A Boater's Christmas Poem

This past week we had a visit from Keith's mom and dad.  They drove from Stuart, FL up to us in Palm Coast.  They arrived on Tuesday which was a beautiful day.  We took Southern Style out for a ride and everyone enjoyed themselves.  Once we got back into our slip, Keith and I planned to take his parent's car to run some errands.  Unfortunately we got into the car and backed out of the parking space to find there was only reverse.  The transmission was not working and no matter what we did it would only go in reverse.  So I had to walk back to the boat and explain to Keith's parents that we had not even gotten out of the parking lot and had managed to break the car.  We had it towed to a garage and got a rental car.  Luckily it was not something to bad and was fixed the next day.  There is always something.  It was a very nice visit, despite the automotive problems.

                                               Everyone enjoying a ride on Southern Style

Keith enjoying a Bloody Mary

Keith and I plan on a quiet Christmas with a meal out at the resort.  I did want to share a poem that hopefully everyone following us will find entertaining.  It is the boaters version of Twas the Night Before Christmas.  Here goes...................

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the boat,
the bilge pumps were hustling to keep us afloat.
Dock lines were wrapped around cleats with care,
in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

Pengi was nestled all snug in his berth,
while visions of fishies filled him with mirth.
And me in my ponytail and Keith in his cap,
had just settled ourselves for a Christmas Eve nap.

When out on the dock there arose such as clatter,
we sprang from the Nav Station to see what was the matter.
Away to the aft cabin, we flew like a flash,
tore open the door and through up the hatch.

The moon on the water lit the marina up bright.
Which was good as dead batteries were in our flashlight.
When what to my sunburned eyes should appear,
but a miniature dinghy and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old captain singing a Caribbean shtick,
we knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than jet skis his coursers they came
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

On Yanmar, on Cummins, on Caterpiller and Volvo.
To the top of the radar arch to the top of the seawall,
now dash away dash away dash away all.
As seabirds before a wild hurricane fly,
when met with an obstacle take to the sky.

Over twinkling anchor lights 'round the marina they flew
with a dinghy full of boat parts and Saint Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the bow,
the prancing and pawing, Santa's here now.

He then grabbed his bag, a bulging huge sack,
and hoisted it up onto his back.
He also had sponges and a mop in his grip,
as he waddled his way around our slip.

He said "my names Nick and my friend I can tell
that your gel coat needs buffing and your teak looks like hell.
Your vinyl needs cleaning, your lockers arranging,
your holding tank pumping, and your oil a-changing.
You've put these jobs off for too long and you know it.
So here's all you need, it's time to get to it."

Then as quick as he came, he was back on his boat,
His reindeer revving and eager to tote,
But I heard him exclaim as he idled out of sight.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight.

Have a wonderful Christmas everyone.