A prate* on frugality by Todd (because we’ve had time on our hands)

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Ben Franklin, or maybe it was “Mrs. Silence Dogood,” wrote,
“Beware of little expenses. A small leak will sink a great ship.”

It seems we all have a bit of frugality in us, and its fun to think about how it manifests in our lives. We all remember the very wealthy Sam Walton driving a 1979 Ford pickup until he died. Conversely, one might have noticed while driving through the countryside a very expensive car sitting in front of a very humble home. It’s fun to observe how people “prioritize” value in their lives and the contrasts therein.

The contrasts are fun to find. We’ve certainly known both younger and older people who have seemingly saved every stick of clothing they every owned under the idea, “I might wear it again,” and then overly heat their whole house instead of perhaps wearing a sweater or using a blanket. How about those who keep their house freezing yet splurge on great fine dining? My parents lived a somewhat simple life but loved to travel far and wide. Only a second bout with cancer canceled the cruise that would have fulfilled Mom’s deepest wish to see the final of Earth’s seven continents.

Modest or even junk cars with great stereos. Houses that surely need some loving care on the outside but inside are immaculately well-kept, decorated, and loved.

When it comes to frugality, my stake in the sand is shaving. I’ve known fellas that were enthralled to recapture the romance of past techniques and tools of shaving. Some collected the originals and some the newly designed, specialized, and beautifully made double-sided blade razors or even gorgeous, wicked-sharp straight razors. Fancy bowls with boar-hair brushes with “special” shaving soap.  Some guys opt for the bulk pack single-use razors or blister packs of multi-bladed heads. (Look, Honey, 8 blades!) All the tools needed for the finest shave possible. Kinda the male version of many a women’s cosmetic accoutrement. Just piles of stuff at the sink made for spoiling its user. Two counters needed for husband and wife just because of all that stuff!

Sorry, not me. First, I shave in the shower, it’s quicker and mess washes away. Anyway, when “Dollar Shave Club” appeared, I was in nirvana. Five simple two-blade cartridges for four bucks, shipped! The handle came free with the first shipment. New shipment every four months! I still have stacks of extra heads. And shave cream? Fuhgeddaboudit! See below. I use my Dad’s brand. It’s just shave cream and he was a cool dude. But, this is just a place that my frugality went wild and became, “I wonder how long one can of shave cream lasts?” Well, another mystery solved. The can entered service as noted on the bottom and sputtered and died yesterday.

Anyone who knows me, of course knows I did the math. That’s 1247 days, figuring a shave about every 2½ days based on more often early, when I was working and taking Susie out more, but certainly less frequently once retired. That’s approximately 500 shaves. Cost of shave cream? $1.89. Hmm, maybe the old guys knew something? Thanks Dad! Anyway, added up the 3½ years of cartridges used and rounding up, total cost per shave, about 9 cents. Yes! No explanation as to why, that makes me feel good…

Oh, and on the other end of my spectrum, tools… Sorry, Honey, really, the costly ones are just… better! and I, uh, I do better with them, and, they last longer! Not to mention, the guys won’t laugh. Oh, and some of them are just plain cool! 

Humans really are a paradox.  

*Definition: Prate
1. to talk excessively and pointlessly; babble. v
2. to utter in empty or foolish talk. n.
3. the act of prating.
Random House

We’re back in Rock Sound due to the weather. Yep, another cold front; thanks, guys. (We know you don’t much like ’em either.) After that quick run to the market, we had a beautiful sunset and, of course, the conch horn bid the day adieu.

Then, since everyone is tucked into the same anchorage, Dave and Peggy from Simplicity and John and Madeleine from Chanceaux joined us for “sundowers” the following evening. We were very happy to capture a good picture of the gang, after which Peggy got a shot of SaltyMare upon return to their boat.

The wind has been strong enough to warrant putting the dinghy back up top and just hanging out reading and playing games. Let’s see, through Phase 10, Farkle Flip (card version of Farkle), Monopoly (card version), Rage, and finally Tri-Ominos, Todd’s still on the winning streak, the rascal! That is only when Susie sits down long enough (how does a boat get so dusty sitting in water?).

Current plans are to leave Rock Sound and head over to the northern Exumas tomorrow or the next day.

As we cleared the top of Cat and said hello to Little San Salvador again (hey, no giant cruise ship!) we remembered that going across this part of The Exuma Sound can be sporty, as its open to the ocean. Couple that with that pesky southern swell, and we had fun. The swell catching us on the rear quarter was expected, just not appreciated. Ha! Oh well, we’re tough. As we were being pushed around, we looked out, and what in the world is that to starboard? A lone fisherman? Wow! We’re tossing about in almost 60′ of rugged boat, and he’s out there in a johnboat? I sure hope he hasn’t gone to Todd’s School of Fishing. Kidding aside, wow, just wow.

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Some other notable sightings:

As we crossed the section that’s open to the Atlantic, the waves grew to more like 4-5ft, and items in cabinets began to shift. Oops, a bit sportier than we planned. Susie heard liquor bottles rattle and headed to the salon with extra towels to roll up and shove in the empty spaces. (Hmmm, maybe we need to shop so we won’t have empty spaces in the liquor cabinet!) Stepping down from the pilothouse, towels in hand, she discovered a bottle of Dawn Powerwash had leapt over its station behind the cutting board, slid across the galley counter, and landed in the salon floor, where it burst open, spilling its slippery contents in a huge puddle across the salon and down the rear stairs to the stateroom. Oh, boy. What a slick mess to clean up while rolling along on 4-5 footers. After soaking up the Dawn with the towels, we tossed them into the washer. Oops, mistake probably caused by the crazy rolling! 😉 We then ended up with bubbles oozing out of every possible orifice in/over/under/around the washing machine – onto the forward stair. Well, at least the floors are clean. And Susie has a new nickname – you guessed it, “Bubbles.”

