Balcony Harvest

You would think that a balcony garden would be a scraggly little thing, but think again.  The May rain combined with June's great sunny days to produce a plethora of herbs and we're well on our way to several dozen tomatoes.  I give all the credit to John whose become quite the condo gardener.  It must be his Italian genes.  We have sage, thyme, rosemary basil and oregano.

The basil grew so fast that we had our first harvest last night.  We transformed the fresh herbs (we bought the parsley) into a garlic and roasted pine nut basil pesto-- about two pints of it.  The freezer is full and we are ready for winter.

Jersey Shore Coming Back -- one boardwalk at a time

Prior to the oldest grandson's graduation, we took a long weekend to visit the Jersey Shore.  It was a perfect -  two days on the beach, roasting gently to a golden brown and enjoying our family in their newly restored beach place in Seaside Park, NJ.  They were lucky.  They had the money to  repair and refurnish their cottage.  We kept the windows open to enjoy the evening breezes and even had to pull out a blanket or two.   

As we drove and walked around however, there is still much work to be done.  We saw huge ocean view homes and small cottages that had been ripped from their foundations and plopped down beside them.  "See all the empty spaces?" my daughter explained, "That's where they've cleared all the others away."  On the ocean side the peninsula, the houses were not flooded, but many were drowned in sand.  On the bay side, they were flooded, taking the fronts right off them.  In both cases, some houses survived and some were demolished.  "It's as if we had a whole bunch of small tornados cherry picking where to create disaster," said Kathryn as we finished up our disaster tour with the setting of the sun. 

The boardwalk is being rebuilt.  Down where we were the stores were open on refurbished boardwalk planks, but the rides will never return and restoration of the area to provide more beach instead of rides is taking shape.  There's only on grand carousel left. So much for Fun Town.  Even the pizza seemed a little sad this year.

Grandsons' Graduations

Coming to grips with wrinkling skin, bad memory and lumpy body is nothing compared to your grandsons graduating from high school (Jeremy) and middle school (Ian) all in the same week.  It was a proud but shocking moment last weekend when Jeremy marched across the platform to get his high school diploma.  If  you listen closely you can hear the announcement say his name.

 

The moment was even more prideful, because his mom, my one and only daughter, was able to present him with his diploma.  She had been on the board of education for many years and earned the privilege.  Ian, on the other hand, was just happy to get of middle school finally.  He's aching to grow up as I am sure he will. 

The shocking part is that I always think I'm about 42 years old.  Many colleagues at work are that age and we have much in  common (except maybe I have a bigger and more  retirement accounts).  At graduation, I looked  at my daughter who is 42 this year and I am quickly brought back to reality.  Everyone tells me "Old age is just a state of mind."  However, it's hard to escape when you can see it happening right before your eyes (and in your eyes for that matter). 

The Culture of Youth doesn't cut us any slack either.  Just this morning there was this New York Times article, "Republicans Paint Clinton as Old News for 2016 Campaign". My God!  She'll be 69 in 2016.  Such a scandal. My hope is that she runs and wins (Reagan was 69 when he won his first term).  I will ignore the hype and keep moving forward.  Forward to what is always the question!  Just ask Hillary.

New York City Adventure

It started out as a simple trip to NYC for the annual Friends of the Ground (FOG) party.  Normally held the first weekend in February, the party had been postponed until June 15 due to the death of one of Ed's very close friends, an original friend of the ground hog, I believe.  It was a great party for the 42nd or is it the 43rd time?  We're newbies to FOG.  We've only been attending for about twelve years.

Instead of just popping in for the party, we expanded our stay into a mini vacation.  The goal was to do things we had not done in some time or had never done before.  The adventure went something like this:

• Friday:  Arrived by train about 1PM.  Once settled in a hotel in the financial district next to South Street Seaport (we got on a great Priceline deal) and delighted in pizza and wine for
  
  lunch,  we walked over to the Staten Island Ferry for an after noon round trip ride.  Then it was off to Broadway for The Assembled Parties.
• Saturday: A morning walk of the High Line Park on the west side, then cross town and downtown to Little Italy and a first time visit to the Italian American Museum.  We took a break for a late lunch in Soho.  The pasta stuffed with lobster melted in our mouths.  It was memorable.  We met Diana and Bobby for drinks at 6:30 a their hotel in Gramercy Park, then walked over to Agave, a notable Mexican restaurant, in the Village for the FOG party.  We closed the place down.  Got Dan and Ed back to Ed's apartment before taxing back to our hotel.
• Sunday: Met the FOG survivors for brunch at noon back at Agave.  Took the subway from the Village to the Brooklyn Museum of Art to see fabulous exhibits -- the water colors of John Singer Sargent and the sculpture of El Anatsui, an African Ghanaian artist who works in
  
  Nigeria.  The man transforms metal trash such as tin can bottoms and bottle labels and tops into flowing and movable art.  We ended the day with dinner in Chelsea and a 2.5 mile evening walk back to our hotel.
• Monday: Began the day with a full course American breakfast.  John ate a mountain of Nova, cream cheese and whole wheat toast while I attempted consume bacon, two eggs over easy, a side of fried potatoes, and whole wheat toast.  At least the toast was healthy.  Then we hopped on the Lexington Ave subway to 103rd street and walked over three blocks to the Museum of the City of New York, one of the few open on Mondays.  Great exhibits.  Two hours later we found ourselves walking through the conservatory area of Central Park and down through the reservoir to 72nd street when the rain began to sprinkle down on us.  By the time we reached the 68th street station on Park Avenue, only the umbrella kept us from a good soak.  Once back by the hotel, the rain stopped and we found Fraunces Tavern in the Seaport area for a late afternoon cocktails with fresh oysters on the half shell and wild mushroom toast.  We did a quick change then took the 2/3 line to Soho for Ed's birthday dinner with Ed, Carol and Dan.  Another favorite Mexican restaurant, Dom Caminos.  Yes, it's Ed eating theme and it's the only time I eat Mexican -- because only  Ed picks the good ones.  No Tex Mex for that boy!
• Tuesday:  We woke to find ourselves exhausted, our feet achy from all the urban hiking and ready to come home.  So we passed on the trip to the Cloisters, packed up our belongings and taxied to Penn Station.  There, we changed our tickets for a mid day instead of late day departure, grabbed one last slice and hopped the train home. 

It was all very good time and the laundry got done by bedtime.  This morning, two days later, we leave for the Jersey Shore and our first grandson's high school graduation.  We need to retire.  Work is getting in the way!

 

Repairs can soon begin!

Joy to the world! We deposited a check for over $60,000 for repairs to Forte Vento.  Finally, repairs can begin.  John is organizing and becoming a project manager once again.  With luck, we'll get to sail in September.

