Aboard No Boundaries
July 12, 2009
Our recent passage from Cape May, New Jersey, to Block Island, Rhode Island, was equivalent to a university education, I think. We learned a lot, including some things we did not want to know.
For example, when a container full of liquid is jounced, it will almost inevitably turn over, and when it does, the liquid spills out. Even if it is only a teaspoon of liquid, once the container turns over, the liquid blooms to a much larger volume. I don’t know if it is consistent with physics or not, but it is a reality. Do you remember the last time your child spilled a half cup of milk on the kitchen floor? You know what I mean.
On our journey the boat was sometimes wallowed by following winds and sometimes jolted by oncoming seas. However, for a few hours on Wednesday evening, the winds were light and the seas were calm compared to our past 36 hours. We were lulled into complacency about liquids, because for the first time in several hours we were not being thrown hither and thither. We decided that we would allow ourselves one glass of wine with dinner. In fact, we were so complacent about it all that we allowed ourselves one glass of red wine. Wouldn’t you think that people who have sailed before would know better?
We ate our dinner in the cockpit. I took up our plates and set them on the bench between us. Then I brought up our stainless steel wine glasses with the non-skid feet. Now this is a caution all by itself. Would you not think that the very fact I thought I needed stainless steel would clue me in to the possibility that the glass would tip and fall over? I guess I was brain-dead, or in a stupor. At any rate, I handed Larry his glass, and he set it on the bench.
“Not there,” I said. “Put it on the non-skid.” I had brought up non-skid placemats for each of us where I expected us to set our plates and glasses. I picked up his glass and set it on the non-skid. About that time, the boat lurched gently and the glass fell over.
“Oh, no!” I cried, and Larry grabbed for the glass to try to pick it up before the wine flowed all over. “Oh, no!” I cried again. “I’ll get you a paper towel.” I set my own glass down on my non-skid placemat, the boat lurched again, and my own glass fell over. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” I cried, running as fast as I could for more paper towels.
This should have been a warning. It certainly was a teachable moment. For a fast learner.
The next morning, we were traveling in ferocious wind that was throwing the boat, and everything in it, all over everywhere. I had learned that even in such wind, the coffeemaker seemed to stand still on the nonskid mat where I placed it. We wanted coffee in the worst way, and unbeknownst to me, that was exactly the way we were going to get it.
I took the coffeemaker out of the sink, where I keep it when under way, and set it on the nonskid mat. I ground my coffee beans and put the ground coffee in the filter holder. I filled the coffeemaker with water, and that was a challenge, I can tell you. I had water all over the counter, but enough went in the pot to make a full batch. That experience should have taught me something too, but I seem to be a slow learner.
When the coffee was done, I observed that the violent motion of the boat had shaken a lot of grounds out of the filter and allowed them to fall into the pot. So what, I said. It is coffee. I poured most of the coffee into a thermos and set it on the nonskid. Why I didn’t put the lid on it right away, I don’t know, but I was really focused on pouring a mug of coffee for Larry. I had an unbreakable coffee mug with a sipping lid, and I started pouring the coffee into Larry’s mug. It wasn’t easy, and I should have already known it wouldn’t be easy, but I poured over the sink to catch drips and overflows. Suddenly we were hit by a powerful wave. The boat lurched to one side, dipped and then rose up suddenly. The thermos of coffee turned over, and coffee began to run all over the counter.
“Oh! ooohhhhh!” I cried. I knew that I need to stop that overflow if we wanted to have any more coffee. “I need to put a lid on that thermos,” I thought as I set Larry’s cup down. I picked up the thermos and the lid just as Larry’s cup fell over and landed upside down in the sink. “Oh! Ooooohhh!” I cried again, trying to grab his cup without losing the thermos.
I think I may have learned my lesson now. A boat in motion is subject to move at any time in any direction. Containers full of liquid are inherently unstable no matter their shape, and any darn fool ought to know better than to set one down anywhere on a moving boat without a sealed lid. Maybe after all this learning I have earned my certificate of achievement as “Any Darn Fool.”
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