The decision to watch the sunset was made at home, thirty-five minutes before the sun officially dipped below the horizon.
Such is the advantage – even with mini adventures – of keeping the broad strokes familiar. The ocean offers sufficient surprises to catch even the most seasoned mariners off balance, occasionally putting them back on their heels, a sensation all too familiar, as Parkinson’s works away at my equilibrium.
If it were balance alone, it wouldn’t be so bad. But, in fate’s uniquely desperate style, irregular balance is often accompanied by a freezing of the feet in position, leading to some truly spectacular falls. I make light of it, but so far it has cost me the use of my right shoulder, and I’ve been lucky.
What does this have to do with taking the boat out, by myself, late enough to guarantee a dark passage under the bridge with its swift currents, ensuring that I would be docking at night?
Playing around with my boat is analogous to how I try to confront Parkinson’s daily – doing my best to be prepared for what’s coming next, confident that I will fuck it up in ways big and small. Still, the conclusion of each mini adventure is preordained: it is all ok.
As long as I’m sharp and don’t do anything excessively foolish (now really, my inner child points out, who is to say what “excessive” is?), I know that I’ll probably be just fine.
Such was the situation tonight, two miles from shore with a hefty current pushing the boat toward Japan, when I turned the ignitions to both engines off, despite questionable batteries.
Best decision of the day, as the silence permitted me to hear, with heart and ears, dozens of dolphins (or were they porpoises? Thirty-five years of boating and diving in these waters and I still get them confused), each dolphin exhaling through their blowhole, imparting the peaceful message that it was all okay.
And it was.