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Lynn, Wayne & Helene |
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August 14, 2004, Saturday
Back in Choo-Choo Cove on Telico Lake, Little Tennessee River
My mother is chatting with Lynn over coffee about the detriments of having pets on board boats. That kind of idle chat makes me nervous; Lynn may re-think having me on board as her pet.
I say that because her helmsmanship skills allow me to handle lines when leaving marina and anchorages while she takes us out. This from the women who, ten years ago couldnt get from a boat to the dock without falling into the ever widening gap between boat and dock.
If she gets much more skilled I will be just her pet. Her cabin boy, her kept man, oh yeah, lets keep up this line of thought, I like where it is going.
But this is not about Captain Lynnie's sex life. It is suppose to be about my mother.
Dear old Mom is aboard, well MoM is also here but she is our autopilot. The other one is my mother dearest.
Mom is the oldest woman I know. That title used to be reserved for Lynns Mom, but shewell she, you know, she did what old people do. My Mom is beyond that sort of thing. She has joined the ancient ones and therefore will never die.
Remember this is the Mom that spent a week chained to our boat with a sander in her hand when it was on the hard. This is the Mom that I could have traded for a 1967 Ford pickup truck to another boater in the marina. This is the Mom that stands on our pontoon boat with her hands locked behind her back and strolls the quarterdeck whilst we traverse Bayliner wakes on the intracoastal in Englewood. This is the native women that goes into the mountain buys raw wool, cards the wool, gets raw material and dyes the wool, spins the wool into yarn and then knits a sweater for the damn sheep she got the yarn from. (Sorry that last phrase was poetic license.)
But we dont have to worry about my mom kickin the bucket she is just too darn ornery.
Now she has taken up residency in our salon during the day which is our saloon at night. That also has solved our problem of whether to call that particular area either salon or saloon. For some reason this is one of the most divisive conversations among boaters. Is it salon or saloon? Well from now on if we are drinking in this area or if we should be drinking it is saloon, if we are doing other things it will be referred to as a salon. Now that decades old problem is solved can we please get back to talking about the grand dame, my mother?
I didnt know she talks so much. She has talked non-stop for three days. Not complaining mind you, it pick ups the slack since I really dont have a lot to contribute to saving the world.
My mom is great. She has inspected every area of this boat: climbing here, sniffing there, peering into every little nook and cranny. She has scared more cockroaches with her snooping that we may never have to set off bug bombs again. She has reviewed every area of the boat that she has sanded. I am so glad I didnt have her working in the engine room. The girls in the holy place, (Leela and Liela the Lehman engines) would probably be extremely rude to her as they are possessive of me. I can imagine they would have mutinied.
Our visit has been grand, laid back, comfortable and easy.
That is why we have not written an email for a while. When life is too good and there is little stress there is nothing to write about. I must tell you, life is very, very good right now.
Contentment from the pilothouse,
Wayne, Lynn & Grandma Flatt
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