Life while restricted to the ship.

I spent the first eight years of my adult life in the Navy after graduating from high school. I also have lived aboard a boat for the last forty five years. Because of this I guess some people would say I’ve developed a few peculiarities about certain things along the way. 

I am most comfortable living in a small space. I have no interest in living in a large home. I did live in a large home way back when. It even had a ballroom in it. It wasn’t for me.

I like to have a sizable quantity of food stowed away in my boat. Canned meat and vegetables and lotsa pasta. I like to keep water and fuel in my tanks in the event I have to get away from some catastrophe either man made or natural. I’ve always figured that I could just sail away and anchor out somewhere until it was safe to return to civilization.

It is because of the above that when this corona virus panic took hold and people, read morons, started clearing the shelves at the market, I hardly took notice. It was like the gasoline shortage of the mid nineteen seventies. I had a Porsche 914 at the time. These little mid-engined jems had large gas tanks and small engines. Porsche used to advertise that you could drive it from San Diego to San Francisco without stopping for gas. It had a 500 mile range. After over a month after the gas shortage started I finally had to get gas. I didn’t know the protocol of lining up  and when I asked people were yelling at me “Where the hell have you been? In a cave or something.”

About 500 feet where we live is Schooner Or Later, a café that serves breakfast and lunches. They are trying to stay afloat by offering take out food and operating a pop up store. They are selling Dairy Products, Cheese, Eggs, Lunch Meat, Produce and Bread. Every other day, we walk over to S or L and get an omelet or a sammich and get two loves of bread. So far it, the quarantine,  has been only an inconvenience. I must admit however my better half scurries of to the store(s) occasionally and returns with her treasures. I believe that she rather enjoys scoring her finds from the barren shelves.  She says it’s like what it must have been like living in the Soviet Union. We could hold out for quite a while living on our dry stores but I think she likes getting away from me from time to time. I know I would but I can’t. I’m trapped.

I have faith in the American economy and truly believe that when there is no room left in the houses of the herd, which I believe will be soon, the stores will return to somewhat normal.

I’m thinking, and hoping, that his will end up like Y2K. What a fiasco that was.

KEEP THE FAITH.