The basil plant begins to sag a bit and the bottom leaves fade to yellow. Autumn is here and there is no time to loose in making the last batch of pesto before the previously vibrant plant dies. There is probably a different pesto recipe for every family in Italy. No two are exactly alike and it takes some time to find one that suites your tastes buds. John and I found ours -- it calls for a two to one ratio of basil and parsley, a goodly portion of roasted pine nuts and the garlic cloves of a whole head heated in a cup of olive oil, finished off with a combination of Parmesan and Romano cheeses. Our 15 year old Cuisinart mixes up a nice consistency, but not quite paste, in the end.
Sunday was the day -- I made two batches. Neatly stored each batch in three freezer containers. We'll never eat it all. They make tasty gifts for friends and colleagues.
Neither batch was the best I've done. They were good, but not marvelous. I think it was the olive oil. It was a bit too light in flavor. However, as pestos go, I'd give it a B+. The flavor certainly didn't stop us from slathering it on a piece of crusty white bread for a taste test. Somebody has to do it, right?
Monday, September 26, 2011
Finishing Sailing the Chesapeake in September
Wednesday:
The weather did not get better this morning. As we left the slip and motored over to the gas dock and pump out station, the rain drissled down on us and clouds hung on the water. Pump out issues ensued. Their pump was most tempermental. It was only through the banking, clanking and nudging of an ol dude that had a beard and belly reminensent of Hemmingway, did we finally clear our holding tank.
An hour's motor up the Patuxent River and into St. Leonard's Creek brought us to an enchanting anchorage. The rain stopped, the clouds parted and we enjoyed a bit of sun as we lounged on deck, ate lunch and watched the wild life on shore.
Thrusday:
Our original plan was to motor back down the Patuxent on Thursday morning to another enticing anchorage at Cukhold Creek half way back to the 140' bridge over the river at Solomon's Island. However, the weather report guaranteed rain all day on Friday and into the weekend. Our eyes met, not in a romantic gaze, but in the frustrated realization that our plans to head north to the Little Choptank River at Fishing Creek for one last overnight stay and then on Saturday back to the dock at Herrington Harbour North had to be abondoned. Before 9AM we took off for home. We were going to get back to the dock today -- Thursday -- no matter how long it might take.
No wind, misting clouds, glassy gray water and out of focus land surrounded us for the first three hours. Only the burnt sienna sandstone sediment of the Calvert Cliffs broke through the grayness. About 12:30 while standing watch, letting the auto pilot control the boats movements, I noticed the wind at our backs was picking up a bit. With a bit of urging, John put up the sails and we were able to spend the rest of the day sailing home on a smooth broad reach and reach requiring only one jibe. No sunshine, but we were sailing!
Friday:
As we slept in dock that night, the rain began to fall and continued into Friday. We packed up and left for home by noon.
Was it a good vacation? Yes, we both let go of our stress over work and enjoyed cooking, doing a bit of sailing and just being together. Was it a good sailing week? Hardly, but there three days of sailing is better than non sailing and the weather did not get cold enough to require the weather proof foul weather gear. We declared the venture a success.
The weather did not get better this morning. As we left the slip and motored over to the gas dock and pump out station, the rain drissled down on us and clouds hung on the water. Pump out issues ensued. Their pump was most tempermental. It was only through the banking, clanking and nudging of an ol dude that had a beard and belly reminensent of Hemmingway, did we finally clear our holding tank.
An hour's motor up the Patuxent River and into St. Leonard's Creek brought us to an enchanting anchorage. The rain stopped, the clouds parted and we enjoyed a bit of sun as we lounged on deck, ate lunch and watched the wild life on shore.
Thrusday:
Our original plan was to motor back down the Patuxent on Thursday morning to another enticing anchorage at Cukhold Creek half way back to the 140' bridge over the river at Solomon's Island. However, the weather report guaranteed rain all day on Friday and into the weekend. Our eyes met, not in a romantic gaze, but in the frustrated realization that our plans to head north to the Little Choptank River at Fishing Creek for one last overnight stay and then on Saturday back to the dock at Herrington Harbour North had to be abondoned. Before 9AM we took off for home. We were going to get back to the dock today -- Thursday -- no matter how long it might take.
No wind, misting clouds, glassy gray water and out of focus land surrounded us for the first three hours. Only the burnt sienna sandstone sediment of the Calvert Cliffs broke through the grayness. About 12:30 while standing watch, letting the auto pilot control the boats movements, I noticed the wind at our backs was picking up a bit. With a bit of urging, John put up the sails and we were able to spend the rest of the day sailing home on a smooth broad reach and reach requiring only one jibe. No sunshine, but we were sailing!
Friday:
As we slept in dock that night, the rain began to fall and continued into Friday. We packed up and left for home by noon.
Was it a good vacation? Yes, we both let go of our stress over work and enjoyed cooking, doing a bit of sailing and just being together. Was it a good sailing week? Hardly, but there three days of sailing is better than non sailing and the weather did not get cold enough to require the weather proof foul weather gear. We declared the venture a success.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Sailing the Chesapeake in September
Sunday morning:
It was a grey and gloomy ordeal crossing the Bay from Herrington Harbour in Tracy's Landing (20 miles south of Annapolis) to the Little Choptank River. We went where the wind would let us sail. And sail we did with 10-15 knots with a few gusts to 20. It was a single reach and the wind was kind enough to let us sail round the serious series of green marks that led the way to Fishing Creek. We swore we would not motor on our first day out and we did not.
