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.

Stubborn walker reigns!

Sprint burst upon us last Sunday so I took up outside running again.  I ran from the condo to Ballston Station and back (about 4 miles).  However, in all my gracefulness I took a header on the sidewalk about a  half mile into the run.  As I always am like to do, "I picked myself up, dusted myself off and started out all over again."  I finished the run, but came home with a bloodly knee, concrete scrapped hands and sore shoulders from catching myself in the the fall. John admonished me for my foolishness, poured hydrogenperoxide over the wounds all and insisted on a bandaid here and there. 

This Sunday, promising to be careful, I took off again and completed the run without a single stumble, much less a fall.  However, somehow the neon green toy key chain holding our door keys had  slipped out of my sweat shirt pocket somewhere along the way.

"Drats," I mumbled to myself as I phoned up John from the building entrance to let me in after my run. 
"Lost keys?" he groaned as he opened the front door. 
"Yes,"  I moaned with some sheepishness, "It somehow came out of my pocket and I didn't hear it."
"We're going to go find it!" he declared with mannly authority.  He bolted to the bedroom to retrieve his walking shoes.  I reminded him that it could be anywhere between home and Ballston. "Won't that be too long walk for you?  There was no identification on it.  Why worry?  We'll just pay for another fob."

The man was unconsolable.  He was determined.  He was bullheaded.  He grabbed his cane, told me to tie his shoes, and off we loped.  In the end, although we examined ever foot of my 4 mile run, we did not find the keys.  We did have a fine pizza place about half way through the walk though and John did make it home--barely.  His thigh muscles were all worn out.  My sruborn hero is now snoring pleasantly on the couch -- taking  the afternoon nap he wanted in the first place.

We made it to Forte Vento!

We were desperate to get back to the water once again so we took advantage of the surprisingly warm early spring day yesterday.  John is getting stronger and more agile every day so don't let this picture fool you.  John's much more comfortable on the boat than he looks.  He still has to sit high as his hip doesn't bend all the way to 90 degrees easily.  For several hours we just sat in the cockpit, took in the panoramic view out into the bay and soaked up the sun.  Next weekend, we'll pull the bubbler (it's too heavy for me to do by myself and John wants to wait one more week before putting that kind of pressure on his leg).  The darn thing weighs 15 pounds easily and it will be covered in mud.

We've made a commitment to ourselves to retire as soon as the boat is paid off.  Our retirement trip will be a year on the water -- down the intercoastal water with, hopefully, a couple of day  trips out onto the ocean, and a lazy time in Florida.  Given the boat loan --- that's still about two years away. The good news is that gives us two years to prepare -- me to get my "six pack" license and John to learn all the boat systems and be able to do his own maintenance. 

John's got a spring in his step!

Warm weather and flowering trees may just be a coincidence, but John enjoyed walking today and he came home refreshed instead of exhausted. His goal is Fireworks, a local pizza restaurant. He's upgraded his reward from Starbucks coffee to real food. He only got half way there today. He expects success in reaching the goal tomorrow.

Life is good!

Type A faces off to Type B

I must confess -- as a Type A I find my Type B husband with his achy recovery a testiment to our relationship. Luckily for him, after 20 years, I've got too many "sunk costs" to abandon him until he gets through his recovery and stops moaning like a wounded bear.

It's not his fault. He's doing the best he can. He's a guy so he sensitive to pain. Men just can't hack pain like women can (unless, of course, you are a movie hero that can dodge bullets and feel no pain). I think most men would just rather take the drugs and be done with it (Dr. House is that stunning role model). If it's not, "Oh, I have this new pain in this hamstring, could you get me an ice pack?" it's "I'm so tired, I'm going t sleep here on the couch." After his nap yesterday, he stayed up until 2AM reading the Steve Jobs biography. So this morning, he was all curled up in his comforter grunting a good-bye as I left the house. I do believe he was asleep again before the door closed.

A Percoset now and then would help him keep up with his walking every day. He did take one or two over the weekend, but he's a stubborn boy so he's off them again. His remedy for pain -- old movies on the movie channel. He watched three today. However, he did get bored enough tonight to fix the repeater for the wi-fi so I can use the Ipad in bed. Just when I think he's impossible, he does something wonderful like that!

Traditions!

Every year for at least 12 years, my friend Carol and I meet in early morning the first week in March, usually on a Thursday, at the 30th Street station.  We can't exactly remember how it all started either because our memories are gone or because its actually become so ingrained in our psyches.

Carol buses in from NYC and I train up from DC.  We fortify ourselves with a quick breakfast then head east on foot to the convention center for the most fabulous Philadelphia flower show.  This year, like last year, our NYC friend Joanna joined us.

Last year the weather was so frightfully cold and rainy that we had to cab it to the show.  However, this year the weather gods were most kind -  sunny, unusually warm and breezy so we walked the mile.  Hawaiian tropical flora and fauna greeted us.  For two hours we moved among palms, ferns and orchids, thousands of orchids, enjoying the green luxury of the displays.  There was a most magnificent 60 foot water fall surrounded by hundreds of orchids and ferns.  To its side was a light and  music show on an over sized thatched hutch screen.  The crowds were mesmerized as were we. 

The weather was so fine that we left the show walking toward the Phili Art Museum.  We were beckoned into a side street deli where we ate the owner's favorite --chicken cheese steak sandwiches.  The owner kept bringing us food, Carol kept protesting we couldn't eat it all, and he refused to take no for an answer saying in a true Phili accent, "Don't worry, the food won't go to waste.  I feed the homeless." 

Sated and rested, we walked on to the Rodin Museum only to find it under renovation.  We sat in the still brown garden and talked and talked and talked until the wind picked up as clouds began to roll-in announcing a weather change.  Picture three short women braced against the wind, still talking and laughing while walking all the way back to the station.  If this is retirement, I could get used to this.  Let's see.....how many more years might that be?

Celebration!

This Tuesday John reached the three week mark. He'd been off the drugs for 34 hours so we thought it opportune to celebrate with a glass of his favorite - red wine.  "Ah," he whispered, "It's not even the good stuff, but it smells so fine." He hoisted his glass and savored the sip.  He had reason to celebrate -- he'd walked up the hill to Starbucks that afternoon.  Four blocks up, a cappacino and pumpkin bread with the NYT, then four blocks back to home.

On Wednesday he did the same distance with a bit of a different route.  Still feeling fine, if but a bit achy.  Then ThursdayKaboom. He hit the wall! His body rebelled. "Hold on there, Dude," it yelled.  "We don't have the stamina to keep this up."  John apologized to his body, popped a Percoset, and proceeded to sleep most of the day. 

Lesson learned -- recovery has ups and downs.  Steady the pace. Live and let live.  He's got new exercises to improve his balance.  We'll walk on Sunday when we visit the boat.  Standby for more adventures.



Coming off the drugs

Three days ago John was taking two Perocet every four hours. Now he's taking one every 10-12 hours. When John goes without a Percoset for 48 hours he gets his first glass of red wine since he underwent surgery almost three weeks ago. Now, that's motivation for an ol' Italian guy! But seriously, he's making great progress; his goal is to be off all drugs except Tylenol by the end of the week. The down side is that he tires easily. Having been unable to walk or exercise for months, he stamina is about 15 on a scale of 100.

Sky cleared after some rain on Saturday morning to give us repreave from that edgy unpredictable winter weather. It felt like spring. John and I walked up the hill to the park. A good two blocks. It's amazing how well he can walk, even though he is using a cane to steady his motion. His goal for mid week? The Starbucks another two blocks beyond the park. Sometimes the simple accomplishments in life are the sweetest!