Disappointed

The storm passes with a sudden lull, and then a new wind trickles in. Off in the distance there is a rich amber sunset with the coastal pine forest silhouetted by the remnants of wispy clouds. And the temperature has moderated. I hear all sorts of weird birds calling across the channel now that the wind is hush.

A perfect night for a walk but there is a small problem, mosquitoes. They have but a few weeks in the North (N 45˚59.16/W 81˚55.71) to suck blood, and they are not about to lose any time. I may be anthropomorphizing but come on you know I am right.

They are looking for warm mammals and I fit the bill. In fact I am the perfect thin-skinned dupe. That is unless I am covered with DEET. If there was ever a trade off between some perceived threat and immediate gratification this is it. Who would not give a year of life in return for not being eaten alive?

So I am disappointed that I cannot be outside on this perfect night. I am disappointed that after years of planning three misfiring injectors derail our cruise. And I am disappointed that the parts are in Halifax and not in the back of the mechanics truck. That’s life you say but I feel like grieving.

I think some grief might come in handy. Maybe then I can stop grinding my teeth. There are worse things than being stranded in your yacht. It is not hard to think of them. In fact that is what I am doing right at this moment. I will let you come up with your own examples.

I thought writing this would make me feel better. It has not. The fact that I am wallowing is probably making things worse. So I will change the topic, to what I am not sure. I like feeling miserable about this turn of events. It seems to be the correct response. And I have not even started to think about the cash outlay. That will further tug on the emotions.

There is one cause for joy: the barometer is rising. Quite a bit actually and this portends multiple days of fine weather; multiple days that I will not be able to take advantage of. See, more reasons for misery. I need a good cry but I am not schooled in the technique. It has happened in the past but only during life altering events. This is hardly that. I think it may help. I will try to tear again in the morning before I have my cup of coffee, maybe that will trigger it.

Now I can see the moon through the rigging of a nearby sailboat. During the windstorm that same sailboat’s halyard was banging against its mast. I will never understand why certain sailors do not tie their lines off. It is simple enough. I wanted to silence it, but it is not my boat. A passing neighbor asks if the noise is bothering me. When I respond in the affirmative she says, “Go tie it off, no one will care.” And so I do and am back in my chair in thirty seconds.

This is the one definitive thing I do all day, other than planning my escape west out of these islands. That is if the parts arrive from Halifax and the mechanic drives up the entire east coast of Georgian Bay to install them. He seems a nice enough guy. I have the manual, so I am confident if he sent me them I could save him the trip. But I will keep this to my miserable self, after all it is the least I deserve.