Oh captain, my captain…I’m beginning to remember…

Remembering How to Live Onboard a Boat

“At home, we use 200 gallons of water a DAY!  We only have 100 gallons of water on the barge,” Michael—my captain—tells me.

I cut my shower short, at least making sure that my hair is rinsed clean. We are at the dock in Newark with shore electricity, so I dry my hair with the hairdryer, but I am careful not to leave it on too long.  I don’t want to be responsible for blowing a fuse. I curse my hair.  If I had thought about it, I would have had it cut ultra short for this trip.

Last night we ate on board, delving into some of the groceries I purchased from Wal-Mart.  The entire dinner takes me fifteen minutes to prepare.  Corn on the cob in the microwave (yes, we have a microwave!) eight minutes, Jack Daniels Country Pork Ribs – reheated in microwave—two minutes. Baby Yukon Gold potatoes on the propane stove – 15 minutes;  Bogle Zinfandel to wash it down.

I wash dishes in a large plastic bowl.

At the moment, I breakfast on a Fiber One bar and plan the day—no plans.  Just hang out.

In Search of Lunch

It is noon, and hunger pangs hit.  I Google restaurants, see one I like, and notice that it is closed today.  We choose one on the north side of the canal that is open all of the time; we climb the stairs, cross the bridge, dodge traffic crossing the street, only to find the restaurant is CLOSED.

 Retracing our steps, we head toward the old part of town, see people walking out of a building with tables and chairs out front; we follow our nose.  Sitting in the booth, I discover we are in my first choice, and it was supposed to be closed; I guess you can’t always trust the Internet.  We are in New York, so Michael has to order a New York Reuben; I am watching what I eat—I order grilled tuna.

Discovering Newark

After lunch, we head to the park—Central Park—and sit in the shade, enjoying the quiet. I love the fact that there is a bandshell here, with benches lined up in front.  I wish there were a Sunday afternoon concert today, but it doesn’t seem likely.  The town is more than deserted. “It is Labor Day weekend,” Michael tells me, “everyone is out of town.”  Maybe.

There are two more parks in town, and I want to see both.  We continue down Main Street—churches everywhere—turning left on Maple. We walk east, and the further we get from the center of town, the more humble the dwellings.  The park we seek is a grassy green baseball diamond—two in fact with a side area of picnic tables and swings.  I choose to sit on a table bench; Michael heads for the swings.

The walk back to the barge is sunny and hot. Entering its cooling shade we opt for naps.

When the day has cooled, we hit the sidewalks again, this time searching for a defunct lock; apparently, we traverse the third reincarnation of the Erie Canal. On the map, the old lock of the second canal path—narrower and shallower—appears to be mere feet away; I am looking at the wrong bridge. We walk a mile, which isn’t a problem, but my toes do not like my sandals, and I need BAND-AIDS for my blisters.