Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

Two mice, dressed in generic but nicely pressed dark suits, white button-down shirts, and ties, are standing on the front porch of a third mouse who has just opened the door and is looking out at the two with some suspicion.

“We’d like to talk to you about cheeses,” the mice on the doorstep say.

Let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up.

We’re on a boat in the Salish Sea. Currently on a mooring buoy off Clark Island. The trip had to be put off repeatedly, and then as we approached our last chance (dog-sitter is here and has been for two days, but does have to get back to his home in Oregon and his job at some point….) there were multiple mechanical failures on the boat, and other minor catastrophes.

If you’ve read my post on profanity while parenting (A Mom’s Thoughts on F&%#ing Up), you know Justin had trained himself to use colorful phrases rather than swear words, but he’s been under a lot of stress lately, the kids are all grown up and no longer living with us, and anyway the situation (situations) seemed to call for something stronger. So there was no Oh For the Love of Blue Footed Boobies or Son of a Motherless Goat—by the time I’d strained my back getting the boat packed, and Justin had worked through a broken water pump, and a jammed jib furler, and rammed the boat (slightly) into the dock, there were a fair number of f-bombs flying.

The seagulls sounded amused, but a neighboring seal glared her disapproval.

After we finally launched, I realized I’d forgotten to pack cheese.

I became instantly obsessed with the idea that everything would be all right if we only had cheeses. (Hence the cartoon, above). I even schlepped to the top of the hill to check for cheese at the marina’s general store, but it was closed for the season. “We’re doomed,” I thought but didn’t say.

Anyway, we’re under way, and have reminded ourselves of the admonition: There’s no whining on the yacht. Meaning if you’re lucky and privileged enough to find yourself in a sweet place (like on a boat in the sun), you don’t get to complain about some things not going your way (such as an absence of cheese). Count your blessings. Could be worse. (So much worse). Etc.  

And once we finally launched the day was glorious. There was a light but steady breeze, enough to fill the sails but not enough to activate the meep-o-meter. (Explanation: when the boat heels over significantly, this supposedly experienced sailor lets out an involuntary squeak of terror that sounds a lot like “meep,” and when the meep-o-meter sounds, the captain needs to adjust the sails to bring us a little flatter). Justin was able to fix the water pump (whether temporarily or permanently remains to be seen), and the jib furler is limping along (knock on wood). We had a fabulous dinner with almost no dishes to wash afterward. (We try to minimize waste, even on the boat). As the sun set, purpling the haze at Mt Baker’s feet, we had cookies and tea.

And as I dug around in the icebox, I discovered at the very bottom, beneath the carrots and next to the apples: cheese.

Tomorrow is another day, and it may bring more perfection or it may bring a sh*tstorm, but no matter what tomorrow brings I’ll have had this day, the fresh salt-breeze, the beautifully warm sun, a good book to read, the companionship of the man I love.

And cheese.