Comfort

Today the part for the boat arrived. Cap spent all afternoon deep in the bowels of the boat installing it. Cap is a tall, lanky man and I still hardly believe that he can scrunch into that tiny space let alone maneuver well enough to fix things down there. He clinked and clanked around for hours occasionally requesting that I hand him tools or parts from above. I sat close by so that we were within arm's length.

I felt like Cap's little henchwoman today. Like one of the Oogy Boogy Man's little henchmen from Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas. But I am not a henchman who does her job out of fear as they did. No, I assist Cap because we are a team and we help eachother out. This was also my role as his divetender. My job was to support him. He was doing the hard work, and I was there to ease his work and make sure that he is safe.

As he directed me to various tools, I hung half in and half out of the engine compartment through a hatch door in the wheelhouse. The compartment is well-insulated, padded with egg-crate foam. It is warm since it retains the heat from the engine. I find the smell of engine oil and Gojo comforting and familiar, reminiscent of my dad's days as a captain repairing his boats.

Today I was wearing the over-sized wool pull-over that my dad used to wear fishing. Now it is my cold weather boat coat. I have worn it for the past two winters working on the water oystering and lobstering. It served me well this winter. Not only did it keep me warm, but it made me feel safe when the weather was dicey or things got challenging. I felt the comfort of my father's strong arms reassuring me that everything would be alright.

A boat motored by in the harbor and the wake reached us, gently rocking the boat back and forth on the mooring. A soothing sprinkle pattered on the wheelhouse roof. "All is well," whispered the rain, "You are home."