April

It is April and Carrie Rose sits happily corralled at the front of the yard. She spent the winter uncovered. Too many projects: a new air conditioner, and the cracked and bent stanchions were repaired. Overall, except for the varnish — the most obvious flaw — she looks good.

Granted, not having her covered saved enough money to offset the stanchion repair but I cannot help feeling guilty. I know this a product of my catholic upbringing because Carrie Rose, no matter how much anthropomorphizing goes on, is an inanimate object especially when sitting in a granite strewn parking lot.

We are preoccupied this year and will not become waterborne until June. This is a good thing because being at the front of the yard means that there are many boats to get in the Chesapeake Bay before the owner and almost solitary worker, George, can get to us.

Part of the installation of the AC required drilling and cutting new holes on the inside and outside. The most noticeable hole is the large square outflow vent in the pilothouse. This is guaranteed to cool us off in the hottest part of the boat. The windows in the pilothouse act as a greenhouse, but now the full power of the AC will be blown into the space and drop into the lower parts of the boat to also cool them. We shall see.

The second hole is a ¾” hole just above the waterline amidships. This is where the water from the AC exits back into whatever body of water it was drawn from. Calling our new AC an AC is a misnomer. It is a heat exchanger that draws heat or cold out of the existing heat or cold in the water. Conceptually I understand it but technically, no matter how many times I look at the dumb downed diagrams, I just don’t get it.

I am sure if I studied enough it would become clear. In my past profession, there were many complicated ideas to absorb and act on. There was no way to skirt the knowledge. It had to be understood and so I learned how to comprehend despite the initial difficulties. In fact, after my training was complete and I became comfortable in my duties, I realized what a valuable skill the above is.

At the kitchen table I spent years “studying” wine, art, music, the Japanese tea ceremony, grammar, and on and on. I am still at it and do not suppose I will stop. This gets me thinking about why I was such a miserable student. To say I hated school would be an understatement. In grammar school, I spent many hours staring out the window wondering when the recess or end-of-the-school-day bell would sound.

Well, this story has morphed from Carrie Rose in the spring to grammar school. Probably best if I wrap this up and get back to planning to scrap, sand, and varnish the most obvious flaws.