Good news, bad news

"Yeah, the blog is getting a little dry, isn't it?"
Well.  It seems my posts of late have failed to impress my bunkmate (and oh, the ingratitude! See if he gets another post in his honour.) Not that he doesn't have a point. Back in the chilly days of October, it was easy to be funny in a slipping-on-a-banana-peel kind of a way. As a person utterly new to sailing and, let's face it, hardship of any sort, it wasn't difficult to find things to grouse about.  My long-ago stint in Germany and working though the joys of the work permit system gave me practice in turning my teeny-tiny trials into something amusing. And, voila!  Instant blog.  It introduced a necessary element of schadenfreude to this enterprise: you, my dear readers, were far less likely to turn away in disgust from my privileged account of my two-year sabbatical if there were difficulties along the way. And there were. Many.

The bad news for you is that now we are in a warm place. And let me tell you, even higher on my list of peeves than laundry that does not dry is being cold.  This is a bad thing for someone from Canada, and played no small part in my agreeing to this adventure.  Erik can confirm that I spend much of my life below room temperature.  In a cage fight between the laws of physics and my icy hands of death, you should definitely put the milk money on me.

I've drifted off topic.  Point: cold = bad.  Cold = Amy indulging in great pessimism.  But when the sun shines... ahh, then, my friends, everything looks rosy.  The anchor is dragging and we're drifting onto a shoal in the middle of the night during a sudden storm?  In the Chesapeake, I may have just had a heart attack and had done with it.  When in happened in Key West a week ago?  Oh, gosh.  I'd better skip on over and get that anchor up then!  La de dah de dah!  And I did, and we repositioned, and then there was a parade with rainbows and puppies and everyone got free chocolate.  Or so it felt like.

Still drifting off topic.  My point is really this.  The bad news for you, for me, and for this little blog, is that nothing crummy is as funny in the sunshine.  I don't feel as rotten about it, so I can't complain effectively, so you don't get the same thrill for not living on this boat, and can feel all snug and secure at home even though it is -52 Celsius and eight meters of snow have fallen in the past ten minutes.  Unless I can make you say, "Ha ha!  My furnace is costing me $400/minute, but at least I'm not on Papillon!", then I have failed at my job.

Well.  Now.  My chickadees, I promise you, trials and tribulations lie in store!  We haven't stopped fixing dead engines during the night.  We still find ourselves surrounded by cruise ships and freighters at 2am, wondering how we are going to cross the Gulf Stream without getting creamed, and are those two little sets of lights actually one tug-and-tow waiting to de-mast us with its tow cable?  Dangers abound!  Annoyances proliferate!  And as soon as I get accustomed to this lovely Bahamian weather, I'll once again be glancing at the sky with heavy-lidded eyes and a sneer, asking, "what have you done for me lately?"

But, to tide you over until I regain my customary pessimism, I present to you this short list of reasons you can be happy you are not me.

I Am Happy I am Not Frolicking in the Bahamas on Papillon Because:
1.  I don't have to toilet-train a two-year-old on heavy seas in a bathroom the size of a linen closet.
2.  I don't have to listen to Erik and the girls invent highly dubious rhymes all day long.  (If I have to hear Indy say, "Domo arigato for scratching my botto" one more time...).  Note to future teachers of Indy and Stylish: send all vocabulary complaints directly to my husband.
3.  I don't have to haul a man >1.5 times my weight up the mast to fix things.  And let him down gently again.
4.  No one shakes my shoulder at 2am to say, "It's your watch.  Wake me in two hours."
5.  I don't have to be the only sufferer of seasickness amongst a Crew Without Pity.
6.  If I forget to buy something at the store, I can get it tomorrow.  Supplies are less than a dinghy ride/two-mile walk/tiny grocery store/cab ride/dinghy ride away.
7.  I have more than one functional electrical outlet.
8.  I don't have to re-prime my toilet every time I go somewhere.

There.  That should do for a while.  So, feel good in your life choices, friends.  And don't pity me as I collect conch shells on the beach again tomorrow.  Tra la la!  I'll be back to my grim self soon enough.