Facing reality

I took several interviews with a private "executive" consulting company recently. This was the third opportunity in the last six months.  It too resulted in a "thank-you, but no thank-you." The first was a local non-profit where I was the "last man standing" but was dropped at the last minute when a new board member, an ex-face book executive, said I didn't have sufficient "social media" experience.  I can just imagine her saying to her new colleagues, "You don't need no friggin' CIO. All you need is a Social Media Maven."   In the second opportunity, I was one of the 15 presented to the head hunter's client, but was not selected for an interview.  I had no idea why that happened until this last opportunity revealed the answer.  "You have such a deep experience, but it's not exactly what we need right now" means "You are too old for us".  I have reached the magic point in my life when I'm older than everyone else.    That's me and all the other baby boomers, so, at least, I'm not alone.

Am I angry - yes!  Am I down about it - yes!  Do I have to come to grips with my situation - yes!  I working on it.   I've decided to  commit to my current gig at the Peace Corps for the next 27 months. It doesn't hold the excitement of the "turn around" situation I faced in the first two years; however, I'll make plain ol' everyday management work for me.  I'm still the "determined little dumpling" my friend Holly called me way back in 1972 when I left the Midwest for big city lights!  It's a mental thing-- I am turning my head around, setting the path and moving cleanly toward a retirement of sailing adventures with a smile on my face.  When we finish off the boat payments and get it all fitted out for living aboard, we'll be two of the 8,000 boomers who retire everyday.

The Dancers

My sister and her husband Harold enjoy the good life in their retirement.  They are not rich so they don't go off on exotic trips much nor indulge in expensive material objects.  They live simply, but they certainly aren't bored because -- they dance.  And dance.  And dance.  It's a passion.  They cruise to dance, drive to resorts to dance and just plain dance two to three nights a week right in the neighborhood.  Are they good?  It's like asking am I a good sailor.  The obvious answer is not really, but I do it well enough to stay afloat, am always learning maneuvers and techniques, and enjoy the time sailing together with John.  It's a passion so it doesn't matter.   I like passion, so let's here a round of applause for passion and the happiness it can bring into our lives.

Scarface

You would think, that at my age, I would learn to walk and chew gum at the same time.  Obviously, that is not the case as you can see from the accompanying picture.  When wearing running shoes and walking on living room wood floors, you should not attempt to walk in two directions at once.  If you do, as I did, your left foot will trip over your right foot that refuses to move when your body moves.   Result -- slam bam!

There was a goodly amount of blood, but no concussion as declared by John when he jumped into EMT mode. He flashed a small flashlight in my eyes. Eye dilation was good.

 The bruises blossomed this morning -- that is not make up around my eye.  I feel like a horse with a blinder on the right.  I went to work this morning, only to feel really, really tired and achy by 11 so I came home at noon.  I cancelled my personal trainer for this evening,  then fell into bed and slept like the dead for the afternoon.  It appears that my right shoulder is non too happy about being banged on the floor either.

Tomorrow is another day.  I will heal.  The scar will blend in with the wrinkles.  Ah, the advantage of old age.

Forte Vento Update

It's a month later. We received pictures of "the fall" this week from folks who were in the yard that morning. A boat out of water is not a graceful object to behold.  The term "beached whale" comes to mind.

We are hoping that this week all the estimates will be finalized.  Once the insurance company cuts a check the repairs can begin.  Memorial Day weekend is normally our first big sail of the season.  Obviously, this year we are in mourning, trying to make it through the holiday land locked.  There will be a baseball game on Saturday.  On Sunday, we'll clear the interior of the boat so the refinishing work can be done.  When she's done, Forte Vento will be good as new with no scars showing.  When that is, is still undetermined.

A grandson's prom

Jeremy and his sweet heart

Remember what it felt like to be 18?  Life's adventure was just beginning. I found myself looking at my grandson's prom picture this weekend remembering those feelings, the excitement and anticipation of what was to come.  Would I do it all over again?  Would I make the same moves? The same mistakes?  Would I have the same fears? What do you think?

Then, there's the little brother. He's in the wings, four years younger, hanging out, killing time, looking bored with all the fuss around his big brother. But is it all just a front?  I bet he has his fantasies about what he'll wear to his prom -- he the fashionista of the family.  Don't let that casual dress fool you -- Each piece of clothing was carefully selected and coordinated.  It takes work.

The prom -- an American life milestone.  Whether you are rich or poor or in the middle somewhere, prom is a rite of passage. Where did I spend my senior prom night?  With my two best girl friends, robbing dad's liquor cabinet.  The house was empty so we drank in my the bedroom upstairs, playing cards and telling stories.  Yes, we refilled the gin bottle with water.  No, we didn't exactly get away with it.   I really thought my parents believed me when I told them that Diana was holding the toilet bowl because she had a sudden flu. How did I know that sweet vermouth on top of everything else could do that.  For the first time that I could remember, my parents didn't yell.  I didn't get grounded. Dad made pancakes in the morning.  We recovered and, despite the 70's, ended up as responsible grown-ups and now wrinkling, almost retired boomers.  Jeremy will do the same, only better with much more dignity and, with luck, fewer mistakes.

Wedding by the Bay

It rained the day before and the day after, but on May 10th the clouds parted, the sun sparkled on the Bay, and the breeze blew for Alison and Hamilton's wedding by the Chesapeake Bay.  There was much laughter as we learned how they met and many a teary eye as they shared their vows.  Alison is yin to Hamilton's yang.  We were so pleased that our dear friend Ed was able to walk his daughter down the aisle.

No progress on repairs.

It was a bad dream that woke me at 3AM.  About being on a boat that couldn't sail.  But that's not a dream. It's our reality.  Not only did we lose the mast and boom, all the rigging, get scratches and holes in the hull, loosen a few fittings on the inside, but now we see that the metal arch over the cockpit lists to the starboard, a wound from the fall into the boat next to Forte Vento.

Three weeks and it's all talk about insurance companies.  I thought Herrington Harbour owners were going to take care of everything. They keep telling John they will, but there's been no progress.  I'm afraid we'll not sail again this season.  It's what literally is keeping me up at night.

Cherry Blossoms resist spring chills

It was her first metro ride.  Amid a packed metro car, stroller and all, we made our way from Courthouse to the Smithsonian stop on the orange line.  Miss Bridget loved it -- so many people and things to see.  We made our way down to the boat basin in a sea of people swimming in the fresh air and sunshine.  The crowds overcame Nana so we found a nice place to sit by the water for a bit.  Pop-pop gave a short botany lesson,explaining why the cherry blossoms were still buds.  Bridget, a good granddaughter, listened intently, pretending to understand everything he said.  Her Mom and I chuckled, proud that Pop-pop is near the top of her her A-list, right next to Mommy.