We thanked the sea gods that it didn't rain. It didn't rain because we bought $420 worth of waterproof foul weather gear, complete with bib overalls. Turned out to be just the insurance we needed. If the sun had been out, it would have been a grand and glorious sail.
Monday morning:
The sun shown through the hatches. We rose, stretched and I cooked us a farmer's breakfast. We had decided to take advantage of the bright day and light wind to cross the bay going south to Solomon's Island at the mouth of the Patuxent River. Before we could leave we had to retrieve, so John, in proper crew glory, stepped on the windlass up button. Nada, nothing. Just a burping noise of gears rolling but not engaging. He huffed, puffed and finally pulled the anchor up hand over hand. Not too bad if the anchor isn't buried too deep or you don't have 15 feet of chain just before the anchor (all of which is good protection when being at anchor). He had both. John thought he was going to have a heart attack when it was all over. Getting old is a bitch.
Sail was excellent until the wind died half way down the Bay, so I fired up the iron Jenny (aka engine) and motored to Solomon's Island. We took two nights at dock at a local marina, walked to what there is of a down town, and ate rock fish tacos.
Tuesday morning:
John found that the windlass motor had disengaged from the gears and had fallen onto the interior panel in the V berth (aka pointy end). The panel screws were stripped. After several pictures and discussions with our boat engineer back in Harve d' Grace, we decided it required repair way beyond our skill sets so John will have to haul the anchor by hand for the rest of the trip. He's resigned to the task.
Today we took advantage of the access to land to visit the Calvert Marine Museum. If you like boats, boat building, crabbing and oystering, and fossil hunting, this is the museum for you. Full of volunteers always willing to chat about their various projects, we wandered and listened to histories and tales. We climbed the Drum Point light. Put John's hip on resuscitator status, but he thought it was well worth it. He was so excited that he came back to the boat, took two Ibuprofen and a long nap. Oh, what a life in the slow lane.
It was a grey and gloomy ordeal crossing the Bay from Herrington Harbour in Tracy's Landing (20 miles south of Annapolis) to the Little Choptank River. We went where the wind would let us sail. And sail we did with 10-15 knots with a few gusts to 20. It was a single reach and the wind was kind enough to let us sail round the serious series of green marks that led the way to Fishing Creek. We swore we would not motor on our first day out and we did not.
We thanked the sea gods that it didn't rain. It didn't rain because we bought $420 worth of waterproof foul weather gear, complete with bib overalls. Turned out to be just the insurance we needed. If the sun had been out, it would have been a grand and glorious sail.
Monday morning:
Tuesday morning:
John found that the windlass motor had disengaged from the gears and had fallen onto the interior panel in the V berth (aka pointy end). The panel screws were stripped. After several pictures and discussions with our boat engineer back in Harve d' Grace, we decided it required repair way beyond our skill sets so John will have to haul the anchor by hand for the rest of the trip. He's resigned to the task.
IPad Testing Continues - Day 2
This morning was the test for VMware to access my agency protected network. The sign-in went fine once I typed the password correctly, but when I brought up my email, the font was so small it was difficult to get my fat fingers to touch the screen to place the cursor. (I'd forgotten how to change the font size). Undaunted, I pulled out my IPhone stylus. It worked better than my finger so I was able to open and delete messages and edit text.
Typing was less painful today as I went directly to the two finger method and watched the keys carefully. This of course was after I remembered how to bring up the keypad in VMware. I shouted at the screen "Where's the keypad" until my little gray cells told my finger to tap the little black box at the top of the middle of the screen.
VMware for the IPad is only partially for the IPad. The ability to scroll by swishing a finger doesn't work. I had to touch the scroll bar -- which does not touch and pull easily. I turned to stylus again, but still it was a frustrating effort. Looks like a basic lesson is scroll bars is needed and some practice on my part.
Quite frankly, I'd rather be sailing!
Typing was less painful today as I went directly to the two finger method and watched the keys carefully. This of course was after I remembered how to bring up the keypad in VMware. I shouted at the screen "Where's the keypad" until my little gray cells told my finger to tap the little black box at the top of the middle of the screen.
VMware for the IPad is only partially for the IPad. The ability to scroll by swishing a finger doesn't work. I had to touch the scroll bar -- which does not touch and pull easily. I turned to stylus again, but still it was a frustrating effort. Looks like a basic lesson is scroll bars is needed and some practice on my part.
Quite frankly, I'd rather be sailing!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
IPad Testing - Day 1
First, let me warn you. I am not writing this post using my IPad. That should give you some idea how my testing is proceeding. Don't get me wrong. The IPad is fantastic for reading and entering data into simple forms. I was able to download the NY Times, Washington Post and Solitaire apps. We can read the latestnews and play games on a sharp and easy to read screen. That is a great feature...but not exactly what you might want to use the IPad for in a work setting.
However, to actually write something is another story.
It all began last night when I decided to write this first report using the IPad. I was able to log onto the blog, bring up the digital keypad and start the entry. Then reality hit me. This keypad is not my mother's typewriter. I was formally trained eons ago in the touch typing method of the old mechanical typewriter (yes, they did once exist). To keep your fingers placed on the QWERTY keypad-- a fundamental--causes the IPad to erupt in spurts of characters. To effectively type, I had to hold my fingers off the pad. I couldn't "feel" my keys so I had to look at the keypad when I typed--a sin in the old school where your fingers learned their positions and you looked at your paper, not the typewriter keys. this gave me speed and accuracy over years of practice. The digital keypad was designed for the the two fingers typing wizards. I need retraining.
