Tomorrow I must name my boat.

The boat’s given name is Shining Star, and that’s just not going to cut it for me.  Sitting in it this morning, looking out over the inlet was a priceless thrill, considering how little it cost.  The boat is rock-solid and amazingly over-built for being 33 years old. It’s not going to set any speed records, but it’s completely dry and cheerful, with 6′ of headroom, 8′ of beam and quite inviting for margaritas and guitars, or dropping a line over the side (someone just caught a 28″ Drum this morning), or even a crab trap.  My River Rat inner child awoke once again and peeps, it’s good. It’s good to remember who I am.

I just sat back and let The Slack take over as I gazed across the salt marshes and sky. It’s a small respite with an expansive view, and just a 10-mile drive to escape and just be.

I think it’s the definition of Primordial Slack.

8 thoughts on “Tomorrow I must name my boat.

  1. I am picturing your river ratness like Johnny Depp’s river ratness in Chocolat. Ooooh.

    I think Primordial Slack would be a great name, FWIW. “Shining Star” is making my eye twitch come back because of associations with the song of the same name by Earth, Wind, & Fire. Yes I am that old. Eye twitch. Eye twitch.

  2. I just sold my boat last weekend :,-( But I am happy for you Joan.
    Happy sails.
    Our boat’s name was Cravin Salt.
    I know.. I know.. We never got around to getting the name placed on the boat.
    I thought Sophia Perenis might make a good name too. Primordial Slack is perfect.
    We went to the beach today, the new old fashioned way.. on foot.

  3. It’s bad luck to change the name of a boat willy nilly. The only way around this bad luck is to properly christen her with a new name and then get falling down drunk on board, waking in the morning missing most of your clothing (or wearing someone else’s with no memory of how they got there or whose they are) with a savage hangover, face down in the bilge. This is tradition. Don’t tempt fate.

    • The only time I’ve been tipsy enough to think I was maybe drunk was at the blogmeet in Helen, GA. The Chatham Artillery Punch was a sweet-talking bastard that kicked my ass enough to make me go walk outside in the cold and start downing water as quick as I could manage — man, I was headed toward the scenario you just described! Except I think everyone else was taking their clothes off, or cross-dressing. There was a dirndl and chocolate vodka involved, too.

      Maybe a blog meet in Charleston would be the proper occasion for christening the boat. . .

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