We walked some more, just missing the National Pillow Fight, up to the National History Museum where Miss B. got her first look at Henry the mighty elephant in the rotunda.  She was amazed at all the animals and dinosaurs. "Up! Up!"   she commanded.  Miss B. needs a better view.  In her eyes you could see what she meant, "I can't see a damn thing down here at knee level!  Help!"  And so Pop-pop and Mom did as commanded-- they shared her on their shoulders, first one and then the other.  Miss B. had a 5.5' + high view for the rest of the day.

In other news--Miss B. can say her last name -- all four syllables, and, as you know, that no small feat for a 20 month old kid.

Disaster in dry dock!

The call came about 9AM this morning.  It happened in the night, not at sea, but on land in slot J-2ww where Forte Vento had been hauled for a fresh cost of bottom paint to ready her for the coming sailing season.  What happened?  The braces on the port side of Forte Vento had slipped out from under sending her into the boat in the next lot.  Luckly, it was a slow fall, not a careening fall, or the damage would have been worse. 

The mast was bent almost 90 degrees and hung precariously until the marina staff  detached it and lifted it off with a crane.  On the ground, it looked and was declared dead, never to be repaired.  The rest we are told is repairable -- the scars and gouges in the hull on the port side and the interior dented and dinged teak from the flying   dishes and drinking glasses.  We were lucky -- it could have been much worse.

The marina managers were shocked, humbled and apologetic.  Matt said, "In 24 years of working in marinas, I've never seen this happen."  Hamilton confirmed, "This has never happened at Herrington Harbour before and we will make everything right -- even better than right."  Our frustration and anger evaporated with what he said.  Our insurance surveyer was sure it can all be repaired and should not cost us a penny.

Forte Vento will be sea worthy again as soon as possible. We are keeping our fingers crossed for a two week cruise starting Memorial Day weekend. It all depends how fast they can get the parts.  There's rigging, mast, boom, mainsail, electrical  wiring, lines and more to be acquired and assembled.  Do you know where we might pick up a $18,000 mast with a $6,000 furled main sail that perfect for a 2011 Hunter 39'? 

Getting off my butt to save my waist

I am in trouble. My waist is dying.  If I don't do something, not only will I loose it, I will never again zip up my slacks and still be able to breath.  It's a full blown crisis.  I caught my image in the mirror last night and found a lumpy old lady.  Even with great hair, make-up and slimming jeans I looked like slowly swelling balloon in my middle.  I'm halfway vain, but what "keeps me up at night" are thoughts of diabetes,  CPT, high blood pressure, and heart disease.  If I'm not careful, I'll become my mother.

For years I've been able to control the fat creep despite the death of my metabolism over the past five years.  But, after the shoulder surgery last November, following doctor's orders,  I stopped exercising to allow the left shoulder to heal slowly.  He even prohibited physical therapy for six weeks.  However,  he didn't give me any guidance on eating and drinking, so I merrily kept going at the old pace.  The results were predictable.  It's what  I saw in the mirror...I just groaned, turned my head and rushed away.

So what's the plan?  It started today...John left for San Francisco for the week so there's a chance I can dive in to develop a bit of discipline before he gets home.  The goal -- a waist line.  A shape that says, "Hey, she's looking healthy AND looking good!"  Wish me luck.

50 years later

Betty Friedan's book, "The Feminine Mystique" is 50 years old this week. It changed the course of American womanhood.  Most importantly, that book and others like it made my life possible. I knew what it was to be trapped in the home with few skills and the expectation of life long dependence.  My mother's life frightened me to the core.  She never really understood even though she tried. In 1971, when I showed her the name on my checkbook was, "Mrs. Robert Waskis".  She said, "Yes, so?"  With tears running down my cheeks, I screamed,  "I have lost my identity! I am Dorine Andrews, not his shadow!"  She sighed, returned to reading her paper in her recliner, and said, "I don't see the point. It's how things work."  

I saw what being Mrs. Colin Andrews did to my mother.  She ate her way through depression until he died in 1979 and she weighed near 250 pounds and would remain so for the rest of her life.  I promised myself never, never to let that happen.    I was scared.  I was insecure.  I scratched my way into a career zigging and zagging my way to financial security.  I made many, many mistakes; had three failed marriages; but I also raised a daughter, built many long lasting friendships with women over the years, married a guy who liked my independence, and have gained the recognition and contentment I always yearned for.

My daughter took her husband's name without a thought of loosing her identity.  She expects equal footing and she gets it.  I am proud.  Thanks, Betty!

New toys to help the winter pass

Forte Vento floats in her slip nicely.  Lines sag appropriately and tighten just enough against the breeze, protecting her from rubbing up against the dock.  Our babbler keeps the water moving around her so ice won't form.  But, it's not a happy place in the winter.  Even with the sun popping out from behind the heavy, fast moving winter clouds, the marina has an empty feeling.  It's almost makes me sad.  So many boats have been pulled and now sit on "sticks" looking like ducks out of water--elegant but not graceful.  We checked her out last Sunday.  Oh, how we miss sailing season.

To pass the time, besides organizing our tax papers, I'm testing a new toy -- Microsoft's new Surface tablet (It's on loan  from my work).  In fact, I'm creating this post using it now.  The good news it that it has Word, Excel and PowerPoint.  The basic keyboard doesn't work so well on a hard surface, but on my lap it delivers.  It's something between a normal key board and a sleep number bed in terms of design.  The pressure to touch the keys has some flexibility.  It is also like riding a bicycle. The more you use it, the better it gets.  It is amazingly better than the touch screen for someone like myself who is touch typist. 

It's just not the right thing

I got it in my head last fall that "wouldn't it be nice to sit on a board of directors or two" after I retired. Many small and mid-cap for profits boards pay anywhere from $60 to $200,000/year to its members. Always enjoying a conversion with myself (and not those strange voices that can whisper in your ear in the middle of the night), I said, "I've got lots of experience, and I certainly know a lot about a lot of industries after 30 years in the systems consulting business."

"Well," I responded, "how do I go about getting on a board?  My network is good, but not that good."  I pondered, but not for long.  My young neighbor, Liz, learned about a board member training program just for women.  It was  put together in 2011 by Women in Technology and they named it the Leadership Foundry.  "Ah, just the thing for me," I exclaimed.  And yes, I qualified for the program and paid my $3,000 for a year's training and networking opportunities with local companies.

This week I attended the formal two-day training program on board membership led by the National Association of Corporate Directors or NACD.  The course was actually riveting -- full of facts and stories about boards and situations where our instructors had served.  It was also a great opportunity to meet fifteen other successful women.  We spent the first evening at dinner together in constant conversation.  It is amazing what women are doing today and the fields they work in.  I was humbled by their experience and their presence.  And, as many friends know, I don't humble easily.

