I am months away from leaving New Mexico for parts north, and the sailing season on Kagán. Despite that, and because of a colder-than-normal cold snap in the San Juan Islands, I’m thinking about the preventive maintenance measures I took before I zipped the boat cover closed late last September. Did I get the fresh water lines sufficiently drained? Did I set the heater properly? Will water freeze in the dehumidifier hose? And, what if it does? What inspections or tasks should I add to my recommissioning list when I arrive this coming spring, just in case. . . .

Though dealing with the unprecedented temperatures themselves, trying to keep their cabins barely warm enough and their fresh water systems flowing rather than frozen, I am fortunately to have friends who will brave the icy winds out on the dock to check things on Kagán. So far, so good.

What these mental meanderings bring up is preventive maintenance of another sort—my own. I can also, happily, say “so far, so good” in that department. But I know, from reflecting again on my years of caring for and cruising on Kagán, that even with good preventive maintenance, things break down, go wrong, and simply wear out. Though it’s been years since I’ve dealt with any major health scares myself, I know I won’t be spared over time. None of us will. And, currently, I have too many friends traveling arduous paths—of cancer surgeries and treatments, difficult diagnoses, and long roads to, or possibly dead-ends from, recovery.

So, how to move forward in the face of these realities? Breathe, for one. Deeply. Be thankful for good health while I have it. And grateful to be able to give and receive loving support when times are tough. Do the preventive maintenance I can (for me that means exercising, eating healthfully, drinking in moderation, getting enough sleep, and always, always holding gratitude close in my heart) to enhance the quality of the days I am destined for. And then?