Boiling my head

After days of halting progress towards getting all those hoses hooked up, I finally asked for help. Dan and Darryll said, "Use boiling water. It softens up the tubing until it's almost like jelly. It slips right on."

Sigh. Wish I'd known that before.

So I boiled a pan of water and slid the remaining wrist-destroying SOBs on like it was nothing. One could not be dunked, because it was completely upward-facing, so I stuck a rag into the water and, making those little "hoo ha hoo ha" noises, I tucked one sleeve of the t-shirt into the tube and wrapped the rest around it for a few minutes. It did the job.

I double-clamped the joints, just as Russell advised, with each pair of clamps turning in opposite directions. (I'll put up a picture when I can find my camera.)

I pee'd in my own damn head last night. Who knew it could be such a hugely satisfying experience. (Punsters, kindly keep your gags in your mouths.)

Sleeping better

My elderly cushions are deteriorating, especially the one in the quarter-berth, where I sleep. I dug a cheapo sleeping-mat out of storage and put it underneath; to my surprise, it really helps. Softens the final approach, so to speak.

Paperwork

I finally got the boat insured. I could have gotten cheaper insurance that would have required my hiring a surveyor and getting the boat pulled out of the water to be surveyed, but it turns out my car insurer also insures boats now, so they gave me a pricier insurance that wound up costing at least $100 less than the total cost of the other one. Woo hoo!

What's next

It's all about the forepeak and the engine, now. I've found a mechanic who might actually do some good (my neighbor who helped me check spark before) and I've got a couple of buckets to drain the old gas into, to prepare to clean out the fuel line.

I've got all the tools and materials I need to refinish the forepeak and turn it into a sweet, cozy little bedroom/library. Except the actual mattress. Linda knows a furniture upholsterer who owes her a favor, so I think I can work something out there.

Last but not least ... I'm about to go negotiate with the harbor mistress (*whipcrack* kneel when you say that!) about staying here under fuzzy status for another 4-6 weeks. Wish me luck.

Thi-i-i-is close to tanking

The holding tank is almost done. Whew! I just have to hook the hoses up. That involves sawing and grabbing & twisting, which are a bitch for me, so I'm going to do that in between other tasks.

I need to replace the vent line so I'll go easy on the head until I get that done.

I won't tell you what it was like to get the old holding tank out. It was formerly used by someone with very different ideas of sanitation and stink-control, and that morning's pumpout was, wow, not nearly as thorough as it should have been. I consulted Russell and Regis beforehand, though, and of course I've smelled far worse in a prior life, so I managed it pretty well. Hardly spilled a drop.

The 20-gallon tank was too big to go into the hatch with the old platform in place. The guy who put that platform in used cheap screws and unbelievably soft wood, so I couldn't unscrew anything without stripping it and the wood couldn't provide enough resistance to be levered out. I had to resort to the chisel. I have a graphite-handled hammer, which was SO worth the extra couple of bucks I spent on it. It absorbs so much of the shock I'd rather hammer than do almost anything else with my hand tools.

After pulling out the old platform, I put in a bracket to hold the extension, and premeasured and drilled the marine-grade, 3/4 inch plywood planks I was using for the new platform. I took the wood back out so I could get the tank in.

I got that big bad boy in, bending the laws of physics once or twice I think. Anyway, it went in, right side up and correct end facing the tubing, leaving all my digits intact.

Working on one end at a time, I lifted the tank with an elbow while I jimmied the closely-cut planks into position. I had forgotten to budget for some structures inside the hatch, so, after realizing one plank could not possibly fit the available passage, I decided it had to and suddenly it did.

I still can't figure that one out, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

I've put eye-bolts in strategic places to strap the tank to. The previous owner didn't have his holding tank strapped down. Might be one reason why the inlet hose had to be 7 feet long -- a breeding-ground of smelly anaerobes and seepage.

I replaced the inlet tubing, needless to say. It's just over 3 feet long in my arrangement. Getting it through the bulkhead (= wall) and into the toilet valve was gymnastic: at one point, I was standing on my head which was facing one way and resting in the bilge, while the rest of my body corkscrewed up the hull and out the hatch until my heels tapped against the underside of the shelf above.

I got out by getting a shoulder under my neck, then using my postural muscles to worm me along until I could get some leverage with my feet on the doorframe, then sort of unscrewing myself from the bowels of my boat. I had no idea I could bend that way without special surgery or heavy drugs, but it was fun.

I got everything screwed down for the meantime, but I need to put in some responsible hardware; this stuff is for the birds.

I have to cut the hoses to size and jam them in, then double-seal everything with two opposing hose clamps each, so nothing can escape.

Then I'll be tanked.

If I sound rather smug, it's because I am. Every person I spoke to about this in the planning stages, even those who know how poor I am, said, "You should hire someone to do that. It's an awful job. It's really hard. I don't think you could do that."

Hah! So much for that spiritless, mealy-mouthed wambling.

Transformation 1: Galley, main refit

I put up racks to hold cups, plates, bowls, utensils. I've got all my cooking utensils hanging neatly or stowed in a caddy within easy reach. The caddy doubles as an aid to restraining the knives. I've got a good set of knives, Henckel and Chicago Cutlery, and I found a place to put them which I didn't have to build. Woo hoo! It's not suitable for sailing, not without some creative bungee action, but they're there, out of the way, and easy to get to.

Yes, I'll post pictures. Eventually. I'd rather y'all came to see for yourselves, though. This is going to be one sweet hangout.

I've figured out how to finish the counter so it does everything I need it to. I've also figured out how to get warm water into the sink. I'm going to wait to rant about it until it's all up and working.