Today,as our training wrapped up, I came to a decision that surprised me.  I spoke to myself quite clearly and resolutely.  "Dorine,"  I said,  "You are not a good fit to be a board member."  The financial and governance responsibilities, if you take them seriously, are substantial, but that didn't scare me.  Even I can refresh my knowledge of the complexities of financial statements and learn the role of strategic oversight.  And, I can create a snappy elevator speech about what I bring to a board and chat up any number of corporate leaders with it.  What cinched my decision is the amount of patience and positioning it will take on my part to make an impact.  Moving swiftly is moving in three years!  It's not about "getting on with it" as one does in grilling a steak.  It's all about "letting things simmer and stirring occasionally"  as one does with making a pot roast to ensure all the flavors come together.  A new board member is someone who has served two years.

Be still my heart!  That is not who I am or ever will be.  But, I walk away with a great deal of knowledge and new insights.  Perhaps, some day, it will all be valuable and put to use.

Enveloped in fog

Dense, soupy gray warm air blankets my world this morning. I can't see the tree tops just outside our balcony.  We went to bed with it and woke up with  it.  They promise sunshine by noon.  Until then, I'm cozy, sitting on the couch watching Sunday Morning and typing away on my Ipad.

The Oscar nomination announcements this week sent hordes of people to the movies--kind of.  Our Saturday noon excursion to see "Silver Linings Playbook" turned into a group adventure.  Not a seat in the house was empty.  After we broke for a late lunch, then went to a second movie, "Hyde Park on the Hudson" where only one quarter of the seats were filled.  Good figure!  I thought both were good movies, but not exceptional.

My daughter made me proud recently.  She's accepted a new and challenging position that moves her into a new industry (from insurance to cable television).  It's also moved the family into a new tax bracket so theor concerns about money for the boys' college fees and repairs their shore cottage after Hurricane Sandy flooded the place with three feet of water have evaporated with the water.

I've made a decision that makes me proud.  On August 16, 2015, I will have five years in my job and it will be time to hang up my keyboard.  The CIO  job has turned out to be more rewarding than I expected, but it has  also helped me calm my career spanning itchy feet and helped me accept that there will soon be time for the next generation to take over the leadership.  It's even fun now.    My team and I have a bit more than 2.5 years to put in place technology that will alter our organization's operations culture.  We've just started and they'll keep it evolving after I leave. It's surprisingly exciting.  For the first time in my career, I'm not anxious to move on.  I'm staying put.  Hurray!

The New Year is upon us

The  fiscal cliff crumbled at the last minute -- no falling, just stumbling through the rubble.  We should feel good about this, but from what I understand, not much has been resolved.  Shall we carry on living the life that is thrown at us?  I suggest we do so with gusto! 

We greeted the new year as we have since 2000 by joining childhood friends and family in Severna Park.  Eating started at 7:30, after we gussied-up (That used to mean fancy clothes.  Now it means lipstick and a clean sweater).  There were sushi, grilled oysters, lobsters, truffle potatoes, salad, and dessert topped off with a champagne toast at midnight amid sparklers, flying confetti and much kissing and hugging amongst the nine of us.  There was a time we continued to party almost to dawn, but those days are long gone.  Proudly, however, we did rumpus about until 2AM. Not bad for a bunch of dudes their 60's and 70's.  It is a warm and comforting time.  Happy New Year!

My Daughter is Awesome!

How we look is exactly how we feel.  I need to say no more.

Merry Christimas in New York

With my arm sans sling and swinging at my side, we are are visiting family and friends in New York City this week.  Christmas Eve found us walking down 5th avenue amid twinkling lights, last minute shoppers and the bright lights of the empire state building.   Such a joy!  No pain in the hip for John and no blisters on the feet for me .

The day before, to celebrate 20 years together, we hopped the F train to Red Hook Brooklyn and walked against 30 knot winds to visit Steve Riley, an artist John discovered from searching the Internet before we left.  We picked out a square ring for me and three wood pieces for John.


Grandchildren are well. Kids are well. Friends are well.  A holiday with no drama, just chilly breezy weather!  Our plan to address the Christmas cards from the comfort of our hotel was shoved aside for walks up and down Manhattan.  We visited department stores to see the decorated windows (Lord & Taylor's is the best). 

Now, the day after Christmas, the weather threatens -- do we leave today or cross our fingers, hope the weather threats are exaggerated, and leave tomorrow as planned? 

On the mend!

I finally got a good night's sleep on Tuesday night and again last night.  I have even ventured to not wearing the sling for an hour in the morning and evening just to release the tension for the strap around my shoulders.

Recovery Blues

Ten days since the arm surgery -- I'm resigned to float above the reality of life -- an out of body experience.  Emails continue to trickle in from work, but my team seems to be handling it all quite well.  Am I irrelevant?  Does atree falling in the woods make a sound if no one is around to hear it?  I'm feeling like that damn tree. 

After watching every minute of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, I had to get off the couch or go bonkers. Despite John's commands to stay where I was and mend, I opted for getting off the couch to help with dinner preparations.  Result -- shoulder pain exploded on me last night despite having taken Advil and carefully wearing my sling all day and night.  This morning I popped a Percoset.  I was desperate.  It's time for another one!

I haven't been running around by any means.  I've tried to be a good patient.  In the past two days, I've read a mountain of magazines and newspapers.  I've blogged, sorted my four inch high in box, paid bills, talked with relatives and eaten my way through an abundance of tasty nibbles. I want to "getting moving" but I tire easily.  What happened to my Energizer Bunny?  I even napped after exhausting myself setting theThanksgiving Dinner table. 

What's the use in getting dressed when you can't go out, but that brings me to the simple tasks that bring me to tears. Ever tried to wash your right armpit with your right arm or hook your bra with one hand? The hair dryer is a banned appliance as it requires my left arm to rise up above my head.  My hair is early "mess". I can't lift my left arm to pull on a sweater or shirt.  I can only zip up a sweat shirt.  I can't wear my normal slacks or jeans- it takes two good arms to pull and zip them up. I've succumbed to sweat and yoga pants pull ups with elastic waists.  At least they are black and not the horrid pastel colors with matching sequend tops of those blue haired ladies standing in line at the 5:00 2 for 1 seating at restaurants.  Just thinking about them depresses me because I turned 66 on Monday.  I'm now beyond all the age categories - you know, the ones you have to check off on marketing surveys. I've become irrelevant to marketeers -- except, of course, to those hawking hearing aids, laxatives, adult diapers, scooters and denture gel.

Monday I go back to work, for which, I will be eternally grateful.  I'm ready to be back in the muck of the "reality of life".  I'll be easy to recognize.  I'll be the one with sling and sweats in heels.  Wish me luck. 

Surgery Plus 7 Days

Light typing is now allowed; however, I'm still sling bound and feeling like an elephant with a broken snout.  Our attempt to escape to the ocean for a week of R&R was a bust -- the weather was cold, gray and windy.  We couldn't get warm. On top of it all, John's cough is turning into a three week affair and I caught it.  What a way to spend a birthday!   After one night, we bagged it and drove home to blue skies and a cozy fireplace. 

