What it is

It has been a bit over a week since our plans got changed by my unanticipated visit to the cardiac ICU. At the one week check-up they downloaded a data dump from the thing in my chest. Apparently my heart fires normally 96% of the time, leaving the other 4% (a bit less than once a minute average) to be aided with a small jolt. At that rate, the battery life is estimated at 15 years. I was deemed as “doing just fine.” The bandage over the wound, which had grown to be more than a little irritating, was removed. The wound itself was also reported as "doing just fine". So now it is just a matter of waiting out the weeks it will take for the muscle to heal. Though limited to what can be done with my left arm, I'm not completely useless. (No snide remarks please.)

With Deb doing the heavy lifting, we assembled and installed a lift point for the dinghy at the aft starboard corner of the aft deck roof. With a newly purchased 8 to 1 block set at a much better (almost vertical) angle for the initial pull to get the thing out of the water, levering the Dink up onto the swim platform, motor and all, should be far less trying. We also added a U-bolt to the swim platform so the rig can be cleanly stowed but easily at hand when the Dink is in the water. The whole rig looks more “ship-shape” than did the one we were using. That one had the lines from two different block sets strung all the way across the aft deck to the top of the ladder up to the flybridge. We are waiting on the Dink motor to arrive after roughly 3/4 of a boat buck worth of work. Once it is mounted to the dink transom we will put the rig to the real test. It should be fine. As is usual for us, we likely overbuilt the anchor for the new lift point to some ridiculous degree. Other projects to help while away the weeks are mostly bright work and, maybe, some interior repairs. All things I can do without over taxing the still healing bits of my anatomy.

The enforced slow pace of my day makes time for sitting in the fly bridge, drinking coffee and watching nature do her thing with utter disregard to whatever foolishness us pesky humans might be up to. (I'm assuming the foolishness continues though we are not really paying much attention.) Thousands of little silver fish take to jumping in the mornings, ruffling the water and making it sound identical to rain. We are not sure what they are doing but cormorants and sea gulls swoop in for breakfast while larger birds, hawks and vultures, fly top cover. Dolphins can often be seen out in the river, casually broaching in a lazy way that suggests they are just poking around. Sunset and sunrise paint the waterscape with colors never seen in the city. There are no towering buildings in sight. With the exception of the bridge, the tallest structures around are the trees.  

Deb and I take long walks back to our old slip and then into town. My new heart control logs the “activity time” all by itself and blue tooth's the info to my phone. When necessary the info can be transmitted pretty much anywhere in the country. (The Borg weren't kidding when they claimed "Resistance is futile".) Often we chat with other live-a-board folks as we go. Sometimes we sit on another's boat and tell sea stories. Sometimes they wander over to our new parking place and come aboard. It all reminds me of a) how lucky I am and b) how much I enjoy this lifestyle. Once we get underway, there are plans to have various grandkids rotating on and off the boat, giving us some extra crew and them a chance to see what DeMa and Grampy T are doing while away. Eventually we will end up in St. Louis, mixing the two lifestyles together with the boat always available for an adventure. But for now we make the boat pretty, take it easy, and wait until it is time to go. Not bad considering what it is...and what it could have been.

The view of First Light from the bridge. First Light is in the center of the picture back 
near the tree line