New Habits

Surprise!  I am not bored.  Life is settling into a comfortable pattern now that the blush of the first busy "retirement" weeks are past.  I don't miss daily office life, its metro commute, reading the Times on my iPhone while I wait on the platform for the always delayed blue line, spending time with colleagues who do fine with me gone, or eating at my desk, stopping mid-task to walk down the street to "Jack's Fresh" for a styrofoam box lunch of Asian hot dishes or cold salads.  I am delivered from the wrath of the buffet gods!

Life now has a slower pace that is very tolerable for impatient people like myself.  I can read in bed until 2 AM, knowing there is ample time for sleeping past 7:30 in the morning.  I can laze, stretching while I listen to NPR, deciding if today is an exercise day and then reading the Times in paper form with its ever messy ink that leaves stains on my finger tips. 

Having time to think is gift.  I didn't realize how little I was actually thinking beyond the mundane these last ten years.  Thinking requires exploration, like this morning when I read two articles from The Sunday Time's magazine, one about a new talking Barbie doll under development, the social implications of this almost robot that holds over 8,000 discussions and responses for conversing with 4-8 year old girls blows my mind given that my dolls only said "mama" if anything.  No more fantasy conversations.  But, I digress.  The second article was a profile of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, who at 68 still stands 6'10", a man who has spent his life as a serious intellectual and writer caught in an extremely talented basketball playing body.  His career was dictated by his race -- to succeed he had to be an athlete first.  I now understand why he doesn't often shake hands and or smile.

There is time to take care of myself.  I'm becoming a strong old lady. I'm at out apartment gym three times a week, running 3 miles and then working with weights for upper body building and bending through a sequence of sit-ups and their variations for core strength.  No longer do I put pressure on myself to drag my mind and body to a trainer no matter how I feel at the end of the day.  I paid to ensure that I showed up.  As a mid-westerner, the guilt of wasting money was a powerful motivation tool.  Having time eliminated the guilt and the trainer.

There is time to learn instead of regurgitating what I already know as I did at the office. Discovering online streaming "Great Courses" set me on a knowledge path of my own making.  For so many years, learning was relegated to night classes, even for my doctorate classes starting at 5 PM, lasting until 11PM, making driving back to DC from Baltimore hazardous to both my health and other drivers on the road. I know its what I had to do and thousands of other adults (I am still an adult, if not a young one) do it too, but it is a reward both physically and intellectually to sit down while the sun still shines to take a class on my own terms.

There is also time to resurrect old skills, to use my hands again at sewing which I learned as a teenager from many, many hours of teaching by my mother.  Our  sail boat requires the addition of new canvas items -- a stack pack to catch the mainsail and release us from the arduous task of sail furling when we bring it down at the end of the day, an awning to shade the foredeck from the simmering summer sun, new covers for the monster sized fenders protecting the boat from chaffing against the dock's pilings, lee cloths for sleeping comfortably underway, and covers for the side port-lights (aka windows) to shade the interior from weather and prying eyes.  I will buy kits online for it all (sailrite.com) and I've got a Tech Shop (techshop.com) right at the foot of our apartment building. It has large spaces, big tables and industrial strength sewing machines.  The work will keep me busy all winter. But most importantly, my mother would be proud, even if I won't have to sew flat-fell seams or tailor a lapel. 

Surveys and Sea Trials

Sails Call was resting along side the dock at 9:30 on a misty morning this past week when we joined Pete, our surveyor, Tom, the current owner, Dave, our broker and John, Tom's broker for a day of inspecting, testing and getting to know her nooks, crannies and quirks.  The work was like that annual physical we should have at our age, complete with stress test, electrocardiogram and those not so wonderful but highly necessary tests of internal organs, bowels and reproductive systems.

The work started with a short haul, laying in straps, hovering over the ground in a monster of a machine so we could inspect the hull, propeller and shaft, keel and rudder. Pete took moisture readings. Then, with a small rubber hammer tapped the hull all around just like a doctor knocks your joints to test the condition of your reflexes. Sails Call was dry and responsive.  All was "A" OK. 

Back the water, Pete led the internal examination from stem to stern, testing the generator (needs a tune-up), air conditioning, plumbing, water and electrical systems, and then poking into all the storage areas and bilges (which need cleaning). My husband and Dave followed him through this work, heads down, confirming Pete's findings.

Turning to the engine, Pete started her up, revved her up in neutral and later underway, where we discovered that water was kicking back into the boat through leading aft scupper hoses(need to be replaced).  He took her temperature at all speeds, checked the hoses and connections for leaks, corrosion, and fluid levels.  Finally, he declared the engine fully operational, with the caveat that she still had her original hoses which might need replacement in the next year. Hoses get cracked over time just like our faces get wrinkled.