Realizing my limitations, I proceeded with the two (maybe three or four) finger method. It made me type more slowly -- that turned out to be a good thing as I more carefully measured my words that poured from my head to my fingers and onto the screen. I was error prone (fat finger prone) and had to edit without the benefit of my loyal and accurate point and click mouse. First, I had to enlarge the screen. To move the cursor requires that you touch the screen (duh, it is a touch screen) with just one finger to place the cursor. Not difficult and I succeeded in correcting, adding and deleting single words.
The IPad wants to help you. That means it is always asking you "Select or Select All". Select works fine. The word you are working with is highlighted. However, to "Select All" is very dangerous. Once you figure out what and how to Select All, "Cut Copy" buttons display. I picked "Copy", but it was "Cut" so my finished entry turned into a blank screen and I couldn't find a "Paste" command. I had to start all over again. You may ask, "Why didn't you just save the entry along the way?" I tried that, but it seems that the IPad touch screen and Blogspot are not happy with each other. It took three tries of pressing and holding the "Save" button. By that time, I had mistakenly deleted the second article leaving another empty screen. "What happened to paste?" I just don't know.
After two hours, I poured a whiskey, climbed out of the boat and walked the dock regain my sanity. The IPad requires a few basic lessons for us ol' school folks.
However, to actually write something is another story.
It all began last night when I decided to write this first report using the IPad. I was able to log onto the blog, bring up the digital keypad and start the entry. Then reality hit me. This keypad is not my mother's typewriter. I was formally trained eons ago in the touch typing method of the old mechanical typewriter (yes, they did once exist). To keep your fingers placed on the QWERTY keypad-- a fundamental--causes the IPad to erupt in spurts of characters. To effectively type, I had to hold my fingers off the pad. I couldn't "feel" my keys so I had to look at the keypad when I typed--a sin in the old school where your fingers learned their positions and you looked at your paper, not the typewriter keys. this gave me speed and accuracy over years of practice. The digital keypad was designed for the the two fingers typing wizards. I need retraining.
Realizing my limitations, I proceeded with the two (maybe three or four) finger method. It made me type more slowly -- that turned out to be a good thing as I more carefully measured my words that poured from my head to my fingers and onto the screen. I was error prone (fat finger prone) and had to edit without the benefit of my loyal and accurate point and click mouse. First, I had to enlarge the screen. To move the cursor requires that you touch the screen (duh, it is a touch screen) with just one finger to place the cursor. Not difficult and I succeeded in correcting, adding and deleting single words.
The IPad wants to help you. That means it is always asking you "Select or Select All". Select works fine. The word you are working with is highlighted. However, to "Select All" is very dangerous. Once you figure out what and how to Select All, "Cut Copy" buttons display. I picked "Copy", but it was "Cut" so my finished entry turned into a blank screen and I couldn't find a "Paste" command. I had to start all over again. You may ask, "Why didn't you just save the entry along the way?" I tried that, but it seems that the IPad touch screen and Blogspot are not happy with each other. It took three tries of pressing and holding the "Save" button. By that time, I had mistakenly deleted the second article leaving another empty screen. "What happened to paste?" I just don't know.
After two hours, I poured a whiskey, climbed out of the boat and walked the dock regain my sanity. The IPad requires a few basic lessons for us ol' school folks.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Yes Virginia...there are nice people...just like Santa
Saturday night I opened my Gmail to find an unsolicited message telling me that until a few years ago, Gavin had worked at the U.S. Army's National Training Center and was an avid collector of field artillery memorabilia. He had acquired a yearbook from the U.S. Army's 172d Field Artillery Brigade, from 1941. The original owner of the book was a Corporal Colin J. Andrews.
He bought the book and prised it. In recent years, however, he began to feel that the book needed to be returned to the family of Corporal Andrews. He found me through Face book. "If you are not the Corporal's daughter," he wrote, "Please let me know, and I will not contact you again." If I was, he would send it to me. He didn't want money .He wanted it to be with the family. "I noticed on your blog that you have grandchildren," he explained. "They should see that their great-grandfather was a hero."
Refusing to believe this was a ruse, I emailed him and called the number he had given in the email. No one answered, so I left a message saying, "Yes. I would like the yearbook." Two days ago, Gavin called. After telling him a bit about Dad and sharing parallel experiences of our fathers not wanting to talk about the war, I asked how he found the yearbook.
"EBay," he said. "Just EBay. I've been looking for your family for almost 10 years." I smiled into the phone and thanked him for the effort, saying that I was looking forward to receiving the book. I will place the yearbook with the handmade french cuff and collar lace and silk handkerchief that the returning Major Colin J. Andrews gave his wife upon his return from Europe in 1946. Sometimes people come into your life who are just plain nice. Thank you, Gavin.
He bought the book and prised it. In recent years, however, he began to feel that the book needed to be returned to the family of Corporal Andrews. He found me through Face book. "If you are not the Corporal's daughter," he wrote, "Please let me know, and I will not contact you again." If I was, he would send it to me. He didn't want money .He wanted it to be with the family. "I noticed on your blog that you have grandchildren," he explained. "They should see that their great-grandfather was a hero."