I've got six little stitches scattered about the shoulder.  Swelling is minimal but the shoulder reminds me of a lamb roast after John's plugged it with garlic cloves and spinkled it with rosemary.  Am trying to stay off the "dizzy" drugs, but had to return to them last night.  My expectations about "getting back to normal" have been somewhat unrealistic. John just rolls his eyes when I complain that the sling is getting in my way.

48 hours later

Typing with one hand is required. That is a slow and error prone process. The good news is that both my rotator cuff and bicep in my left arm are repaired and in time, with rehab, should be better than new. The bad news is that my stomach doen't like percoset, so much of what I have eaten in the past 48 hours erupted from me.  Maybe I will lose a few inches around my ever expanding waist.

No reaching, stretching or lifting is allowed.  I am condemmed to pull-up pants and front zippered sweats. Nurse John is attentive and helpful. (He thinks my breasts are swingingly handsome.)

 I hate being or feeling helpless!  I don't think he is having a fun time with his patient.  :-)

Fixing the left shoulder

We survived hurricane Sandy quite well -- Forte Vento was unharmed as well was our condo.  Can't say the same for my daughter's family home (they were out of power for a week) or their sweet little summer place in Seaside Height Park across from Tom's River (they lost all the interior, but the place remained on its cinder blocks foundation).

My energy now turns to my left shoulder.  Tomorrow my rotator cuff will be repaired  After 10 days without a couple of Ibuprofen every night, pain rips across the my back and shoulders every time I move.  It's amazing what the drug was able to mask.  As all the birthday cards remind us -- getting old is not for sissies.  I have high hopes that repairs are possible and that I'll be able to pull lines without pain.  There's physical therapy after the surgery, but, as always, I'm determined.  If I can't have strength at least I want the lack of pain.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

I arrive at 5:30AM at the hospital, John at my side.  Surgery is scheduled for 7:30AM and I'll be home in bed sometime in the afternoon.  Hope I get good drugs!

Preparing for Sandy

I thought we'd get through the season without a hurricane.  Our last sail of the season was planned for Saturday and then on Sunday, we were going to prepare her for winterization and a Wednesday haul out.   Friday morning was a rude awakening as Sandy's track to announced to sweep up the Chesapeake and the Delmarva Peninsula.  The message was simple -- no sailing, just prepare for bad weather.  We hustled ourselves to the marina early Saturday morning to prepare Forte Vento.  We were too late to get on the haul out list, but the marina found us a more protected slip.  Six hours later we had completed our work  -- removed the jib and packed it away, removed the Bimini and dodger and packed it away, packed away the electrical, water hose and turned off the refrigeration and cleaned out the frig and freezer.  Only one small error -- a piece of the metal frame for the Bimini fell unexpectedly and slammed against the compass that is stationed about in the center of the cockpit.  It was completely smashed.  We'll replace it later.  No time to spare.

Our last task before moving the boat was to remove the lines in our slip.  John hung off the boat's  aft starboard corner  to untangle our lines from our neighbor's.  I maneuvered the other lines so he could reach the massive piling.  What a struggle!  Finally free, we motored to the pump out dock, an interim stop on the way to the new slip.  We double washed rinsed the waste tank, another winterization prep chore done. 

The wind was picking up so I over steered and missed the new slip first time around.  Determined, I took Forte Vento out into the main channel, turned her around, came back and tried again.  This time we made it.  John grabbed a line and leveraged her in and I kept her in a slow reverse to keep the wind from pushing us into the dock.  After another hour of adjusting lines we were settled.  I took a picture, crossed my fingers and hoped she'll pull through.

Luckily for us, it's going more northward through New Jersey. That's unlucky for the kids.  Their summer house is snuggled three blocks from the ocean and two blocks from the bay just over the bridge from Tom's River. It's taking a direct hit.

I hate Disney World!

This morning began smoothly.  The JetBlue flight was uneventful as all flights should be.  Even the perky guy sitting next to was quiet after he very enthusiastically introduced himself.  Hertz delivered my car promptly even though I'm not a Gold Member.  The drive over to the hotel was simple.

Then it all began -- I couldn't find the hotel.  I called Disney central booking and the directions were clear.  However, my reservation had been changed unbeknownst to me.  I got back in the car and drove to the new hotel, only to find out I was in the wrong section of the hotel -- I was not in Port Orleans French Quarter, but in Port Orleans Riverside.  Okay, I can deal with going up the street a bit.  As I was checking into the hotel, I noticed that I'd only booked three nights and not four, but Disney lived up to its reputation for service by calling central booking again after I asked.  One half hour later, I've got a second reservation for an extra day.  Somehow extending the first reservation another day was not possible.   The young lady handed me my check in package saying, "You're in 8547 Sweetie."  She gave me directions for driving around to section 85.  I unloaded my bags from the car and walked around the building to finally find the the door.  The key card didn't work.  I tried again. The red light glowed.  I tried again.  The key card didn't work.  I walked my bags back to car, then walked back to the lobby -- over the river, around the bridge and across the river entrance.  The young lady checked the card.  "It works. You should be fine, sweetie," she said.  I said "Ok. What will you do if it doesn't work."  She smiled, "Don't worry it will work."  I turned, then, to confirm, "It is 8547, right?"  "Yes," she confirmed then turned to another customer.

To understand how I was feeling now, it helps to tell you that it's 3:30PM and I've had half  a muffin and a bag of chips since the sun had risen.  I walked back to the door.  The card key did not work.  I tried again.  The light once again was red.  The card key did not work.  I took a deep breath.  I walked back to the car and drove to the lobby and asked for manager.  Within minutes and many apologies I was told my room was 8567, not 47 as was written on the map.

Once I deposited my bags in the room, I drove over to the Dolphin Hotel to check in for the conference.  I wasn't allowed to park and was briskly directed to a "over flow" parking lot three miles away.  There I took a bus back tot he Dolphin hotel.

It was a good afternoon and evening.  Met some nice guys.  Good discussions.  So, relaxed I headed back to catch the bus.  I caught the last bus back to the parking lot.  I was following the map, but somehow I found myself on a road named route 192.  I pulled over wishing I'd brought my Garmin and was almost in tears.  But I remembered that I'm a big girl, a grown up, so after turning the map around in circles a couple of times, I figured out where I was.  My 5 minute trip back to the hotel took 30.

All of this would never have happened in NYC. I would have grabbed a taxi with a driver who knew where I needed to go.  I really hate this manufactured Eden.

Trapped!

I've  watched the NCIS episode where Tony and Ziva can't get out and start sweating as Ziva climbs on Tony's shoulders and tries with all her might to push out the ceiling because the doors won't open, but I never imagined it would happen to me -- that I personally would get stuck in an elevator.

