I was in a cold, dark place. In a varnished wood coffin-sized box that was open on top. The box was at the top of a ramp, in a cave or mine or some other sort of enclosed chute, and it was about to be launched downward. I had no control – no means of propulsion or steering or stopping. I started yelling out “Help me! Help me! Help me!” Rick touched my leg and asked what was wrong. As my eyes opened (no contact lenses, no glasses), I blearily took in the low ceiling and the buffed cherry all around me. “I don’t know where I am!”
I finally regained sensibility, and realized I was having another one of the similarly-themed dreams that have been haunting me lately. Me, in a too-small space, and no way to get out of it.
Which is curious. I occasionally have bouts of mild claustrophobia, but they haven’t done much other than keep me from entering caves or SCUBA diving. And despite living in tight quarters these last 6 months, I generally haven’t felt deprived of space.
But then again, the v-berth, where I sleep with my head at the peak, might not help.
The v-berth, this morning. The 1,987,623rd consecutive day I’ve made the bed.
And lately, with all of the foul weather gear we’ve had to wear and allow to dry, the shower hasn’t been very roomy.
That’s Rick today, on our way to Morehead City, NC, bundled up. At least the sun finally came out and neither of us was wearing sea boots, like we did yesterday.
And the aft cabin is serving as our “garage.”
Is it any wonder I have a spreadsheet that tracks all of this stuff?
And the nav station needs to be tidied up.
Every home has a dumping ground, and ours is the nav station.
But while the galley is snug, I’ve learned how to manage without feeling too crowded.
But I still always forget to get an ingredient from the locker behind the cooktop. And don’t remember to get it until after I’ve lit the burner.
Of course, last night we were anchored in an anchored called Mile Hammock Bay. Anchoring is allowed, but landing on the shore is strictly prohibited. That’s because it’s right in the middle of Camp Lejeune. Where they regularly conduct training with live ammunition. Either they took a break for Easter, or we just couldn’t hear it over the howling wind.
That might inspire a nightmare or two.
* * * * *
Fettuccine with Fish and Mushrooms
I’m getting to the stage where I’m trying to use up all of the provisions we’ve stocked. So when planning dinner, I blindly reach into the freezer and choose some random protein around which to create a meal. Last night, I pulled hog snapper (fish from Green Turtle Cay), and this pasta dish is what I concocted with it.
6 oz. fettuccine, cooked
1 shallot, minced
3 oz. prosciutto, chopped
¼ cup julienned sundried tomatoes
½ cup sugar snap peas
14 ounce can mushrooms (fresh would be preferable, but they don’t last in the fridge)
½ pound fresh firm fish, cut in bite-sized pieces (I used the hog snapper)
1 tbsp oregano
2 tbsp butter
1 tbsp flour
8 ounces skim milk
¼ cup shredded parmesan
Salt and pepper to taste (don’t salt until the very end, since the prosciutto and parmesan are salty)
In a large saucepan, in about 2 tablespoons of olive oil, sauté the shallot and prosciutto until the shallot is translucent. Add the sundried tomatoes, sugar snap peas and mushrooms and continue sautéing until warmed through. Add the fish, and cook long enough for the fish to become opaque. Add the oregano and butter, and cook until the butter melts. Add the flour and toss to coat the other ingredients. Add the milk and parmesan and cook until the mixture tightens. Season with salt and pepper. Toss with cooked pasta.
Makes 4 servings.