We are in the process of replacing the existing electric range on our 28-year-old trawler with a new propane stove. It’s only one of the never-ending projects that we committed ourselves to when we purchased the boat three years ago. 

For the past 22 years we have been celebrating Thanksgiving weekend at Ayala Cove at Angel Island State Park. The cove was closed due to the recent oil spill, but volunteers have cleaned the small beach area and it is once again open for business.

The saga of the San Francisco Bay oil spill continues.

Even our marina, well south of Hunters Point in South Bay, is being affected. Blotchy oil sheens dot the water between the docks. The winter migratory birds, grebes, scoters and coots, are still feeding in our narrow fairways. Hopefully they will stay here in south bay and well away from the hideous death that awaits them in the main part of San Francisco Bay. The incoming photos of the oiled birds are heartbreaking.

I have only experienced the feeling of seasickness once in my life. I was a guest on a beautiful Baltic 42 and after a glorious day of sailing San Francisco Bay, we were tied up at the dock at Pier 39. I was seated below decks enjoying a glass of wine when I had the overwhelming urge to remove myself from the cabin and aerify my swirling head into the world of light above. As soon as I had relocated myself topside into the fresh air, all was right with the world.

We had the weekend from hell last week. My longtime friend Fester came down from Napa to scatter her fathers ashes on the bay. She was going to bring the ashes of another friend who had requested to be scattered near the ballpark, but she couldn’t find him in her messy home. Having guests on board means that you are ultimately responsible for their welfare. There are lessons here.

Imagine this if you will: 250 distinguished yachtsman dressed up like Thurston Howell the 3rd, eagerly awaiting the final results of the 'Doing Everything In A Perfectly Legal Way But Still Managing To Confuse The Competitors' award. That’s what happened at the annual Moosehead Awards Ceremony in New York on Oct. 28, 2007. I think that if my husband arrived home with a Moosehead tucked under his arm, we would have to sit down and have that "special talk," regardless of how great the honor.

One of the first questions everybody asks when they find out we live on a boat is "Where do you go to the bathroom?" It seems like an odd question, but one that has taken much time and effort to come to terms with. Marine toilets, or as the U.S. Coast Guard calls them, Marine Sanitation Devices (MSD’s), are possessed by the devil.

There are many people who live on their boats in our marina. Unfortunately, they consider life aboard as merely cheap rent. With average real estate prices hovering in the 500k area, it’s no wonder that folks are searching for alternatives. However, it’s a shame that the PRIVILEGE of living on board a boat is so abused. There are boats in my marina that have not seen the channel markers since they arrived, many years ago.

One of the best things about living on a boat is the spirit of community in our little marina. Neighbors know each other because we all have a common bond in boating.

I think you would be surprised at how many single women live on board -- and maintain their own boats. The Divine Esther lives right across from us on her Bristol 34’ CHB Meri Mate.

My husband and I have been living onboard the Dancing Dragon since September 28, 1985. The decision to move to a boat was made because housing prices in the San Francisco Bay Area were beyond our reach, even back in those days. We could almost afford to purchase a shack in the ghetto or move onto a sparkling new yacht.