I can't believe I spent the whole day...

We woke Saturday morning to low gray humid skies. There was no energy in the air, nor in me.  I dragged myself out of bed about 9AM.  John was up sitting in his favorite chair reading the NYT, coffee by his side.  He was wearing his Angry BIrds jammis bottoms with his ratty old sweathird zipped up to his neck.  His reading glasses were perched half way down his nose.  He was perfectly content.  He smiled as I slid onto the couch.  I pulled the waist band tie on my bathrobe and smiled back.  Obviously, I hadn't put my best face into it.

"You ok?  You look tired," he observed as he folded the large newsprint page in front of him.
"Don't feel like doing anything but laying around."
"It's a good day to do nothing."
"Nothing?  Do nothing?"
"Why not.  Sometimes you just need a bit of down time."
"I've never not done anything for a whole day."
"Maybe you should."

And so I did.  I fussed with a few papers.  Mailed some theatre tickets to friends.  Played with my Ipad.  Read the Times.  Read four articles in the latest New Yorker.  Read another chapter in the never ending "Team of Rivals" using my Kindle app.

For me, that's about as "doing nothing" as I can get.  It felt good.

One night with Janis Joplin

Remember what is was like in the 70's?  This play brought back those feelings that anything was possible; that life should be endless and could be lived without fear -- weekends of late night parties, loud throbbing music, mind numbing marijuana and overflowing liquor that culminated, if I was lucky and the guy could still function, in an fantastic sexual encounter.  I was sure that I could escape the lives of my unhappy and bored parents.  I was sure I could save myself from the future.  I was going to be different -- passionate, artistic, stunning, experimental!

Faced with the reality of the future - that nothing could be better than what Janis had on stage with her music.  No one could control her and she could feel so deeply.  However, no relationship or anything else could fill the emptiness she felt after the music was over. Janis Joplin killed herself with drugs and alcohol at age 37. 

Faced with the reality of the future, I feared the emptiness too so I married only to discover that I hated being entrapped  and having no options more than I feared the emptiness.  Above all else, I wanted control over my life -- what I did, who I was and who I would become - good or bad.  That meant I could never be the subservient wife or obedient employee. Striving overpowered the emptiness.  After seeing the play I realized that I had been determined to find what Janis found on stage in front of an audience -- the oneness and the ecstasy of completeness.

Flash forward 35 years.  It is the future.  I not only survived, I did well.  I didn't become my parents.  My life has never been boring.  I'm neither trapped nor empty.  I am content with myself, finally.  My work is my work -- creative yet sometimes boring; challenging yet sometimes so easy that I almost stop thinking; satisfying yet sometimes so exhausting that there is nothing left at the end of the day.  I've had a happy relationship for over 20 years.  However, never has the work or my partner brought me the oneness and completeness that Janis' music and audiences brought her. However, there are times when the breezes, sun, and water's soothing surface combine into a perfect harmony as I slice a path through the water. I find oneness and the ecstasy of completeness when I sail.

Relief

Try dragging yourself through the heat and clawing your way through the humidity for ten days.  It's a humbling experience - living without air conditioning.  DC is the south and July has been wet, hot, and heavy.  Ceiling fans and 15 minute spurts of cool every now and then from the wounded air conditioner kept us from fleeing to a hotel.  Last weekend, we went to two movies just to keep cool.  We were lucky -- they made us laugh.

There were parts ordered, installed and it still cut out after 30 minutes.  In the end, after $1,700 in repairs, frantic, angry discussions with the repair company owner and a 7 AM emergency return visit, I left for work with John watching over the repairman as he combed the equipment manual and starred into the abyss of the compressor.  

The good news is that he did find the culprit that morning.  It was a clogged drain hose. The water created by the compressor was backing-up to a "kill" switch that prevented the compressor from being flooded (or something like that).   I guess we really didn't need a new mother board and controller switch and whatever.  Sigh.

Now we can concentrate on the other problems that have plagued us this summer -- the multiple water leaks in the Memphis townhouse, the boat repairs and, our newest problem-- the tire we have to replace after I ran it up on a curve in a dark parking lot last week.  I feel like Linus carrying around a storm cloud over my head.  Sigh.

There is more good news.  Water leak repairs inside and outside of the townhouse are underway. However, another leak in main that brings water into the house was found in the process.  And the needed roof/eave work and bay window replacement still needs to be done.  I guess it's just our time.  We've gotten away with very few issues in the five years since we first rented the place.  Next year -- we sell!  The Memphis housing market lags at the bottom of the recovery chain, but we are told it is finally climbing out of the pits of foreclosures.  Sigh.

The boat front brings news of progress as well.  The mast and rigging have been ordered, hopefully, to arrive in August.  The fiberglass work begins this week.  Maybe by September we can sail.  Just a month before the end of the season.  Sigh.

 

Love your insurance agent

We can't seem to escape disaster this year.  First it was our sail boat rolling off its land stands in a big wind (update: parts are being ordered) and now its our rental property in Memphis -- that townhome we couldn't sell in the housing bubble burst back in 2009.  The house sprung a major water main leak of many gallons per hour somewhere between the street and under the house's slab foundation.  It's going to take a sonar search by a plumber on Monday to locate the leak and then fix it.  Can you envision digging a hole in the dining room through the slab to fix a leak?  Can you envision the dust, dirt, chaos and noise?

However, that's not all.  The third floor bathroom toilet intake valve was found leaking for the last 24 hours.  We now have damage all the way down through the walls to the master bedroom closet and down to the first floor dining room ceiling.  It's amazing how much pressure paint can take before it finally gives way.  It's stronger than drywall -- amazing!  The place is a mess. 

The insurance company authorized clean-up services last night (it's true - it was midnight, but they were on the phone with us).  Service master is on location this morning and we'll see what the repairs will cost in the next week.  I am a very strong believer in insurance.  Love your insurance agent.

By the way, did I mention that our air conditioning in the condo is out as well?  I'm writing in 80 degree air. The fans do help a bit, but really -- is this all really necessary.  All we ever wanted to do this summer was spend some time sailing.

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!