Cheek to Cheek

I visited my friend - a great photographer with a long white beard - in his basement studio. As unusual as he is, he is perplexed by my living aboard a boat. "Isn't it cramped?" he asks. "Don't you feel like you're right on top of each other?"

I look around his studio, only a bit smaller than Mazurka. "Well, there's different levels," I explain. "And I have a room and bathroom in the front. I can work up there. It doesn't really feel crowded - it feels like we're outside."

Surrounded by windows - the reason Mark bought a trawler to live aboard - you are always acutely aware of the nature around you, even in the city. Each morning, the first thing you notice is the sky - is it sunny or gloomy? Is the lake filled with fog shrouding the downtown skyscrapers (as it was this morning)? You may go to work in a building with few windows, but all day you know what outside is like, and you return to it at night.

You wake up to water, you fall asleep to water. There isn't a day I approach Mazurka when I don't zip my pockets and clutch the keys close to my chest for fear of losing them to the bottom of Lake Michigan.

And you learn to be economical with your space. The first thing I did in my new role as "wife" aboard Mazurka was rearrange the kitchen. I removed the microwave that required eleven minutes to heat a can of soup. I cleared the pantry shelf and threw away half-used packets of meat seasoning and instant coffee from Thailand. I organized the counter and put everything within easy reach. The lack of space necessitates shopping two or three times a week, which means fresher food, less waste. We have a dorm-sized refrigerator, and a large cooler outside, where I store vegetables and yogurt. A shelf two feet wide and two feet deep serves as our main pantry, with cereals, fruit, crackers, coffee, and cat food. And the squat shelf above the plates and cups holds cans of soup and extra spices.

Boating magazines always include cooking articles, and it seems that boaters latch onto one item they really like - a pressure cooker, a crock pot - and use it for everything. The previous owners left behind a breadmaker and Mark makes killer chocolate pumpernickle cornbread. But our true staple is the grill - a fantail off the stern, fueled by good ole propane.

As little space as we seemingly have, we're having some fantastic meals. Grilled hamburger, sauteed mushrooms, onions, peppers, edamame, salad, and Spanish red wine. Grilled vegetables (zucchini, squash, onions, potatoes) and ribeye steak, and for dessert apples sprinkled with Chinese cinnamon, cheddar cheese, and white port. We cook together, and we clean up together.

The thing I didn't explain to my friend is that, for the few hours we spend aboard Mazurka each day, it's not enough. Maybe it's because we're newlyweds, but I only want to be five feet away from Mark at any given time. Even if he's sitting at his computer, or reading the Wall Street, paying absolutely no attention to me at all. Mark can take apart the entire boat trying to fix the furnace while I sit in the midst of it all writing letters. We are learning to be in each other's space - which we will do for the rest of our lives; we are learning to waltz cheek to cheek.