On deck, Pete again used his hammer, this time to knock the deck.  I started to think he was a drummer, his rapping was so rhythmic.  He found a bit of moisture around the fittings that connect the dodger to the deck.  He explained the prescriptive remedy. Like decayed teeth, we need to pull the fittings, drill out the holes, fill the holes with resin, and then re-bed the fittings to stop all water infusion into the deck. We also discovered a wasp nest stuck in the main sail.  I've never seen so many guys so skittish over a few little critters.  The answer was, "Let's do the sea trail and whack out the nest under sail!"  It worked.  Sails Call is now wasp free.

Under sail, Sails Call slices through the water with magnificent authority, her size and weight cushioning us against the elements.  Despite the fact that the wheel is four feet tall and could hit my nose if I'm not careful when I stood behind it, "OMG" was all I could say as I  commanded my impromptu crew to tack across the wind (the direction from which the wind is blowing) and then to jibe (the direction to which the wind is blowing).  

Sails Call passed her survey and sea trial.  We are in love.  We have bonded with this navy hull beauty. Only a rigging inspection (like checking your body for broken bones and splinters) is left to be done this coming Monday.  I believe she will pass and we will become her owners soon. 

Changing seasons

Summer is passing quickly now. Gone are the blazing skin burning heat, sweat generating humidity and breath-stifling afternoons.  Autumn has arrived.  Days are now a mix of sparkling clear skies, gentle dry temperatures with crisp breezes for perfect sailing punctuated ever now and then with a cloud filled gray gray day with falling temperatures and perhaps a shower. Today is one of those days.  They are necessary to change the colors, to fill the parks with luscious reds, oranges, yellows and browns.  It's one of those days that give me time to prepare for those other days.

Autumn brings familiar aromas and tastes, rich chicken cacciatores, thick soups, buttery raviolis, roasted squash casseroles, and red wine that warms the palate, replacing the cool taste of white.   To celebrate this seasonal change, we are breaking out my husband's favorite recipes to create an autumn dinner to share with friends.  I've filled the dining room with multi-colored gourds, pumpkins, Indian corn stalks all resting in baskets and metal bins filled with straw and spiced candles.  Burgundy and rustic yellow mums spilling over their pots have been added as well. I love the autumn and I've been on my summer diet too long. It's time to eat again!

Hey! That's our boat!

If we were rich we'd just bring a big bag of money and be done with it.  But, we are not rich, so now that our offer has been accepted, we proceed with a combination of house and car buying to make it all work.   Next steps - survey (aka home inspection) and the sea trial (aka test drive).  Like a home, we'll get an IRS tax deduction on the loan interest, but like a car, she'll continue to depreciate.  So financially, buying a boat makes absolutely no financial sense, especially for retirees like us.  We just don't care.  It's the last item on our joint bucket list.  When and where else do you get to pick a name no matter how silly others might think it. She's our "retirement project", never be really done, ever...

Like giving birth to a child, we take delivery. Unlike a child, there is no bodily pain or toilet training, just financial pain.  But, care and feeding there is and there is lots of it.  You really have to love your boat because it requires constant care whether it's washing and polishing the deck, adjusting a gauge or hunting down a special part for a special connection.  Just like a kid, the fun part is dressing her up and buying toys to amuse and educate her.  Lots of new stuff and lots of high maintenance!  Do we really need that gadget?  Do we really need to add that feature? Probably could get by without them, but like showing off your kid and making sure she gets all the smarts possible, you must do everything within your power to make her perfect.  Some stuff we can do ourselves and some we'll hire the experts to take care of. We will do first those things that make a life aboard most tolerable here in the Bay this next year and some can be done later when we are ready to head south down the ICW and some off shore sailing to Florida and the Caribbean.  Guaranteed that we will keep very, very busy.

Who want's to provide parental oversight to us kids so that we stay on budget. I really don't have to go back to selling shoes at Nordstrom's and John certainly doesn't want to deliver mail.

Inspired and waiting

Waiting and the necessary accompanying patience to withstand the idle time that ensues has never been my strength. So, as we wait for a final decision on the navy hull Tartan 4600, I got a bit creative.








Taking inspiration from my youngest grandson who aspires to modeling and fashion design (does he have that "resting bitch" look?), I had my hair cut to his latest fashion statement -- buzz cut on the sides and back with longer top hair spilling over my head. Mine is still a bit short, and it will never look exactly the same on a 68 year old head as it does on a 16 year old head, but I like it.  It is such fun to see him experiment with different looks and creative avenues.  Not bad for a high school junior. 

Not working is giving me time to look around, take a breath, think, and read.  There has been time to study Serious Ocean Sailing.  The book convinced me that we will not be globe trotting in our sail boat plunging into 20-30 foot ocean waves and gale force 40 knot winds attempting to avoid disaster after pending disaster.

I've started two other sailing related books that have been on my shelf for several years, just waiting for me to have time for them. Perhaps they will paint a brighter and gentler off shore sailing picture.  Somehow, horrible weather can be avoided.  But wait, do I spend my time reading all day?