My colleague and I were just coming back from lunch this past Thursday.  We were both going to be late for meetings so we scurried through the building doors, flashed our badges at the guard, quickly swept through the badge gate and congratulated ourselves as we caught the closest elevator in the nick of time as it binged the "I'm closing now" alert.   I pushed three and she pushed seven.  The doors silently closed. We both whipped out our phones to check our email -- neither of us wanting to waste a minute of time.

We reached the third floor.  The elevator stopped, waited and then started up to seven.  The doors never opened.  I thought, perhaps, I hadn't actually pushed the button sufficiently, but when the doors didn't open on seven, we looked at each other, stunned.  It was an OMG moment.  I pushed "one".  Surely, that would work.  It didn't. And, then the damn thing took over our lives -- it started going to random floors stopping, but not opening its doors.  I reassured my colleage, "At least we are not in free fall" and she replied, "or in a 100 floor building."  We looked at each other wide-eyed.  Suddenly, we felt like kids. What to do?  We sprang into action -- I pushed the "talk" button - repeatedly until a distant voice said, "How can I help you?"  My friend yelled  "We're stuck.  The elevator doors - elevator #1 -- won't open."  The garbled reply, as best we could decipher, was that the elevator company would come soon.  We were two very impatient women wanting action.  We couldn't just stand by and wait.  My friend whipped out  her Blackberry and called  the front desk.  No reception.  I whipped out my iPhone -- same result.

We started punching the alarm bell.  It rang out.  We giggled.  Now we were kids again.  With a bell on each side of the elevator, we started a punching  in rhythm.   The alarm bell sang a staccato song.  We laughed again -- what a silly thing for two grown women to do, but we kept on doing it.  Then,  I started pounding on the doors and yelling through this steel box called an elevator. Pounding made no echo.  We looking at each other in disbelief again.  We lost all our dignity as we traveled up and down, and up and down, and up and down. We yelled and punched the alarm more -- action, always action.

It seemed like forever, but was actually less than ten  minutes, when we could hear people yelling on the other side of the doors as we passed from floor to floor.  We yelled our names.  We yelled "Help!"  The elevator kept traveling. "Hold on! We'll get you out1" yelled a familiar voice, "We've called the fire department.  They are on the way."  We looked at each other in amazement and busted out laughing again.

Then,  as if nothing was wrong, the doors parted on the 7th floor.  We jumped out and they snapped close behind us.  We stepped across the hall to another one going down.  We walked out on the 1st floor and surprised everyone -- especially the familiar voice who was talking into his walky-talky.  It was over.  All we could say was, "Lock that #1 up.  It's lost its mind!"

Listening to the debate

Obama and Romney are arguing.  I'm trying to pay attention, but am getting distracted by the retoric.  Right at this moment it's all about health care.  Both are attacking each other.  They are  like two bulls snorting and heaving and stomping the ground.  Luckily there's no steam erupting from their noses.  Bill Lerher can't get a question in sideways.  The crowd is civil.  The debaters not nearly so, particularly Romney.  I think I'll have another scotch.  I'm looking foward to the post debate analysis.  It will be much more logical.

They're off to banking regulation now.  Romney is trying to tell Bill what to do about the questions.  He wants to carry on.  He's looking like a bully.  Obama is not over talking Bill.  The difference is starting to show.  Time -- 60 minutes into the debate.  Romney is interrupting.  Can't tell whether that is good or bad.  Be still my heart -- what is a qualified mortgage?  Romeny says that because there is no clear definition, its hurting our marketplace.

Summer's gone

The air is chilly now and the sky fills with sweeping clouds with gray bottoms that regularly hide the sun.  The wind is unpredictable -- one day fierce and the next day cotton candy light.  So we motor when we must.  Each weekend becomes more precious as the autumn over takes us.  Today, we anchored at 3PM after motoring against a very light wind in the Rhode River.  John just finished the crossword puzzle my brain could not get its arms around.  I sit with my iPad writing a long due entry here in the blog.  To our starboard, three smaller sail boats are rafted together. Men's loud voices break the air. They sound more like power boaters than sailors.  Perhaps they'll get drunk early and fall asleep.  Otherwise, we may be in for a noisy evening.   No matter.  We enjoy what we can.  Come the end of October, we put Forte Vento up for the winter and return to spending our weekends among the city folk in Washington, DC.

Sun's gone now behind some thickening clouds.  We'll bury ourselves under the comforter tonight and rock gently as the water washes under the boat.  Good night!

Flies in the cockpit!

There are good sailing days and then there are the days that make you question your sanity.  Today was one of the those days.  We sit below decks on the hood in Plaindealing Creek across the Tred Avon river and the town of Oxford waiting for the sun to go down and cool the cockpit.

We left the dock this morning with gray clouds overhead and little wind in the air.  We motored Forte Vento across the Bay instead of attempting to sail in the very light wind. Bored and tired,  John retired to the V-berth for a nap while I listened to the humming engine and watched for crab pots.  Rained sprinkled and what little wind there was came across the back of the boat.  I was joined by a host of flies -- plain ol' flies you normally get at a picnic or hovering around a freshly baked pie set to cool in the window (does anyone do that anymore?)  With the wind pushing on your back instead of slapping you on the face as you cross the water, the cockpit becomes a free ride for these buggers.  Along with the ride, they decided to have lunch -- my legs and feet.  In self defense,  I armed myself with our purple fly swatter and went to war.  I killed 12 before John came back up on deck to take over the battle.

We did get to sail.  As we rounded the Green #7 bell upon to enter the Choptank River, the wind picked up to almost 10 knots and our heading allowed us a pleasant reach (wind across the beam). But, to our surprise, the flies liked the idea and stayed instead of taking off for clamer cockpits.  After sailing all the way  (3 hours of success!) into our anchorage, we discovered some of the buggers had inflitrated our living quarters below decks.  Up went our screens and out came the swatter again.  There were no pleasant deaths, just dead flies.  Let's hope tomorrow brings more wind, less flies and sunshine.

See Dick. See Jane. See Bridget!

This sweet young princess makes Grandpa proud.  Everyone got together at her Aunt Patricia's last Wednesday to spend some time with Bridget, now 13 months old.  She had Grandpa wrapped around her finger so tightly that they collapsed together for a nap after a busy day of playing at the park, swimming in the baby pool and eating pizza.  It reminded us all of how simply beautiful family can be and how hugs and kisses make you feel like a million dollars.

Bridget is a seasoned walker now; however, walking on grass makes her worry.  It's just not like wood floors or cement sidewalks of Queens.  But she pushed through to get onto the horsey-on-a-spring ride at the park.  Gnats swarmed in the afternoon sun in the Harper's Ferry park, so after a big swing and the horsey ride, we headed back to the house for a swim.



Celebrating 40!