Refusing to believe this was a ruse, I emailed him and called the number he had given in the email. No one answered, so I left a message saying, "Yes. I would like the yearbook." Two days ago, Gavin called. After telling him a bit about Dad and sharing parallel experiences of our fathers not wanting to talk about the war, I asked how he found the yearbook.
"EBay," he said. "Just EBay. I've been looking for your family for almost 10 years." I smiled into the phone and thanked him for the effort, saying that I was looking forward to receiving the book. I will place the yearbook with the handmade french cuff and collar lace and silk handkerchief that the returning Major Colin J. Andrews gave his wife upon his return from Europe in 1946. Sometimes people come into your life who are just plain nice. Thank you, Gavin.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Life without Television
Humidity was rising. The temperature was exceeding 95. Storms threatened. Instead of having our 60 foot mast rising above the bay water to capture lightening as it etched the sky, we decided to stay home for the weekend. After a thundering burst of energy to clean the condo, we viewed Chris Martin's "Big Painting" at the Corcoran, then drove to DuPont Circle to a favorite Bistro Du Coin for a late afternoon lunch.
"What if we didn't watch TV for a week or so?" I asked, slipping a perfectly delectable pomme frite into my mouth after dabbing it in a bit mayonnaise.
"Why, I don't know." John replied, looking at me, knowing I had a new project in mind. He sighed but continued to smile at me, knowing that resistance was futile.
"I'm thinking that we've lost touch with just plain living," I replied, dipping a piece of crusty french bread into the shallot, garlic and white wine broth of the mussels pot. " I don't seem to find time to write the blog at home any more; the newspapers are left unread, and our weekly New Yorker magazines are piling up without us even browsing through them backwards to read the cartoons."
John sipped the rest of his wine. He said no more. I said no more. We finished our mussels and prepared ourselves to leave for the movie--the conclusion to the Harry Potter saga. It still hadn't rained as promised.
After the movie, at home, we played cards while we mellowed out to Rod Stewart singing classic standards -- a wise gift from my daughter several years ago. We happily listened to the rain pounding the streets and our balcony. One thing led to another and by the next morning we realized we hadn't turned on the TV. Was this a start?
On Sunday morning I exhausted myself aerobically at the gym. At home in the afternoon, we chopped an armful of freash basil from our pot garden and made two huge batches of fresh pesto. We then splurged on cavatelli smothered in the fresh pesto for dinner. Again, no TV. Could it be that it would soon become just tv?
It's Monday night now. I read the paper while John prepared a light salad with roasted pine nuts and sun drenched fragrant tomatoes from a colleague's garden. The heat has subsided so we sit on the balcony. A halo moon hangs above us and a plane swoons around the building, making its way to National Airport. I write. John snoozes. Music plays in the living room, drowned by the traffic still snaking its way up rout 50 headed west to the suburbs. Children play seven floors below us. Their voices echo between the buildings. I think I'll do a crossword puzzle, then head to bed -- or head to bed and do a crossword puzzle. Another night without tv. Pleasant; but like all change, a bit unsettling.
The test is tomorrow when our favorite programs air -- NCIS and White Collar. We can record them, but can or will we watch them and when?
"What if we didn't watch TV for a week or so?" I asked, slipping a perfectly delectable pomme frite into my mouth after dabbing it in a bit mayonnaise.
"Why, I don't know." John replied, looking at me, knowing I had a new project in mind. He sighed but continued to smile at me, knowing that resistance was futile.
"I'm thinking that we've lost touch with just plain living," I replied, dipping a piece of crusty french bread into the shallot, garlic and white wine broth of the mussels pot. " I don't seem to find time to write the blog at home any more; the newspapers are left unread, and our weekly New Yorker magazines are piling up without us even browsing through them backwards to read the cartoons."
John sipped the rest of his wine. He said no more. I said no more. We finished our mussels and prepared ourselves to leave for the movie--the conclusion to the Harry Potter saga. It still hadn't rained as promised.
After the movie, at home, we played cards while we mellowed out to Rod Stewart singing classic standards -- a wise gift from my daughter several years ago. We happily listened to the rain pounding the streets and our balcony. One thing led to another and by the next morning we realized we hadn't turned on the TV. Was this a start?
On Sunday morning I exhausted myself aerobically at the gym. At home in the afternoon, we chopped an armful of freash basil from our pot garden and made two huge batches of fresh pesto. We then splurged on cavatelli smothered in the fresh pesto for dinner. Again, no TV. Could it be that it would soon become just tv?
It's Monday night now. I read the paper while John prepared a light salad with roasted pine nuts and sun drenched fragrant tomatoes from a colleague's garden. The heat has subsided so we sit on the balcony. A halo moon hangs above us and a plane swoons around the building, making its way to National Airport. I write. John snoozes. Music plays in the living room, drowned by the traffic still snaking its way up rout 50 headed west to the suburbs. Children play seven floors below us. Their voices echo between the buildings. I think I'll do a crossword puzzle, then head to bed -- or head to bed and do a crossword puzzle. Another night without tv. Pleasant; but like all change, a bit unsettling.
The test is tomorrow when our favorite programs air -- NCIS and White Collar. We can record them, but can or will we watch them and when?
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Birthday Surprise!
I'm notorious for forgetting birthdays of friends and remembering family only after the date arrives. Don't know what it is about my brain, but those dates slip through my little gray cells as the detective Perot calls them. I've tried writing the dates on calendars, but I lose the calendars. I've tried electronic card services, but I end up dropping the service and lose the carefully entered reminders. I think you get the idea. I'm a space cadet at times.