This new life has presented some surprises.  When I was hopping out of bed every weekday morning at 6:30 AM to ensure that I arrived at work in a timely manner, my mate took care of everything.  He shopped, cooked, maintained the car and boat, slogged the dry cleaning back and forth, and kept the house up as any high caliber house husband should. Now, like Gibbs in NCIS, he is creating rules for me to follow if we are to maintain a happy domestic life together and keep him from going crazy having me around all day.   Adjustments must be made and I know the rules will multiply.  I can live with them (I will practice, I promise!).

• Rule #1: Last one out of bed has to make it. You have to understand that a cherished luxury is to listen to NPR radio news until 7:30 or 8:00 from the comfort of my pillowed, sleep number bed.  This morning, to avoid the task, I scurried out at 5 AM while he was still sleeping and moved to the couch for my radio hours.  He had to make the bed.  Ta Da!
• Rule #2: Track the medical bills.  Probably as not as onerous as it once was before we both went on Medicare and he promised to follow-up with messed up billings from docs and hospitals, it is still a challenge for my challenged by detail brain.  Hey, I'm a big picture girl, but I will conquer this!
• Rule #3: Check the planning folder every day.  I'm just not used to having to plan my days; they were always planned by the work at hand.  Now we schedule "events" to attend and I must handle my own calendar.  His motto -- if it's not on the calendar, it doesn't exist.  There goes my serendipity "let's go".  Not really, as we did up and go to a movie yesterday afternoon -- it was fun to be in a theatre when you are the youngest people of the 12 in the audience.  It was very, very quiet with no texting!

We don't have this problem on a boat as I am the skipper!

Detour

We were moaning after the boat inspection in Hilton Head.  Why the sad faces?  Frankly, it was more than the tight muscles after the eight hour drive or the warm rain that gave a gray haze to everything when we boarded about 5 PM.  We had had expectations.  The photos for this 2003 Tartan 4600 listing painted a picture of near perfection.

We were sure this was the boat -- newer than the others we had inspected, main sail in-mast furling (the kind saves old sailors' arm muscles), low engine hours, and a master cabin design that actually provides plenty of room to move around erect and sit-up in bed without bumping heads against the liner (aka ceiling) or requiring you to crawl over the other person to get to the head (aka toilet) in the middle of the night (guess that was almost TMI, wasn't it).  What we stepped into was poor maintenance, old electronics, and a deteriorating, water stained interior hidden under the cushions and in the corners.

That white hull disappointment couldn't compare to the older Tartan (2000)  with less equipment and a bit awkward master cabin design, but was  nicely maintained and lower priced. And, most importantly -- it had the navy hull I have always lusted after.  We had inspected this one the week before, right here on the Chesapeake.

We tried to cheer ourselves up.  The good news was that we had been able to visit my diehard Words with Friends buddy, Judy.  I've know Judy since the our days together at Bell Labs in the 1970's when I was a 23 year old lowly apprenticing programmer and she was a slightly older, but highly credentialed electrical engineer in the Labs sea of dominating male engineering snarks.  She stood up for me when the those guys had decided that I didn't deserve  a raise, despite my impressive performance, because my nail polish was chipped.  This woman saved my career!  She was a one woman affirmative action committee who turned them around without cutting their balls completely off. (I took Judy's lead and two years later I was teaching these guys  and their executives about their biases and their acts of discrimination.)  Don't let anyone tell you those were the good ol' days! We laughed and had an evening to catch up.  However, John and I were definitely down in the dumps the next morning at breakfast where we met Dave, our broker and leader of this expedition.  Our plan to revisit the boat was quickly abandoned so we hit the road for home before 9:30AM.

A "dumps" remedy came from Dave. We needed a diversion from this not so fun road trip. We'd been driving for four incredibly boring hours.  Our stomachs voted for a lunch break. Dave scoured the internet for suggestions and found Heidi's Two Wheel Café, a not so sleazy biker joint, about 15 minutes west of 95 on Route 70 in Smithville, NC.  I took the exit.

Heidi's is a place where bad food is just plain good.  There actually is a Heidi who not only knows how to cook, but does it well above the average bar and grill.  Much to our dismay, their boiler was broken so we couldn't have their most sought after dish -- a low country boil.  We settled for more mundane fare, but were not disappointed. Dave's Philly cheese steak Quesada was juicy without being soggy.  John's Ruben sandwich was delivered on marbled grilled bread with homemade potato chips that were not so crispy that they cut the roof of your mouth.  And my coconut shrimp and side salad (I was trying to be good), was down right Caribbean in flavor. We left with a smile on our faces and refreshed attitude.  A good, very good detour and a very good road trip.

Update:  We revisited that navy hull I lusted after, made an offer and a counter offer, but have yet to know if it is ours.  If we have to walk away, then we will keep searching for the last thing on my bucket list -- a home on the water with sheets on the outside.