental, probably social.
What to do about it? Well, this
is serious. The usual advice won’t suffice. Deep breaths and cold showers don’t
make it.
The answer is Controlled Love,
Restrained Affection. You must act like a Brit with a stiff upper lip. Don’t
wear your emotions on your sleeve. Conceal them. Stay away from booze, which
loosens inhibitions; reject the glittering temptations of West Marine; ignore
yachting magazines whose airbrushed pictures and panting descriptions are
calculated to incite unbridled lust and take wicked advantage of the love-lorn.
When you can regard your boat purely
as a form of transport, as a faithful dog without legs, as a means of keeping
you dry when you venture out into the restless wet, you will be cured.
How soon will this be? Frankly,
nobody knows. It hasn’t happened yet.
Today’s Thought
There is no excellent beauty that
hath not some strangeness in the proportion.
— Francis Bacon, Essays: Of
Beauty
Tailpiece“
Doc, I need help.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m 88 and still chasing women.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I can’t remember why.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for another Mainly about Boats column.)
I recall a quote years ago from a well known sailing identity - whose name now escapes me. It goes something like this: 'You go away on your yacht for the weekend. Everything that can go wrong does. The weather is foul and it pours with rain. There is a leak through a deck fitting right above your bunk. The toilet valve jams. The rum runs out just when you need it most. The (wild) wind is on the nose the whole way home so you are far later back than you planned. All this doesn't matter IF as you row your dinghy ashore, gazing back at your boat on her mooring, she is beautiful. If so, all is forgiven.' Never a truer word written.
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