Luckily, my daughter's birthday and my husband's are only days apart (July 31 and July 29), so I have a better chance of remembering their celebrations. It took me several years to remember John's as it was only slightly different from an ex-husband's -- very embarrassing. After 18 years though, someone should shoot me if I can't remember these dates! This year I was determined not only to remember but to get perfect presents delivered on time. After I sent Kathryn's present, I shopped, wrapped and hid John's in the guest bathroom a whole week before the day. Surely, he had no reason to go in there when he returned from New York after being with his first grandchild.
It was with great joy I woke my guy up at 6:00 AM on July 29th with an off key, but hearty rendition of "Happy Birthday" as he snoozed on the couch (he'd fallen asleep there after an 11PM set of physical therapy exercises to strengthen the muscles around his arthritic left hip). He can't swagger anymore. His gait is more of a hop, skip and drag on bad days.
"Thanks honey," he smiling weakly while he stretched and rubbed his eyes.
"Do you want to open your birthday present? I got you something very special" I chirped.
A smart man, he answered, "Sure. Just let me get up." He rose, pulled his hair back into its perpetual ponytail, snapped on the hair band and stood up.
"You'll have to help me carry them in," I declared as he followed me into the bathroom.
"Did you know I hid them here?"
"Yes, honey. I thought you had gotten me over sized fire extinguishers or boat fenders."
"Well, that's not the case at all." I sighed, beginning to feel a bit worried about my choice of present.
We took the two boxes wrapped in multi-colored birthday paper and big bows into the living and plopped them on the couch. One weighed about 4 pounds and the other about eight or nine. He opened the the smaller one. The way he tore the paper back and yanked the ribbons indicated some enthusiasm. The smile returned to my face.
"I never would have guessed," he laughed as he unrolled a thick gel mat, plopped it on the kitchen floor in front of the stove and stood on it. He became pensive for a moment. Again, I thought he was disappointed. I remembered the time, years ago when I was a kid, that Dad bought Mom a new set of tires for her birthday.
"Are you disappointed?" I whimpered, ready for the worst.
"No, this is great'" he bellowed. "It feels great on my hip. I can cook forever with these mats." He unwrapped the six foot long second mat and placed it in front of the sink and work counter. He walked back and forth over the mats. He smiled. He was pleased, gave me a big hug and poured the coffee.
Lesson learned: You know you're getting old when your husband actually appreciates a practical gift like gel mats. I'm looking forward to my tires.
Luckily, my daughter's birthday and my husband's are only days apart (July 31 and July 29), so I have a better chance of remembering their celebrations. It took me several years to remember John's as it was only slightly different from an ex-husband's -- very embarrassing. After 18 years though, someone should shoot me if I can't remember these dates! This year I was determined not only to remember but to get perfect presents delivered on time. After I sent Kathryn's present, I shopped, wrapped and hid John's in the guest bathroom a whole week before the day. Surely, he had no reason to go in there when he returned from New York after being with his first grandchild.
It was with great joy I woke my guy up at 6:00 AM on July 29th with an off key, but hearty rendition of "Happy Birthday" as he snoozed on the couch (he'd fallen asleep there after an 11PM set of physical therapy exercises to strengthen the muscles around his arthritic left hip). He can't swagger anymore. His gait is more of a hop, skip and drag on bad days.
"Thanks honey," he smiling weakly while he stretched and rubbed his eyes.
"Do you want to open your birthday present? I got you something very special" I chirped.
A smart man, he answered, "Sure. Just let me get up." He rose, pulled his hair back into its perpetual ponytail, snapped on the hair band and stood up.
"You'll have to help me carry them in," I declared as he followed me into the bathroom.
"Did you know I hid them here?"
"Yes, honey. I thought you had gotten me over sized fire extinguishers or boat fenders."
"Well, that's not the case at all." I sighed, beginning to feel a bit worried about my choice of present.
We took the two boxes wrapped in multi-colored birthday paper and big bows into the living and plopped them on the couch. One weighed about 4 pounds and the other about eight or nine. He opened the the smaller one. The way he tore the paper back and yanked the ribbons indicated some enthusiasm. The smile returned to my face.
"I never would have guessed," he laughed as he unrolled a thick gel mat, plopped it on the kitchen floor in front of the stove and stood on it. He became pensive for a moment. Again, I thought he was disappointed. I remembered the time, years ago when I was a kid, that Dad bought Mom a new set of tires for her birthday.
"Are you disappointed?" I whimpered, ready for the worst.
"No, this is great'" he bellowed. "It feels great on my hip. I can cook forever with these mats." He unwrapped the six foot long second mat and placed it in front of the sink and work counter. He walked back and forth over the mats. He smiled. He was pleased, gave me a big hug and poured the coffee.
Lesson learned: You know you're getting old when your husband actually appreciates a practical gift like gel mats. I'm looking forward to my tires.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Pension Time
On October 5th in 1981, I resigned from AT&T complete with a vested pension. I couldn't imagine myself getting to 65 to collect all promised $441.93 per month. However, I've dragged the paperwork around for 30 years just in case. Well, time has caught up with me. On November 19th I will turn 65 so last month I hunted down the forms that are now brown around the edges. Would I be able to hunt down the benefits department? All the old phone numbers are defunct. They didn't have my current address and the people who issued my paperwork are most likely retired as well.
