One of the difficult things about writing boating stories is the time delay between submitting a story to the editors for their consideration and that month where the column actually shows up in print. Sometimes my goober tales have no time sensitivity, so it really doesn’t matter when (if) they make it to the finish line; other times it will be so long before the piece gets published that I forgot writing it in the first place.
The cool part of that process are the mini discoveries I get to open monthly, reading my article at the same time as you, thumbing through the same pages as you. Like a time capsule, I get to look back in time and reminisce about those times months ago, sometimes even years ago. It took me a while to understand, but my reward isn’t that power to review my history; like Doc Brown, my gift is the ability to send messages into the future.
This message is to my future self, who is shoveling a snow-filled driveway after yet another string of cold and dark days, who is wondering why he works so hard at the j.o.b. just to pay for things such as maintenance, storage, slip fees, and shrink wrap for a stupid boat that can’t be used for another four or five months. That guy who is contemplating a really low listing price in YachtWorld right now, I’d like you to listen…
There will be warm weather. There will be sunny skies. There will be gentle breezes blowing through your open canvas as you watch your family in bathing suits playing cribbage in the cockpit, condensation rolling down the outside of their iced tea glasses. Soon there will be small waves lapping at the hull as you sleep, recreating the sound and motion your wife imparted on your son’s bassinette his first day home. Soon your lungs will fill with sea air, replacing smog generated by that snow blower at the end of your driveway.
Green will come. So will the warm water for swimming and that spare time you thought would never materialize due to your crazy schedule. Perfectly flat water will lay out before you like a billiard table’s felt for your boat to glide so smoothly you can actually hear your own spray landing outside your wake. Cheeks will flutter from friends and family on your bow as their drool leaves smiley marks on your windscreen due to near wide-open throttles as you return from a dinner cruise like no other. I know this because it just happened here.
Ignore questions of time and money spent during your winter lulls, because that minimal expense now pays dividends later. Instead, focus on those soon-to-be sunsets out on the hook, followed promptly with coffee in one hand and your wife in the other, for those sunrises on the bow are quite possibly the only meaning of life.
by Mike Edick
Wednesday, December 30, 2015 - 12:00
One of the difficult things about writing boating stories is the time delay between submitting a story to the editors for their consideration and that month where the column actually shows up in print. Sometimes my goober tales have no time sensitivity, so it really doesn’t matter when (if) they make it to the finish line; other times it will be so long before the piece gets published that I forgot writing it in the first place.
The cool part of that process are the mini discoveries I get to open monthly, reading my article at the same time as you, thumbing through the same pages as you. Like a time capsule, I get to look back in time and reminisce about those times months ago, sometimes even years ago. It took me a while to understand, but my reward isn’t that power to review my history; like Doc Brown, my gift is the ability to send messages into the future.
This message is to my future self, who is shoveling a snow-filled driveway after yet another string of cold and dark days, who is wondering why he works so hard at the j.o.b. just to pay for things such as maintenance, storage, slip fees, and shrink wrap for a stupid boat that can’t be used for another four or five months. That guy who is contemplating a really low listing price in YachtWorld right now, I’d like you to listen…
There will be warm weather. There will be sunny skies. There will be gentle breezes blowing through your open canvas as you watch your family in bathing suits playing cribbage in the cockpit, condensation rolling down the outside of their iced tea glasses. Soon there will be small waves lapping at the hull as you sleep, recreating the sound and motion your wife imparted on your son’s bassinette his first day home. Soon your lungs will fill with sea air, replacing smog generated by that snow blower at the end of your driveway.
Green will come. So will the warm water for swimming and that spare time you thought would never materialize due to your crazy schedule. Perfectly flat water will lay out before you like a billiard table’s felt for your boat to glide so smoothly you can actually hear your own spray landing outside your wake. Cheeks will flutter from friends and family on your bow as their drool leaves smiley marks on your windscreen due to near wide-open throttles as you return from a dinner cruise like no other. I know this because it just happened here.
Ignore questions of time and money spent during your winter lulls, because that minimal expense now pays dividends later. Instead, focus on those soon-to-be sunsets out on the hook, followed promptly with coffee in one hand and your wife in the other, for those sunrises on the bow are quite possibly the only meaning of life.
by Mike Edick