FRIDAY
10/28/11
For some, Friday means just another day. For some, Friday is the first day of the weekend. For most, ourselves included, it meant for years, the time to head to the boat. That was a three hour drive and with some luck, a short wait at the ferry line in Port A. We did that for over fifteen years. Since Bear was teaching and I had some flexibility in my hours, we could get away in time to beat the rush hour traffic in San Antonio. In the later years, we just drove through the country. With Jimmy Buffett music on the radio, we had enough time in the car to make the transition from the work week to the sailing life before we got to the boat. The troubles of the week vanished by the time we gazed at the dolphin in the Corpus Christi Ship Channel. We could see the mast from the ferry. That three hour drive was a time to dream about not just the weekend, but also about the cruise we hoped to make someday. In essence, late Friday afternoon was sort of a time warp or something akin to the radical transition Clark Kent made when he stepped into the phone booth to become Super Man. It was eagerly anticipated every week. It was an exercise in fuel consumption, sort of our way of making a larger carbon footprint.
Post retirement and aboard Why Knot back in January 2010, we sort of lost track of Friday’s importance. About the only time it made any difference was when we attempted to communicate with friends still on the job. Well into the cruise we found it challenging to remember what day it was. Then we sailed into Marsh Harbor, Abaco where the cruiser community discusses the schedule for the week. This week, steak night is at the Jib Room and Sunday is pork at Nippers. Pizza is on Tuesday and on Thursday; fresh produce is available at Maxwell’s. So and so will be entertaining at Pete’s Pub on Friday. It all seemed too organized. Those further down in the island chain we not exposed to the calendar since no such organization existed. Down there, crews could consider the day without knowing which day it was.
Once back in the States, Friday got lost again. Having been ashore now for over four months, I caught myself thinking about Friday (go day) again. This is the longest we have been absent in years from salt air. While we are assembling a go box, it will be some time before we drag it to the car and point our hood ornament toward salt water once again. Meanwhile, Friday is a time to spool up a memory or two until we can make more. Friday is a marker of the week past and it comes faster and faster as the years sail by.