I've raised the bar in the hanging/wet locker so it will actually accommodate hanging clothes. I got those smelly vinyl suit bags to keep my clothes in until I get the hull liner taken care of; one of them has been aired and is now in service, and the other two are unzipped and held open out on deck, so they can de-stink and take up the rest of my hanging clothes tomorrow.

I also set up my Mac mini so it's out of the way and easy to get to. With the clothing finding its way home, the shelf in the quarter berth (which is my future work room) is freeing up for my large computer, Bertha, and my huge semi-pro multifunction printer/scanner/etc. I'll try to get help bringing that down tomorrow, since I can't possibly lift those overbuilt bastards myself.

I'm so freakin' pleased I could explode. It's starting to think about maybe looking sort of like a home!

Freshwater; fresh air

The work party definitely broke through my mental dam. I did a lot this week and can wrap my bruisey little brain around doing more.

I replumbed the fresh water tubing! There was a lot less grabbing and twisting than I feared. One sink works; the other doesn't. But I'm quite sure now that it's the sink.

I checked the plumbing elsewhere, and, although the holding tank will be cumbersome, I don't think it will be all that difficult. Knock wood.

I took down the jib, so I can take it to get the sailcover replaced. I brought down the racing jib, so I can theoretically sail sloop-rigged, but it's not hooked on yet.

I told the guy who sold me the boat that every lead he's given me to get the engine fixed has been a dead end, and he can [expletives deleted in my mind] help with it himself. So he agreed to help check it for spark. I have to get the right-sized wrench. (No comment.)

I've figured out how to make the workspace work. I've started figuring out how to make the forepeak into a comfortable, lovely, useful little bower. I feel like I've got a lot to look forward to.

And every morning that it isn't actually pissing down, I stick my head out of the hatch to see everything washed with yellow, peach, blue and green as the day suffuses the water and sky. There is no air like a dawn breeze.

Labor Day

I have to get ready to move onto my boat for real. Given all that remained to be done, and given how unsuited I am to do much of it, I had a Labor Party last Saturday.

It turned out to be a very extreme sort of day for me. I’ve been accused of being “just like a man” at times (which always makes me look down and laugh), and one of the ways this can be true is that, sometimes, I go away and do things in order to process emotionally-loaded events. Rather than talking them to death, which is what most women do. There is considerable satisfaction in surveying the word-battered corpse of something that bugged you a little while ago, but sometimes I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to get out of the way and let my brain do the sorting, and notify me when it has something to say.

So I have spent the week letting my brain sort the emotional crapola. Now I’m ready to talk about what happened.

Down:
It was one of the most painful days in recent memory. I spent most of the morning in the sort of agony that would have had me doubled up and screaming, 7 years ago. Now I just keep going, as long as I can draw a full breath. ...Especially when I have work, people, and food to organize.

Up:
Carwile brought me lunch, which I had completely forgotten to provide for myself. Then, most of the people I counted on showed up. Some are comparative strangers, so I found this very touching.

Down:
Pain tends to fry my circuits. I had made a task list with lovely lucid prompts for my lovely lucid mind, but that mind was on holiday. I swear I had a hard time reading Arial 14-point font, let alone making sense of anything it said. And every time I was trying to work out one train of thought, someone interrupted (legitimately) needing my opinion on something else.

I simply could not think about more than one thing at a time. It was maddening.

Up:
Russell knocked off his first task in his usual capable manner, and said he was done. I said, “What about … “ (this other task)?

I had clearly left my manners in my other shirt.

He admitted (quietly) that he was in pain. After the life he has lived, it’s a miracle he’s in one piece.

I said, “OK, forget about that other thing. You’re done. Thank you!”

Then Andy sauntered up, cigar stub dangling, and started offering advice on how to do that task.

Picture this: 60-something lifelong sailor, boatbuilder, former paratrooper with 101st Airborne who survived active duty in wartime, trainer of champion racers … being lectured by a whippersnapping 32-year-old Coast Guard electronics geek, with a stubby sticking out of his face, on how to handle rigging.

Once I could pick up my jaw, I decided not to interfere. I fled belowdecks to check on the first aid kit and await the outcome.

When I came back up, both of them were working peacefully away on the task I had told Russell not to bother with.

… Men. I don't get 'em, but they sure can be good to have around.

Down:
The engine did not get touched. Damn damn damn. Also, I decided not to deal with the holding tank.

Up:
Amazing amounts of work got done. Carwile sawed everything I handed him, and Ed sanded it. Celeste, who is not a sailor and who drove 100 miles to come help, did every fiddling little task I didn’t want to ask the sailors to spend their time on. Regis pulled my head apart (okay, that sentence could be misread; handle it) and was Russell’s inside man on the tedious rigging work.

Down:
Dan and Allison kidnapped my god-damn party. Once the cleaning up was almost done, they decided cooking was too much work for me (cooking for my friends makes me feel better) and that their boat was larger and cushier anyway (thanks for rubbing that in) and next thing I knew, Russell and Regis had taken off and everyone else was headed off to the next pier.

Up:
Someone else had to do the dishes.

Down:
I cooked meat on Allison’s very vegetarian boat. Oops.

Up:
Andy mixed mojitos.

Very down:
Once a few guests were gone and Allison was asleep, the remaining men turned on internet porn flicks, and made animated comments on Heather’s name and technique.

I have never felt so … invisibled … by people I thought I knew. There was no point in saying goodbye, so I didn’t. I just left.

All in all:
An eventful day. Glad I did it; glad it's over. Very glad of the good people I know.