Thirty years is a long time. In fact, it's so old that the "Application for Distribution on Termination of Service" form has key punch operator instructions for what should be on each of three cards. I found the website for retirees, but none of my information is electronically accessible. This makes a girl feel really, really old. However I persevered. After multiple phone calls and listening patiently through multiple phone instructions, I reached a young man confirmed that my records were not available online but reassured me when he explained, "We tried to send you a retirement package in June, but it was returned."
"Wow! I'm not lost!" I exclaimed.
"No, ma'am. You are not lost. We have your information."
"Can I still get my pension?"
"Yes, of course. Give me your current address and we'll send you the new paperwork."
I wait with great expectations for the new paperwork to arrive. The next challenge is to decide what I might do with my monthly stipend. Wrinkle cream? Personal trainer? Champagne?
Thirty years is a long time. In fact, it's so old that the "Application for Distribution on Termination of Service" form has key punch operator instructions for what should be on each of three cards. I found the website for retirees, but none of my information is electronically accessible. This makes a girl feel really, really old. However I persevered. After multiple phone calls and listening patiently through multiple phone instructions, I reached a young man confirmed that my records were not available online but reassured me when he explained, "We tried to send you a retirement package in June, but it was returned."
"Wow! I'm not lost!" I exclaimed.
"No, ma'am. You are not lost. We have your information."
"Can I still get my pension?"
"Yes, of course. Give me your current address and we'll send you the new paperwork."
I wait with great expectations for the new paperwork to arrive. The next challenge is to decide what I might do with my monthly stipend. Wrinkle cream? Personal trainer? Champagne?
Saturday, July 16, 2011
John's a grandfather!
 |
| Bridget - 7 days old |
"Oh no, Dad. Don't worry. I'm still 8 days away from the due date. I'm feeling fine. Have a great sail. I'll talk with you Monday," she chirped into the phone.
So we went to the boat. The weather was perfect -- like late September...dry, bright and breezy. My phone buzzed in the middle of the night. I ignored it, thinking it was John's. He ignored it, thinking it was mine. He slept like a baby and I tossed and turned -- between his gurgling and my achy shoulders -- it's a tough sleep sometimes.
At 8:00AM we woke, and by rote, checked the phones. There was a voice mail from Liz. "Water broke at 1AM. Am off to the hospital. Come soon!" John called Patricia, his oldest daughter, who had called and left multiple excited messages. She'd left Harper's Ferry at 1:30AM and was now at the house in Queens taking care of the dogs before going to the hospital. She laughed, "Dad! What happened? I drove up without you. I couldn't get you."
Scurrying like mice, we gathered essentials and headed home. We had John on a train to NYC by 10:30AM. Before he arrived, little Bridget was born. Tonight they are all together. Liz is tired and sore after 12 hours of labor. And, little Bridget gave everyone a scare. She started turning blue while Liz was holding her. Fast action by the nurses resulted in oxygen and inflating one of her little lungs. She's fine now, but will stay in neo-natal for a few days just to make sure.
After fetching John to the train at Union Station, I drove back to the boat. I felt at loose ends, alone and unable to take Forte Vento out by myself. I pushed myself out of my doldrums by washing and waxing the boat in the balmy afternoon breeze and sun. It's a good day -- new life and high hopes for a happy mother and child.
John loves kids. He has a natural affinity. His heart is tender. His openness and acceptance of them, no matter what they do or say is just amazing. Goodnight.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Mid-summer heat
We took a short four days on the water over the July 4th weekend. No jelly fish yet so I went swimming off the back of the boat in Ledenham Creek in Little Owl Cove. Second night brought us a storm with pounding rain and 25 knot winds. We twirled on our anchor as the wind whipped us around. But, the anchor held. The morning brought sunshine. As we tried to leave the clutch on our windlass (power assist for raising the anchor). John hauled up his wrench and fixed the boy. (he's becoming quite handy mechanically on the boat). Once out of Broad Creek, we sailed across the Choptank over to the eastern short village of Cambridge, the county seat for Dorchester County. It's still struggling to rejuvenate itself after the death of the crabbing and oystering waterman industries. It's a bit to far for commuting to DC or Baltimore. A few smart restaurants and galleries dot the main street amongst weathered and broken store fronts that remain to be repaired.
Confused by the entry into the Cambridge Municipal Marina, we almost go a aground. However, we persist to take a slip. That night, we sit mesmerized by the fireworks off our starboard side. A perfect, unobstructed close-up view.
Unexpectedly, we were able to sail across the Choptank in light winds. John climbed on deck to adjust the leach lines(outer edge of the sails) on the sails to stop the flapping. He's becoming quite confident and maneuvers well despite his arthritic hip. By the time we approached the turn into the Bay, the wind died and we motored home, hot and sweaty, but happy to once again get into our on the water groove.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Forte Vento opens the sailing season
The summer is upon us. John and I took possession of Forte Vento (Strong Wind) on May 21, 2011. This new 39' Hunter is "The Boat" -- the retirement home, the summer home, the place to escape. It's everything we wanted and didn't get in the first boat, the 33' shortie. See some pics from our recent voyages. It's the boat to enterain our fellow sailing friends. It's a place to have some quiet time together.
