A Little Nod

What is it like to be the only woman on a long range fishing boat with 33 men?  I’ve been doing it for about the last 20 years.  Twice a year, in fact. Sometimes I luck out, or maybe not, and there are one or two women along with me.  Then I’m relying on the bitch to be kind rather than a blazing crazy, which can be more unnerving than navigating a man maze.  Don’t get me wrong, I love a good flirt and a friendly connection with men.  It’s a lot of fun and I’m good at that. 

Men don’t carry all the complications of women.  Women tend to take a lot of focus and energy whereas men don’t really ask for much.  Not much, especially when it comes to a woman that may give them a little nod.  A nod, nothing more, and they’re happy!  Don’t we all just want a little nod? 

It’s sad we don’t afford each other that amenity in life.  It’s so very sophisticated, don’t you know?  And acquiescing, don’t you know?  Why can’t we afford that little pleasantry?  I like it, a lot.  “Thank you, kind sir.”  “My pleasure, my friend.”  “Yes, baby doll” or “doll baby,” either one works.  “I know, mister man.” “Don’t let that hurt you, baby.” Give it!  It’s luscious!  A gift that is seldom seen, or heard, or felt in the least.  Something that fills the cavern of our souls, a cenote with cool bubbling wetness, little fish grabbing your senses in their tiny mouths.  Everyone wants a little piece of that.

That’s what it’s like to be on a fishing boat with 33 men.  It’s a sophisticated dance.  A play on not taking, giving and receiving, but not taking.  The true art of a little nod.  Respectful of each and every one.  Giving and receiving, as I said, seldom done and so appreciated when we create that playful parallel of energy.

The women on the boats are different, separate creatures.  They’re like me and we have grown into not really needing each other in that outward way.  When we come together its curious, pecking out the real person.  Not in order.  We’re not intertwined with each other’s response or reaction like we would be with men. 

The connection when women have known each other a long time cannot be rivaled.  Nothing exists other than the history of that pair, that working group, the family group being potentially less important.  Their hierarchy within the collectives of the groups:   Mothers, daughters, friends, daughter’s friends, friend’s children, ad infinitum. All of us, matriarchs pulling together, growing and fulfilling one another.  It’s a powerful and resonant experience.

Men don’t have that as far as I can see.  A little nod is all they need.  

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