Floating in Fort Pierce

FT PIERCE, FLORIDA Dearly Disgruntled, SO sorry for being a tardy bloggospondent, but I have a whole boatload of good excuses. After my last post—the one announcing the Oscar contest winner—I was contacted by said winner, who told me that a cheesy NASA souvenir was NOT her idea of a great prize so could I please get her something better. I was completely debilitated by this request (note to winner: this has nothing to do with hair removal), and spent the next few days shuffling disconsolately through the aisles of Target, K-Mart and Cobb's General Store (which specializes in Tabasco-based products), despairing that I'd never find a suitable alternative.

Luckily, my search was cut short by the arrival of daughter Rosie and her friend Bea, who were flown in fresh from Panama City last Friday. Then, the very next day, we launched Sparrow. The guys at Cracker Boy plucked her up off the hard…

…and verrrrry carefully…

…plunked her into Taylor Creek…

…whereupon Bert masterfully maneuvered her through the greasy water. Now, I'm usually the one who takes the helm when we bring a boat up to a dock or into a slip, but when I climbed aboard Sparrow, me timbers were shiverin' uncontrollably, and me heart was pounding violently, and the thought of scraping up the side of our shiny new boat against a big splintery piling was so frightening to me that I sudddenly felt quite pukish. Not wanting to let on, but not wanting to go anwhere near the wheel, I casuallly suggested that Bert should do the honors for Sparrow's maiden voyage. His eyes lit up, he took the helm, and thirty seconds later we were safely tied up at Harbortown Marina. Not a scrape, not a scratch, not a ding. Damn. (I was sort of hoping he'd screw up so I wouldn't be the first one to sully Sparrow's topsides.)

We're still tied up in this very same spot, getting the boat ready for her first real outing. Packing stuff away, then unpacking the stuff, then repacking it. But we're happy to be living aboard the boat, and we're getting into the rhythm of being together in a very small space. This is home. Life is good.

This is Sparrow, standing by.