September 6, 2016 – The line is a remnant from a horrific night spent at anchor in a little bay in Greece back in 2005. We were caught in a horrible storm and had to cut a shore line and one of two anchors loose to keep ourselves from being blown on shore. The remaining anchor was on all chain and we had to fight it up and re-anchor farther out from shore and sit with the boat at just above idle and in reverse to hold the anchor in place….for almost 12 hours.
This little chunk of line was all that was left attached to the boat the next morning and it came back with us to remind us that being on the water can involve risk. It won’t even do a proper full cleat wrap, at least not on this giant cleat.
It’s funny how it sits wrapped around the base of a planter, and how most days I never notice it there, and how other days I see it and it brings many thoughts to mind.
Tonight as I walked upstairs it caught my eye and it reminded me of all of the people we have met, and all of the friends we have made, through almost 20 years of association with our volunteer boating group.
Waaaay back in 1998 Kirk and I bought a boat. Such a seemingly foolish expenditure, and we knew nothing about what to do with a 30 foot twin engine boat. Our broker helped us get it to the marina it lived at for the next nine years, before we moved it to Burrard Yacht Club. We didn’t have the courage to take it off the dock for at least a month after we bought it. We were, for a short period, known as the BBQ couple because we went down to it constantly, and BBQd on it, but didn’t take it off that dock.
Eventually we found the nerve to untie it, and an entirely new world opened up to us.
We also quickly realized how little we knew and so we looked for a course to take. A friend nudged us towards the Canadian Power & Sail Squadrons and we found a class close to home. Our classes were on Tuesday evenings, and that same friend was our proctor…and he and another fellow would go for a beer after class, at a pub just across the road and up the street. We like beer, so we went too.
And that started something wonderful.
After we passed the course we were asked to join in and become proctors and help the next students with the class. We marked homework books, and helped others learn to plot course lines by hand, how to read charts and understand what all the symbols signified, what was a danger and why. We helped teach how to tie lines and knots.
And every night when we were done, we went for that Tuesday night beer and socializing at the pub. And then another couple taking the course asked if they could join us. Of course! And over the following years others caught on, noticing that all the proctors seemed to disappear at once, and they asked where we went….and invited them to join us.
And many did.
Tuesday nights became almost less about the class for many of us, although we didn’t shirk our volunteer duties. But it became a weekly connection with others who shared a passion for the water. The classes were a catalyst for something far more important.
But times change, and all things have a lifespan of some sort.
The classes haven’t been as full, or as frequent, and they are shorter than they used to be. As the student numbers dwindled, so too did the proctors, because we weren’t really needed, and then some people splintered off elsewhere and the dynamics sort of collapsed.
And eventually, Tuesday nights dropped off everyone’s calendar. We all became busy in other parts of our lives – work, family, other, many of us stopped proctoring, we’d put so many years in, it was time for new blood.
We sometimes run into each other at the yacht club, at the grocery store, on the street. Greetings, exchange of what each has been up to, hug, continue on.
But sometimes something happens to remind you that connections are a vial part of a community. And I think as I get older and as losses accumulate in my life and the lives of others, that sometimes you just really need to pause, and look around, and remember the importance of connecting in real life. There is more to relationships than reading a Facebook post and thinking you know what is going on in the lives of others. Lately I’ve found myself missing those wonderful connections that were forged through the boating network. Our community, our network.
So last week I sent out an email to about 15 people, all blind cc’d, and simply said that Kirk and I would be heading to our old pub, on Tuesday night, and that it would be wonderful to see others, but that if no one showed up, that it was ok, and we’d enjoy a quiet evening together.
It was a simple enough message, and I thought we might end up with a half dozen or so.
Never did I dream we would take over the upper half of the pub because so many showed up!
It seems that we weren’t the only ones missing something.
At one point I leaned back and just looked at the expansive group that spanned so many years of classes, one or two from our first class in 1998 even. And I just loved the smiles and happiness that was present in that spontaneous gathering.
At the end of the night Kirk and I received so many thanks for organizing the evening. I’m no social coordinator, really, it wasn’t an event, all I did was send an email and make a suggestion. Everyone who showed up did the hard part, you made the effort to come out and reconnect, and talk, and laugh for a few hours.
And though I don’t expect the numbers that we saw tonight, and I know I forgot some people, and I’ll try to remedy that, and I knwo there were some who intended to come, or wanted to come, but couldn’t, and I hope to see some of you again next week.
Thank you to everyone who came out and made an impromptu evening into a wonderful thing.
You provided the magic, not me.
And if it’s just Kirk and I next week, that’s OK too, because tonight was awesome.
The ties that bind us may fray and roughen, and sometimes the line loosens and slips a bit. But a good knot will still keep things together and weather the squalls and the doldrums.
I think Tuesday just became my favourite day again.
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