I Lost The Dang Boat

I was going to write about how lousy our weather has been for the last week. Horrible. More like Seattle or London than a tropical Caribbean island (is that redundant?). It's the rainy season down here. Rainy, it is. Windy, too. And chilly, which I hadn't expected. Down in the upper 60's. What are you, kidding me? I didn't bring clothes for this. And I mean *no* long-sleeve shirts, much less a sweatshirt. It's 18 degrees latitude fer cryin' out loud.

I was going to write about how depressed it makes me...about how I need sun and sand (and rum) for my mental health.

I was going to write about the American holiday of Thanksgiving. Hondurans obviously don't celebrate it, and I was a little bummed about not being able to be up in the States to be with friends and/or family. But a couple of other kind and good ex-pats invited me over today for dinner. How could I refuse!

Sharon and Mike Jones are former CIA agents in exile or hiding I think, either/or. Anyway, they have this gorgeous house on a lush hillside not too far from town (the Cay). And boy, do they know how to entertain! They always put on these incredible spreads. You never leave Sharon's table hungry, believe me. This time it was traditional Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings. And she outdid herself this time.

Thanks to Mike and Sharon I am beginning to develop something of a social life here. I've gotten to meet some of the other interesting and colorful local transplants who inhabit this crazy place.

As usual, I stayed behind drinking after all the other guests had left. Not a great idea, since although I had planned on hitching a ride in someone else's boat, I ended up taking my own. But I do this. I find that I can get comfortable in just about any surroundings now. And maybe that is the whole secret key to life: Get comfortable, wherever you are. If you can do that, life's a beach. But it must be said that Sharon and Mike's place is an easy place to get comfortable. Relaxing on their wrap-around deck with a fresh rum and coke or a cold Salva Vida beer is good livin' indeed.

It was nearly sunset when I finally made my way back down the path to their dock...the dock where I had...parked...the...where's the fookin boat?! I wasn't even that drunk. I was being good; just a little beer, a little wine, a little more beer, a little rum - certainly not drunk enough to misplace a boat. But sure enough, it was gone. Funny thing was, when the other guests had left just an hour or so before, my boat was still there.

Now I'm freaking. We had maybe twenty minutes of daylight left. So time was definitely not on our side. We jumped in Mike's boat and headed out. "Which way?" Mike asked. "Give me a heading." Me? Like I know? There were a couple of bumps on the horizon which also happened to be downwind, so we headed that way. But did the boat drift downwind or down-current? We're driving along and I'm thinking, This is not good. Mike was confident that we'd find it quickly.

I'll cut to the chase: We found the boat quickly. Nobody had stolen it. It was just floating there, bow line still attached, having come undone from my un-nautical knot. I jumped in and roared away. Made it back to our cay at last light. Close.

So tomorrow I'll get someone to teach me the various knots boaters use.

In the end, I just decided to write about how much I have to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.