A Spate of Silly Bedclothes

Two people who had become accustomed to
wearing few clothes. And seeing lots of sun.

I am just now coming off a spate of wearing silly clothes to bed. Not tutus and clown suits, nothing like that, but clothing that most people (I am only guessing here) do not wear to bed. I mention this by way of explaining one of the awkward transitions to terrestrial life.

When we left Annapolis in our rearview mirror, our car was packed with as much of our property from the boat as was possible.  Our galley cookware and dishes would serve us in our new land-based kitchen. And we packed all of the cool weather clothing that we’d been carrying around on the boat for some years. There wasn’t much of it. There had been no need for cool weather clothing on the boat since 2015, and so it was stored very sensibly where it would remain out of our way, within vacuum-sealed bags next to the hull. Well, here’s the rub. In spite of that careful storage, apparently clothing that has not seen the light of day for quite some time takes on an aroma that is somehow more unpleasant than the place in which it has been stored. I don’t understand how that can be, but it is true, nonetheless.

 

My husband, Carl snorkeling at Thunderball Grotto, Exumas

Most people would probably just do some laundry, and get on with things, right? Well, I am not most people.  

We moved into our new 4^th floor apartment more than a week ago.  The owner of this building, eager to fill up all the units, provided an added incentive for us to take this apartment. He offered to throw in a free washer and dryer, something that would ordinarily be an additional charge.  I was thrilled! No more schlepping laundry around to a city laundromat or a marina washer and dryer where the process takes an entire morning or afternoon. Smiling broadly, I told my husband I’d hold out until the new washer and dryer was installed in our apartment before doing laundry again.

That might be Northern Star in background

The first days in our apartment saw the usual mild fall weather in Memphis. The washer and dryer had been ordered and would arrive on the following Monday. Meantime, however, Memphis entered into record-setting cold, as did much of the nation. Temperatures did not rise above freezing for several days running. Being from northern Minnesota, we were not overly impressed with the severity of the cold, but I admit to a few sardonic chuckles over the Memphis Weather News reports.

We were advised daily by the Weatherman’s sidekick to “Moisturize your skin in this dangerously cold weather.”  I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that cautionary advice in Minnesota.  Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention at the time. They also offered counsel from people who were working outdoors about how to dress for the bitter cold.  “Layers and layers and layers,” was encouraged. “And gloves.”

Blowholes and the highest elevation for miles, on
a hike around Warderick Wells

And then came the morning of blowing snow…in Memphis! People were astonished. The Weather Man encouraged driving slowly. “Increase the distance between your car and the one ahead of you.” Good advice. My husband was planning to run an errand that morning, and thoughtfully raised the question of whether he should postpone the trip until the snowplows had been out. I admit that I do appreciate my husband’s brand of sarcasm.

Our bedroom is the coolest room of the apartment with two sets of sliding glass doors. We have with us exactly one set of sheets and one lightweight comforter for our bed. My pajamas from our cruising life are one of those little numbers that adds no warmth whatsoever. I put it on out of habit and quickly decided I was cold. I scrounged around, sniffed all of the cold weather clothing once again, and finally put on the long pants that I had been wearing all day. Then I found the one fleece jacket from my cool weather clothing that fortunately did not smell too badly. And a pair of little shorty socks. It was not my finest hour in apparel.

The top of Boo Boo Hill, Warderick Wells, Exumas, Bahamas 2019

 The next night it was much the same. The same pants, but I added an additional T-shirt under the fleece zippered jacket.  I caught sight of myself in the mirror and thought of the Carol Burnett Show; remember that cartoon character of Carol mopping the floor that came out during the credits after the show. I was a cross between that cartoon washerwoman and your blind Great Aunt Edna, “Bless her Heart,” who cannot tell what clothing goes with what. Monday came, but no washer and dryer. I wasn’t about to give in to carrying everything to the open (cold) basement area where there are community washers and dryers. I’d made it that many days. Surely, it would be installed on Tuesday. It was not. At last on Wednesday afternoon the pair were installed. Life was good.

Me

I washed several loads of laundry, including those few odiferous items of cool weather clothing that we had hauled to Memphis with us.  And I did it without leaving our apartment. It felt luxurious.  That night I was able to wear indoor clothing to bed… no warm pajamas, of course, but a long-sleeved knit shirt and a pair of lightweight workout pants. And socks. Maybe only a little less silly looking but at least I didn’t smell like something that had been lying against the hull for years, just below the waterline.