Why do we sail when some claim we are well past the age of "adventure" some people ask us? The simple answer is that we love sailing and need a place to escape to. It's the cheapest waterfront property we can own. If we don't like where we are, we just move. It's better than camping -- no dirt, always a bit of a breeze and 10 degrees cooler than inland.
The more complex answer is that it's a way to deny aging -- a way to fight the pain of John's arthritic hip and my always aching shoulders. When we are underway, we forget about it all -- pop some Advil or Tylenol and keep going. We watch sunsets and sunrises from the deck. The views of nature are unobstructed. It is the only place where I calm down enough to just sit and take in the world around me.
We will work until the loans are paid off, sailing on summer vacation weeks and on weekends. Our goal is to retire within the next four years and spend a lot more time exploring the bay and hanging out. Will it be enough? Who knows. I'll probably have to get back to writing in some serious way and John will knuckle down to cheffing and keeping "boat" and "house" for us.
The cost? We had to find new homes for the dogs -- both are happy. Both now have big back yards to run and play in. Fred is with an elderly lady who dotes on him and lets him sleep in bed. JoeJoe is with John's daughter in Harper's Ferry with two dog pals. John does miss them on quiet days working in the office.
My work as CIO for the Peace Corps continues to be challenging, yet enjoyable in strange ways. Staff likes the fact that I can make decisions and stick to them, am willing to try new things, and am pushing them to stretch. All around its a great gig! John just returned from Brussels, bringing truffle chocolates. He keeps with it.
To all of you who wondered if I'd ever get back to writing the blog -- I am and will.
Cheers, Dorine
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
New job stirred with hurricane
It's been two months since I last recorded my life here on Sixties Shorties. I apologise to all four of my fans. It's been busy. August 16th was my first day at my new job -- I'm now the Chief Information Officer for the Peace Corps. It was fate -- in 2006 John and I had, after six months, achieved the "nomination" step -- that's Peace Corps speak for being accepted as a volunteer, but not medically cleared to serve. We were looking at more months to plow our way through the medical review process and then be matched with a specific program assignment in an eastern European country that might be able to use our skills. Before all that could be finished, John received an offer from Fed Ex in Memphis. Weighing a bird-in-the-hand vs. more waiting, we chose Memphis. Now, I'm working on technology and redesigning that very application process. It's come full circle. The Peace Corps is a fabulous organization full of enthusiastic people with great skills. I'm honored to be trusted with the majority of their IT and management information systems.
In the communications job I took to get us out of Memphis and back in DC, I worked in the guts of an organization. It was a great gig where I easily performed minor miracles. However, as I told the guys at my going away party -- "It's a hell of a job to lead from the bottom." Now I'm leading from the top, responsible for the welfare of over 90 people and tasked with performing major miracles. It's time to put my "money where my mouth is" as my dad used to say. I'm loving it, solving a puzzle with many moving parts.
Just as I'm settling into the new job and John is settling into being a committed sailor (he's taken docking lessons and has become the champ at maneuvering the boat in close quarters), we are faced with the threat of hurricane Earl. We're driving to j-bird tomorrow night to clear the decks (take down dodger & Bimini, stow the rolled up dinghy, etc.) and reinforce the docks lines so she doesn't get smashed up against the dock in big winds. For sure the labor day weekend sail won't happen or will be not what we planned.
In the communications job I took to get us out of Memphis and back in DC, I worked in the guts of an organization. It was a great gig where I easily performed minor miracles. However, as I told the guys at my going away party -- "It's a hell of a job to lead from the bottom." Now I'm leading from the top, responsible for the welfare of over 90 people and tasked with performing major miracles. It's time to put my "money where my mouth is" as my dad used to say. I'm loving it, solving a puzzle with many moving parts.
Just as I'm settling into the new job and John is settling into being a committed sailor (he's taken docking lessons and has become the champ at maneuvering the boat in close quarters), we are faced with the threat of hurricane Earl. We're driving to j-bird tomorrow night to clear the decks (take down dodger & Bimini, stow the rolled up dinghy, etc.) and reinforce the docks lines so she doesn't get smashed up against the dock in big winds. For sure the labor day weekend sail won't happen or will be not what we planned.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The kids visit
June 2nd the kids came to visit. Despite light winds, we went for a sail on Friday. Ian, the youngest, enthusiastically embraced sailing once he got over the problem of getting on the boat from the dock. Jeremy, the fifteen year old, ventured on onto the deck without his cell phone--he was separated from it for a full 20 minutes. We weren't sure he would survive.
It was so hot the second day that we all went to the marina pool for the day. We ended the visit we a crab cake dinner at the local Calypso restaurant. A fun time wa had by all. 
Monday, May 17, 2010
Fred and JoeJoe at their best
On Sunday, our friend Susan, armed with her killer camera, captured Fred and JoeJoe aboard j-bird as we've never seen them before. Exquisite and perfect is all we can say. What do you think?
Day 16 - one last sail
Sunday brought fair winds (translate 10-15 knots and no more), partially sunny skies and cool air. My former business partner, Susan, joined us for a day sail. She kept JoeJoe from shivering as we headed out across the Bay toward Tilghman Island. It was chilly, but delightful. Not a dog threw-up and the seas were quite bearable. Our j-bird isn't a fast boat (top speed is 4-5 knots), but she's reliable and easy to handle. What more could a sailor ask for?This ends our two week shakedown cruise. As the sun set over the harbour, a crescent moon and Venus blessed our experience. We've learned a lot and experienced enough to know we work well together and can handle whatever the Bay and j-bird bring us. As John surmised, "This sailing stuff isn't easy, but it's a whole different world that is wonderfully seductive."