You know you are getting old when your daughter turns 40. For our family it was a time of much celebration, of life achievement and of a job "well done".  She's a Jersey Girl through and through -- lay back but ready with a sharp retort if needed.  A lover of the ocean and boardwalk who can sit on the beach under the umbrella posting on face book, twittering away all the while watching her youngest play with his friend at the ocean's edge.    He's a tall skinny 13, aspires to be a rapper complete with with almost shaved head, over sized baseball cap and pants that hang off his hips revealing six inches of plaid boxer shorts.  I shake my head, but my daughter and her husband keep quiet, knowing he'll eventually grow out of it.  As long as he stays off drugs, all is okay.  At the other extreme is their oldest is a thoughtful baseball player who is morphing into a nicely handsome young man.  He's a studious high school senior with serious intentions for college, focused on business school.  Go figure. 

We surprised her at 11:30 Friday night at their beach house just blocks from the ocean. Despite the off and on again rain and humid air, we enjoyed the ocean, at boardwalk pizza and watched the sophomoric movie "Watch".  Happy Birthday to my daughter! 

We're back in the sailing scene!

It took two weeks but our battery charger problems are resolved.  The engineers found another blown fuse so we believe that the problem was not all my fault (remember, I forgot the flip on the charge battery switch in June).  The humongous thunder storm that took out the electric power on the docks most likely sent a surge through the system the confounded the charger problems.  We now have a completely new 40 amp charger, a replacement as the old one was still under warranty, and an meter so we can monitor inflow and outflow from the battery itself (see picture).  Now we sit and wait for the overcast sky to clear.  It's raining again. 

Sailing vacation - What sailing? What vacation?

Just when we thought our battery charger problem was solved, we woke after an extremely hot night on the hook in the South River to find that our engine didn't seem to recharge the battery as it should.  Determined not to give in to these electrical problems without a good fight, John and I decided to push toward north toward Rock Hall as we had originally planned.  Just a few changes -- no wind to fill our sails nor reliable battery to power our frig or electronics (that includes the water pumps, GPS and autopilot).  So we went to conservation mode.  Turned off the freezer. Put the frig on a on-off cycle schedule.

We did get close to Thomas Light on our motor north and did a great drive by of five ships anchored off Annapolis harbor.  Hot and tired, we went aground once at the entrance to Rock Hall, but managed to turn and push off with the engine (Thank the angels for a soft mud bottom). 

"Why," you might ask, "would you put yourself through such torture when a vacation is all about relaxing and laying back?" John thinks it's because I am crazed.  I beg to differ.  It's the adventure, being on the water hanging out with the Osprey, the challenge, the doing, the problem solving.  However, at this point, the problem solving is getting the best of me. 

Three days later -- it's all about the battery charger

It was sunny and hot, but 5-10 knot winds were promised and it appeared that our batteries were recharged. We set off about noon motoring toward the north to the South River (strange but true), expecting our batteries would continue to charge. The GPS, autopilot and bow thruster worked as they should so we thought all was well.

About two hours out, the wind died and the heat was starting to weaken our resolve to keep pushing north. In short order we decided to return to the dock where we could spend the night with air conditioning. We are not going to be bloodly fools! And there as we turned, suddenly we had wind. It took us east across the bay to Bloody Point, but we didn't care as the diesel was silenced and the sails were filled. After several tacks and wind changes, we arrived home in the late sweaty afternoon. Into swim suits we jumped and off to the pool for an hour to drop our body temperatures. While cooking dinner we spied that the battery charge was dropping. We sighed and went to bed hoping the sea gods would miraculously make it all better.

Monday morning: Freezer and frig are "dead meat". I hurried to transfer food into the reliable rubbermaid ice chest with bagged ice. Phone calls and exploratory work in the boats bowels revealed a possible problem source - the battery charger was not functioning -- not a peep from its annoying little motor! It wasn't the batteries, it was the battery charger. Call in the surgeon! Three hours later a deft electrical blond hottie with lamp on forehead, diagnosed the problem to be a blown 10amp250volt fuse. With tweezers and plyers he removed the offending part from the battery charger and replaced it. The good news is that the fuse protected the batteries from exploding. The bad news is such a small, hidden, and inexpensive device can confuse the hell out of us. For John's birthday, I'm getting him a "Zantrec Lite" amp meter. Forever in the future we will read our battery charge and draw down from a small meter at the chart table, just like a gas guage in the dashboard of a car.

Tomorrow we sail -- not north necessarily, but whereever the wind takes us -- probably southeast into the Choptank or north east into the Eastern Bay. The goal is to watch spendid fireworks from the deck of Forte Vento while listening to the Sirius radio play rousing, patriotic music.

You can't get there from here

John and I arrived at the boat this Friday night to find our batteries depleted and the food in the frig rotted. I had forgotten to flip the "charge battery" switch on the main electrical connection two weeks ago when we were on the boat. Undaunted, we cleaned, flipped the swtich to recharge the batteries and settled into the air-conditioned envrions ready to leave in the morning for our week's vacation on the boat. However, no good or forgetful deed goes unpunished. At 11 PM the skies opened up with a storm that blasted the electical grid for most of the Baltimore-Washington DC metropolitan area. It was a horrible night -- rocking and rolling in the slip from the 35-40knot winds from the west, the marina going dark, and the heat melting into our minds. I couldn't sleep worrying about our provisions and if we could leave for the week's long sail. Morning broke, skies cleared, but our batteries were not happy. We tried taking off, but the more we motored, the more the battery was depleted. Exactly opposite of what should be. We are not defeated. Power has been restored. The boat's batteries are recharged. After some testing in the morning, we hope to set off on our holiday sail.

Aunt Jean has died,

My sisters and I make last visits to Aunt Jean. Elaine and her husband visited, then last week Karen and I flew in to say goodbye. Flight delays made us three hours late. We battled rush hour taffic to get from the airport (IAH) north to Conroe. Finally, we arrived and Aunt Jean knew we were there. She smiled then went back into her morphine induced sleep. She wanted to leave this world as she was in this world -- quietly, gentley and with dignity. That night we visited with Uncle Bob. After 59 years together he was losing his best friend and life partner. How do you deal with that? A bit of denial ("I keep hoping she'll pull out of this last stroke") and a bit of recognition ("She doesn't want life if this is all that is left.") We listened. We empathized, knowing that in no time, we'll be facing the same issues. I flew home that afternoon. Aunt Jean died that night. How priviledged Karen and I were to say good-bye--to be with her in those final hours. I would hope she knew how much we cared and how much we will miss this gentle, yet strong and caring woman.

It's all in the family

My Aunt Jean, wife to my Uncle Bob (my mom's only sibling), is fighting off a recent and unexpected stroke while she struggled with a surprising attack of lung cancer.  She was doing fine, the chemo treatments had put the cancer at bay for at least a while.  At 86, none of us thought such a thing could happen to her.  Her mom is 104 and Jean's hardly had a sick day in her life. Her attitude is down to earth, reflective of her Missourian upbringing.  "You know, I've had this great blessing of a happy life with my husband and children.  I feel lucky and if this is what the end is like, I accept it.. I just look at all the good  years I've had."  We should all have such an attitude -- us baby boomers, the me generation, who expect to live forever.

