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Boating Rule # 1 – Safety.

Secure anything that could go flying when underway. Whether rough water is expected or not, I’m an expert at this. Master cabin – any photos or ornaments on bedside table, place down flat; bathroom – shampoos, soap etc. place in washbasin or tub; lounge – computer, flowers, ornamental candles, pot plant, room freshener, on floor or couch; galley counter – containers with coffee, dog food, dog snacks, human cookies etc, secured; into galley sink – anything loose on the counter like hand wash, hand cream; heavy wooden block with knife set, firmly lodged into counter corner at sink.

I can accomplish all of that in under three minutes.

On this day, I jammed into the sink my Mothers’ Day flowers. I’d been presented with a huge and beautiful bouquet of flowers but faced the lack of a vase. Don’t even think glass or crystal. The only glass on the boat is the wine glasses as the Captain refuses to drink good wine out of plastic.

But I did have an empty one gallon water jug and without further ado had cut off the top, “borrowed” two heavy propeller  nuts from the Captain to weigh it down and voila, a vase. My flowers made a beautiful center piece in the lounge while in the marina.

That evening, once again safely docked, the captain, who also happens to be the cook, yes, I don’t cook, looked for his favorite carving knife. We searched high, we searched low. We searched far, we searched wide. Up and down and side to side. Remember all doors are closed when we travel so it couldn’t have gone overboard.

There’s a hatch above the sink in the galley, opening into the lounge. Could it have gone through there? Couches, chairs, tables, cushions, not a “stone” left unturned. Maybe it flew down the stairs to the master cabin? Bed taken apart, pillows and covers, every nook and cranny and then some!

But eventually we admitted defeat. It would remain a mystery.

A few days later, I was in the galley doing my cleaning bit. I looked through the hatch, admiring my flowers when a thought tickled my imagination. Could the knife be in the flowers?

I walked over and there it was, happily nestled between some tall yellow asters.

We’d had some wobbly waves, the block had slid down into the sink, tipped forward, the big carving knife had jettisoned  up, done a boomerang bit and missing its own true home on the return, had found a safe and comfortable spot in my flowers.

And so ends the Mysterious Case of the Missing Carving Knife.

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