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Fish On!

Really, in the middle of this! Todd’s so excited when he hears that zing……………………….

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Good but eventful cruise. Once anchored, we settled in and slept very well, like in the bed, heads at the head of the bed! In the morning, we awoke to find a large school of baby fish – hundreds of them – hanging out behind the swim platform, where they stayed most of the day laughing at us – they’re fish, after all. No idea what they’ll grow up to be, but they were shiny and cute. After some mold-killing chores, the day ended with a pretty but somewhat brooding sunset. That’s excitement on the SaltyMare.

Most importantly, today we acquired provisions and are now ready to tuck in for the windy weekend. Game time! Last time, Todd beat me two out of three. It ain’t fishing…snicker. Watch out, somebody wants a rematch!

Okay, two weeks in one place, a nice place, but just one single place, nevertheless. We stayed partly because we really do like the folks in New Bight and partly because of the weather. Strong winds make for waves, ever growing waves. We’ve mentioned “a blow” and 20 knots plus winds. Thought you might like to see what we are talking about. With us anchored about a quarter of a mile away from the shore, look what 20 knot plus winds can whip up, sorry didn’t get the 30 plus we felt.

We were anchored in a wonderful bight (Webster defines as a curved coastline or open bay), yep, it’s that. Wonderful wind protection from the east because of the big hill with the Hermitage on top, just not much from other directions.

So, what’s coming? Here is one of our weather sources, and look at this coming weekend. The arrows show the predicted wind direction. The number on top is constant wind, and right below the arrow, strength of gusts. We have a real doozy coming up, with the high winds clocking around from south to north!

We have decided to travel back up Cat Island and go around the bottom of Eleuthera to tuck back into good ol’ Rock Sound. This will take two moves: today up Cat to Bennetts Harbour and then tomorrow, the long leg around to Rock Sound.

We’re now laying outside Bennetts Harbour (which was too small and too crowded), and lo and behold, we just saw our first “green flash” at sunset! We’ll keep trying for a really good picture. Oh, the chore….

No roosters!

Historians don’t really know when it started, but one of the earliest “recorded” mentions of a shipboard bell was on a 1485 British ship named Grace Dieu. Before the advent of a really accurate marine timepiece (Marine chronometer – 1761), which is a story in itself, time was measured using sand trickling through a half-hourglass.

Typically, a young lad was assigned the job of flipping the glass when the sand ran out and then ringing the bell to denote this vital job was complete. The sounding of bells on the half and hour continues today in the modern navies of the world.

Thanks for the history, but what does this have to do with the SaltyMare?

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SaltyMare‘s ships clock has its own story told by Todd:

It’s an old-fashioned clock. Rather than batteries, it has a spiral wound spring in its works, so you just wind it once a week and it ticks away. It also has a spring for the chimes, or in this case, bells. My first memories of it, I was young, perhaps 11, in Florida. It held a spot in our hallway, central to the house. Its shiny brass body surrounded by a ships wheel is in contrast to its simple face with roman numerals. Here’s my guess as to where my father acquired it. Dad was career Navy and spent 25 years on submarines. The mid- to late-sixties would have meant perhaps he brought it home from one of his tours in the Mediterranean or it was a gift from one of the officers we hosted during a visit from one of Britain’s nuclear subs.

For me, it was just always there, announcing the changing time. As a Navy family, it goes without saying, there was order in our house. When Dad was at sea, Mom ran a tight ship, and the clock rang on. You got used to its rhythm through the day. Many a day, I awoke to hear 5 bells, and dinner was typically after 2 bells. The key was kept on top of a nearby bookcase. Winding was always done by Mom or Dad, regularly on Sunday. In high school, if I heard 6 bells, it was out the door running down the hill to catch the bus.

They gave the clock to me as an adult. I guess with my leaving the house, their life had changed, slowed down, I suppose. Maybe not as much order was needed. It rang throughout my adulthood and parenthood, in my various homes, admittedly sporadically. Like most older things we “inherit” while young, we set them aside for newer stuff. Heck, sadly forgotten, it once fell off the wall during the pounding of a renovation. Finally, during another one of life’s events, into a box it went. Always with me, too many memories to discard. When Susie and I sold everything we own to move to the water, it survived the cut. Just couldn’t let it go. We had it repaired, and today, it proudly hangs in our pilothouse as Mom and Dad smile down.

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We’ve now listened to those bells competing with the wind to mark the passing of the last five days here at anchor in New Bight. Sure, we spent the time in the same ways our land-based friends would – housekeeping, cooking and eating (perhaps too much eating), reading, watching movies, playing games, defrosting the refrigerator, tracing the problem with the charging of the stern thrusters, honoring the sunset with the conch horn… Wait. Those last few are boat-specific. At any rate, you get the point. We are ready to move! This boat’s been at anchor here for two weeks. So, move we will, just as soon as we make a trip into town for groceries…

Time to go!