We'll be on the water for many years to come. The only question is whether we do with our little 33 feet or go for something more substantial is several years. Who knows? It's what keeps life interesting.
Rough seas
On Saturday morning, John and I were ready once again to test our sailing skills. We left our home dock to venture out into the Bay with 20 knot winds and "small craft warning" seas of 2-3 feet with white caps. I was confident. John was nervous. We reefed to main and put out the jib. We banged against the waves. The dogs threw up. Luckily is was not projectile vomiting.
After an hour, we agreed that it was time to head back to dock. John was less nervous and I was proud that my instincts were still good. By the time we settled into the dock, John and I were too tired to make lunch. We piled the pups into the back seat of the car and made the short trip down the road and over the first bridge into Deale for crab cakes at the "Happy Harbour" cafe, sitting amidst the charter fishing boats. (I think I have John's birthday present in mind!)
After an hour, we agreed that it was time to head back to dock. John was less nervous and I was proud that my instincts were still good. By the time we settled into the dock, John and I were too tired to make lunch. We piled the pups into the back seat of the car and made the short trip down the road and over the first bridge into Deale for crab cakes at the "Happy Harbour" cafe, sitting amidst the charter fishing boats. (I think I have John's birthday present in mind!)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
In our home slip safe, warm and dry!
John returned to j-bird sans pain and $25 in taxi fare this morning. He didn't see a doctor, but walking around seemed to cure his aches (at least temporarily). At 10:57am we caste off from Bert Jabin's Yacht Yard for the last time. It was chilly, but the rain held off and so did the winds. I put on two pair of socks, double pants and a sweat shirt under my jacket. John seemed fine without all the layers, but JoeJoe and Fred needed covers to keep the shivers away. Luckily, our friend J supplied us with several loaner doggy towels and I dug up an extra pillow sham to wrap around the little guy. Problem was is that he kept getting up when he spied a bird sweep across the water and we had to wrap him up all over again.
With no wind, we were forced to motor south for three hours. It was pleasant enough. We captured a great shot of Thomas Point Light and practiced setting and sailing to waypoints. We lunched on a bit of salad and roasted potatoes (left overs!)
This home slip is the top bar of a T shaped dock so most of the other boats in the marina are behind us. There is a boat on each side of j-bird, but our view is the break water and surrounding shore. It's like being at anchor with no one around. No one is blocking our view of the Herrington Harbour. We've settled in to our new "home".
With no wind, we were forced to motor south for three hours. It was pleasant enough. We captured a great shot of Thomas Point Light and practiced setting and sailing to waypoints. We lunched on a bit of salad and roasted potatoes (left overs!)The channel into Herrington Harbour North is very narrow so we carefully navigated it with great success. I backed j-bird stern first into the slip. We then spent over an hour figuring out how to do the dock lines -- the slip is almost twice as wide as j-bird. I walked the dock to see what other boats had done and then we tugged and rearranged the dock lines 3 or 4 times to get them right. We're still not sure they are right, but by Sunday when we leave, we will know more (crossing fingers).
This home slip is the top bar of a T shaped dock so most of the other boats in the marina are behind us. There is a boat on each side of j-bird, but our view is the break water and surrounding shore. It's like being at anchor with no one around. No one is blocking our view of the Herrington Harbour. We've settled in to our new "home".Days 10-13 Rain, rain and more cold rain
The weather gods have not been kind to us. This second week of the shakedown cruise is pretty much a sailing bust--since Monday its been wet and rainy. There were enough breaks in the rain to deflate the dinghy and put it away at the bow in its tidy bag, but beyond that it's nothing but gray skies. Lucky for us we have a well-functioning heating-air conditioning system, so we are dry and warm below decks.Our plans were to sail to St. Michaels on the Eastern Shore today (Thursday), then head over to Herrington Habour North on Friday to get settled into our new slip. We shopped for provisions one last time, then yesterday drove the car to Herrington Harbour North (Deal, MD). We were able to set up our dock lines on the slip before the Tidewater shuttle brought us back to Bert Jabins Yacht Yard here in Annapolis so we are now carless.
Last night, John's left leg/hip area ached so much that he spent most of the night groaning. This morning he ordered and taxi and is off in search of an urgent care center to get some inkling as to what is going on with it. He's done more climbing and stretching in the past week than he's done in months. I canceled St. Michaels. Once he gets back, we're heading south to Herrington Harbour North so we'll have our car and beat out tomorrow's weather which is predicted to be rainy, wet and cold with thunderstorms. Monday, May 10, 2010
Day 9 - Christening j-bird
After a weekend of ferocious winds that kept us at the dock, Monday brought calmer air and the service guy to correct a few "bugs" on the boat. But, most importantly, our dear friend, J, after whom we named our boat, came to officially christen j-bird to ensure the blessing of the sailing spirits. Even though we bought a "scored" bottle of champagne to make the christening easy, it took us five swats (three by J and two by me) of the bottle against the anchor channel before the bottle finally cracked, spilling champagne on her bow. It was all environmentally safe as the glass bits fell into the protective gold mesh bag surrounding the bottle. 
It took some courage for J to do the christening. She gets sea sick just looking a boat. She went above and beyond the "call of duty", but, then not everyone has a boat named after them. We love her for it!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)