To express our support, I ordered plants for both of them (Uncle Bob is still at home and Aunt Jean is in  a rehab nursing home). Us girls always split the cost of our family gifts, it's been our tradition for about 25 years.  I, as the oldest and the responsible one, stepped up to make the order, declared the total to let everyone figure out their share. So, my middle sister, the accountant and detail specialist, sent a check for exactly her 1/3 share, right down to the penny.  My youngest sister, who's made enough money to retire at 55, sent a check about $5 over her share.

It was a perfect reflection of our characters -- the youngest deals in round numbers, the middle deals in details, and I don't really care about the money.  This is my family -- it's a wonder we came from the same gene bank.  Our mom told John one day, "My girls are so predictable about money.  The oldest know how to spend it, the middle knows how to save it, and the youngest knows how to make it."  She grew up in the east--land of the astute analytic.

The very merry month of May

We had returned from London the week before, but we felt we were still there that first Saturday morning (May 5). Eerie fog draped the docks as we peered up the companion way.  In two hours, the sun broke through to give us a perfect California day.  We put our backs into opening Forte Vento for its second season on the Bay.  The chores broke into its natural assignments -- John went off to West Marine for small parts and back up cleaning supplies.  Dorine got out the scrub brush, rags and bucket and began to wash away the winter's sooty scum on the deck.  Soon we started waxing the gel coat.  Six hours later we collapsed having only accomplished half of what we expected. 

Sunday brought perfect breezes and brilliant sun, we hoped to be sailing by noon.  We missed that goal, but did complete our work by two.  The foresail (jib) was hoisted on the self-furler, the navy canvas Bimini was reconstructed, and the interior below was ship shape.  The only problem was that we were once again exhausted.  If we sailed we'd be an accident waiting to happen.  Somehow, when you're in your sixties, the stamina of ten years ago has evaporated.  Safety ruled so we stayed in dock, went to the Tiki Bar at the Calypso to savor the evening.

During May you haven't heard from us because we sailed every weekend, sleeping overnight on the hook in the Wye River and Broad Creek off the Choptank River. We go the way the wind let's us sail. Sometimes it's to the northeast and sometimes to the southeast.  You can't fight the wind.

It's been a sailor's orgasm -- the month of May.  Rain during the week clears to reveal a sailor's delight for the weekend.  We've tacked and jibed in light and strong winds.  We've heeled at 10 degrees, gritted our teeth and reefed the main.  It doesn't get better than this!  We look forward to a season that more than meets our expectations.

So what's the big purchase this year for our baby, Forte Vento?  It was a tough decision, but we passed on a glass-tiled kitchen back splash for an electric outboard motor for the dinghy. No more gasoline, agonizing pulls on the starter, lifting 38 pounds over the aft into the dinghy and yelling over a noisy engine.  The new outboard divides into two ten pound parts that are easily passed down to the dingy and up again.  A push of a button starts the quiet motor that is just as powerful as its gasoline cousin.  It plugs into any 110 outlet to recharge.  We can dinghy again!

A boat, like a house, has its issues -- John is greasing the winches and learning  auto pilot maintenance.  As June opens we discovered as leak in the the waste system (yes, that system!) and our self-furler has unfurled (so we're stuck at the dock). The good news is that all of this is under warranty.  The bad news is that it couldn't be fixed by today.

Bridget walks!

The laughing young girl on the left is very pleased with herself.  It's pure joy -- the walking is.   At 10 months, she started pushing toys and trotting along furniture all on her own.  Now, she's stepping out into the middle of the room with some regularity.  Of course, her legs aren't quite strong enough to stand tall.  She walks like Grandpa John -- those short Italian legs are a bit bowled.  Luckily, Bridget doesn't have baggy shorts like her grandpa.  Mom keeps her diapers trim and tight. 

Unexpected vacation reaction

 It's not that we didn't enjoy the time off to visit with our dear friend who lives in the burbs just north of London.  He took great pains to arrange an event filled week.  Nothing was left to chance.  We "tubed" our way around London, ate at posh restaurants, pulled a pint at pubs, attended the theatre and opera and enjoyed the company of his friends and family.  I rode the eye and was a guest at Lord's, the most famous and prestigious cricket club in the world, I dare say. We even had a day to shop by ourselves in London's Oxford, Picadilly and Regent Street shops. It's all on my face book page.

So what was my problem? Was it the weather --the incessant grayness of London's springtime raindid keep us damp and chilly.  Before the end, I caught a head cold and cough. What is staying outside of the city -- maybe, but our friend was delightfully accommodating, provided comfy lodgings and was pleased that we visitedhim as we were pleased with seeing hime again.  We've couldn't have planned such a trip ourselves.

So what is it?   I'm a savvy traveler --but I think that's the problem. Unlike people who spend their careers in one place and yearn to explore in "their older years", I spent most of my career traveling.  I've been east and west, in Asia, Australia, Europe, South America and now, most recently, in Africa. I respect and wonder at the different cultures, conditions and styles of living. 

At the root, I think I'm just tired of being other places. I'm tired of long airline flights.  I want the familiar, the local scene, the settled life.  A big trip now is a drive up to New York City .  But, I like it there.  We can visit family and friends and we know the city.  We don't tire being there.  It energizes us.   It is familiar, it is part of our local scene.

Is this surprising?  I thought I would never tire of the travel adventure -- of seeing new places, meeting new people and doing new things.  Will I grow out of this crummy attitude?  I don't know.  I'm just going to live with it for now.  It fits. 

Maybe it's my itch to be on the water.  It's almost sailing season -- next week we reassemble the bimini canvas and hoist the jib.  Forte Vento has been recommissioned for the season and we're looking foward to taking her sailing again.  That's the kind of travel adventure I look forward to -- the wind in my face and the sun on my back.

Jersey nails

Several weeks ago, we trekked North.  I was to receive the Women's Leadership Exchange award engineered by my daughter.  It was the highest complement a daughter bestow on her mother and I was thrilled to receive the award. 

To prepare, I dutifully reviewed the questions that might be posed in the panel discussion following the award ceremonies and I learned all I could about the WLE so I would not appear ignorant nor arrogant.  However, my real obsession was to get my three week old manicure replaced --- my nails resembled well worn bear claws. My daughter agreed, so off we tromped in the rain to the local New Jersey salon.  I asked for what I always asked for-- a french manicure. It's a nice, conservative look -- a pale nail with a narrow white tip.  That is what I expected but that is not what I got.

Oh, my goodness.  I walked out of the salon with thick white tips. My claws had been turned into paws. Sympathetically, my daughter mused, "At least they'll be able to see your manicure from the back row of the room, Mom."  We had a good laugh about my nails "Jersey nails" because in New Jersey most everything is "in the your face" and boy, these nails were in your face.