Moving onto a boat was the result of: wanting to downsize, needing a smaller monthly overhead, desiring to live some place cool. Prior to deciding to live on a boat, I had the strongest urge to build a cob house. They are artful, affordable, small, and just…well, adorable. Yahoo! just posted an article about smaller homes, and it reminded me of my love of cob houses.
Last week I housesat for my parents as they traveled to California to, among other things, spend a day at Disneyland. I haven’t been to Disneyland in nearly ten years, so I’m a little bitter that they got to go and I remained behind to care for their house/zoo. But it wasn’t all bad, and I admit that there were aspects of living on land which I enjoyed.
Today was docking day. I’ve been looking forward to this day for weeks, thinking longingly of having as much electricity as I needed, being able to walk into downtown under the power of my own legs (and just my legs), not having to deal with the tumultuous weather, and never agonizing over leaving something on my boat, and then having to jump back into the dinghy to go out into the bay to retrieve it. The weather has also encouraged the big move. The past few days have been incredibly windy, with gusts over 30 mph. The howling wind made 30 foot Libby a wave jumper, and while the anchor line was incredibly secure, the noise and the rocking were getting old.
Yesterday I happily posted photos and gloated about the amazing morning view. Even my neighbor, who’s been living aboard and sailing for years, was out of his boat going ga-ga over the painterly display. It was too beautiful not to share, and based on the comments, I know it made people jealous. So, to help you get over the jealousy, I wanted to share the rest of the day with you 
Trust me, you won’t be envious.
The S/V Libby is a girl, and a girl lives within. When she sailed under a different name, she was a liveaboard boat for 30 years, and I have to assume that she was inhabited by a y-chromosomed individual, one who didn’t put a great deal of thought into her interior. When I first saw and fell in love with my boat, I saw so much potential for beauty, and lots of work to be done to make her look amazing. Now that I’m living here, it’s time to start making plans for how to bring her out of the seventies and into the new millennium.
It’s nearly nine pm, the sun has already set, and the sky is dusky pink fading into blue. Mount Rainier is still visible, but disappearing into dusk. Though a still day, the wind has picked up a little, rippling the water. Seagulls fly overhead, probably looking for a free meal, and the seals are heading in for the night, though they’ve been cruising around all day. They have cubs this time of year, small little fat baby seals the size of Riley with tiny heads and football shaped bodies. There’s a splash every now and then, but by the time I turn my head, I cannot see who caused it. Last night, late when it was dark, I heard so much splashing I came out to investigate to find dogfish, lots of them, circling and prowling in the night. The beam of my flashlight turned their dark eyes to a glowing green, and the tiny shark like fish looked menacing.
To sum up: this is so freaking cool.
Big News: I’m going to live on a sailboat. Full time. I’m giving up most of my possessions and trading it for a life on a boat, out on the bay or in a dock. For those who don’t care to read the lengthy explanation below, let me summarize why I’m making this change: freedom, romance, frugality, pride of ownership, it’s darn cool, and because I can.