Turquoise lipstick

November 23rd, 2015
Day 1 aboard Elwing
Departed the mooring @ Peace, Hope and Charity, now anchored @ Sailor's Rest
Patterson Inlet, Stewart Island, New Zealand

The kids have just gone to bed a d immediately after I sat down with Arthur to get the 411 on the morning  schedule, ready and excited to crawl into my sweat inducing zero degree orange Kelty sleeping bag, my skipper announces causally, "I'm just going to hop into the dingy off the back of the boat for a wee bit. Watch after these guys for me." "Yeah, no worries," I responded confidently. I happily agreed expecting a five minute shift...

It's been thirty minutes. It's past 9pm at night. Through the windows I see that the sky still holds a vague sense of rays of the day but it's so meek it may only be that of the luminous moon we excitedly found as we emerged to the deck to brush our teeth and rinse our mouths with a bucket of salt water pulled directly from the ocean below us. Part of me wants to wander up above the galley to the deck to take in the quiet, calm, dark blue sky and the mysterious uninhibited land all around us. However, in all honesty, I'm afraid of what I might find frolicking ashore or galavanting in the dingy. I'll give the skipper his privacy and just try to relax. Maybe he's in the bush looking for kiwis. I have no idea. But in reality, he did not disclose his planned activity. Maybe because he doesn't plan anything. His style would be just to hop in the dingy and go where nature guides him. Which is awesome! But wih eah gust of wind that hurls through the rods above and down to my chambers, and each shift of pubescent males in the chambers next door (in the kitchen/lounge area) I get s tinge of excitement and relief that the dingy is on it's journey back. And then...nope. Just wind. Just restlessness. Ah wait, that's the sound of man-made technology! The dingy returns! And with the clatter of buckets and the swoosh of rain gear being removed my hopes are confirmed. Can I get in my beautiful orange fluff muffin of a bed yet?

I continue to sit up upright, bag beside me rather than around me with my ear close to the kids' bunks. Mostly because I know that if I decide to lay down and get cozy I couldn't really rest. Rest comes when you have allowed yourself and also been given permission to call it a day. No more responsibilities. No more tasks or requirements. No one else's well being or success in your hands. Just time to try your body and mind so you can recover for the responsibilities of tomorrow.

What's interesting is that this is the first time I have had any responsibility in quite some time. Like a really long time. There were a few things here and there. But the last time I had to be somewhere because someone else was relying on me (besides dog sitting) - well that hasn't happened since early May. Crazy. This morning was a bit stressful scary because of that. Wow. And think of all the people in my life I have been asking so much of and bombarding with my emotions and they've been having so much of this pressure every single day.
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Woah my writing just got interrupted for a good hour because once the Skipper came down to my chambers he looked at me straight away and asked (although in my mind this is a rhetorical question), "do you want some seafood?" What? Seafood?! "Did you just catch something?" He responded nonchalantly, "yeah just sent and grabbed some muscles."

I don't even know if I can go into the details of the next 60 minutes or so because they were just so simple and perfect and it all just happened - I literally just crawled into my lovely puffy sleeping bag, after shoving one pair of wool socks and my running tights and long sleeve light blue Philadelphia marathon tech t shirt at the foot of my sleeping bag, and out pen to paper (the pen I was given for free Byron Bay after we were put in a room that smelled like an ashtray). Huddled around the stove with only the faint light besides the glow of the flame below the pot filled with the sacred green lipped muscles, five slumbering boys lay almost within arms reach. We whispered and I never fully relaxed, worried we'd shake them from their slumber, even though Mr. Skipper already assured me, matter of fact my, that they were sound asleep. We chatted about being emotional, spiritual, retreats, books, my parents, and other deep topics, while we patiently waited for those dark blue furry shells to gently open those beautiful lips lined with turquoise lipstick. Once they were opened the preferred width, the water was drained, and the muscles were splayed on the counter with one heave for some good ol' fashioned finger food consumption, sans plates. The size of the meat on these things is unparalleled with any muscle I've ever seen. Outside o their brethren in the Big Bay. I immediately inquired as to the proper way to dissemble the treats. With a few flicks of the fingers I was already lost and confused. I opened my own and revealed the innards of the fleshy fish, trying to navigate which say was up and where to put my fingers. I immediately felt like j was getting a lesson in female anatomy, mesmerized by the complex biology before me, akin to Steve Carell in 40 Year Old Virgin. "Pull that nub off there, then push that muscle through." Ah, okay.

As soon as that sea creatures grazed my tongue it melted it's ocean butter over each tastebud, and I was sure I'd found heaven. "This is why no muscles back at home ever satisfy me - I am spoiled in New Zealand." The largest muscles I'd ever seen were lined up in front of me, like a hot dog eating contest, they were begging to be devoured. My host insisting I finish the rest - another four or five behemoths.  I wanted to savour each flavor in it's entirety and distinction, even the texture as I chewed away.

I refused the offer of a pre-bed, post supper hot chocolate, because #1) I wanted to hold onto the savory flavors of the cherished surprise. Seriously, I just burped and it tasted like New Zealand Green Lipped Muscles. Success. Good night. Good night indeed.