Detour

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next steps

Left work, flew west and I returned home with my psyche is intact.  It's all good news.

The last six months at work, of not being in charge and marginalized from the daily action, unscrewed me from that dangerous tight connection between what I did and who I am.  I have many to thank for that -- in a good way.    When I realized I was surrounded by colleagues my daughter's age, I knew it was time to let go.  However, instead of sneaking out the office under the dark of after hours, I was pushed to step up to a good-bye celebration.  Made me laugh and made me proud.  Francisco, my successor CIO,  summed up my work life  better than I ever could have done in a message to everyone in the office.  I quote:

When I reflect on Dorine’s departure, I’m reminded of a favorite line by the Spanish poet Antonio Machado: "Caminante. no hay camino,  se hace camino al andar."

Loosely translated into English: "Traveler, there is no path, The path is made in going."

As Dorine indicated at her retirement party last week, she and so many women of her generation were offered only one path. That narrow path held little appeal for this strong-willed and independent woman. So Dorine made her own path. She set off into the bush and bramble with bold determination. Deviation from the path is never easy. It is fraught with peril. It comes with its share of scrapes and stumbles. There may be moments of confusion and more than a few times when you don't know your way. You can feel lost and lonely. But those who deviate from the path learn things they would not otherwise have known; because the fruits of discovery, surprise and self-knowledge do not grow on the path. They grow along the sides, and are sometimes sweetest deep in the woods.

Dorine is a pioneer. She is an authentic leader. She has been true to herself as she could only be by striking out on her own and creating her path. That it brought her to Peace Corps and into all of our lives is our good fortune. That it now takes her onto her next adventure is her great delight. What lies ahead? No one can tell; but I'm sure the explorer in Dorine is itching to set off on another journey. We wish her well; we thank her for her service, her courage, and her friendship.

On August 12, I handed in my badge, got my ethics briefing, did one last round of hugs and thank-yous, then headed out the door with a skip in my step.  The next morning I flew to my 50th high school class reunion.  For three days, I partied (almost like a teenager), reminisced and caught up with friends I see only once in every five years.  Although there was over 100, there was a small gaggle of us who spent the nights into the wee hours, in our jammies, sharing our lives as if time had stood still.  We drank a lot less than years before (that was good news), tried to eat less (that was a lost cause), looked at grand kid pics and shared what the future might hold for us.  It was not all good news, none of us have led perfect lives and some of us face the shadows of cancer, widowhood and the like; but what was true and will remain true is the joy of sharing our youth and our friendships over the past 50 years.  No matter what happens  we will face it with humor and courage.  None of us has given up on living, loving and making our lives what we think it can be. 

Next, my westward road trip took me to  Santa Fe, NM to visit with my mentor and very close friends, Joan. She was my supervisor at AT&T in 1971 and we have shared much over the years what you can only imagine!  With only 15 years between us, I wanted to know how to stay young and vibrant into one's 80's.  I wanted to absorb her wisdom, to learn how she has kept herself agile of mind and body.  She gave me some rules one night after a few glasses of Kahlua, under the brilliant Milky Galaxy, wrapped in blankets on her porch on the mountain overlooking the Santa Fe valley to the west.  Life is different at 7,800 feet above sea level.

1.  Don't stop what you start - just keep doing it.  This applies to exercise especially after you get a hip or knee replaced.  If you stop, you get lazy and then you get old -- really old.  Don't tolerate pain when a joint can be "fixed".

2. Watch your money and plan ahead. Don't let an $18,000 new roof surprise you, but also, do not deprive yourself of pleasures -- a trip to Europe or whatever....just plan ahead.  Invest wisely and often!

3. Keep up with technology.  If you've never seen a little ol' lady work her iPhone, iPad and MAC simultaneously you haven't seen anything yet.

4. Keep up with the world.  Don't let your world shrink.  Joan belongs to book clubs, a monthly dialogue group, participates in here HOA as treasurer, teaches 4th graders in reading comprehension, takes water aerobics three times a week, and reads both the NYT and local paper daily.  The older you get, the more there can be to do!

5. Be self aware and let people know what you know.  With her hearing starting to fade and hearing aids yet to be properly adjusted, Joan announced to me -- my hearing is going so talk to my face and don't whisper.  After shopping for two hours she declared, "I think it's time to sit down."  So we went to lunch, sipped a couple of margaritas and relaxed before we did chores. 

6. Keep driving to maintain your independence. Joan lives on a mountain, 4 miles from town.  She aims to keep it that way as long as her feet can reach the peddles and her mind is functioning on all cylinders (which it absolutely is).

Before I left, we had friends from Tucson come in.  What a rich trip!  I enter "old age" with much energy and fresh look at what the rest of my life can be.

I've been offline

Several friends recently asked about my lack of blog entries.  I haven't written a word since January.  It's a story to be told later.  In the meantime know all is well.

I will retire officially August 14 -- same time as my 50th class reunion so August will be a happy time all around. I'm looking forward to a new life style, especially when I read what friends and family are up to.  One friend is touring Ireland, motorcycling in Morocco and cruising the Baja and a sister is dancing all over the western US.  Makes you realize there is fun to be had after work ends.  John and I have sailing plans, that with a bit of luck we will turn them into a reality.

We're sailing almost every weekend now.  It keeps us moving and enjoying the Bay.  More later. My best to everyone.

Dream and play at Christmas!

This is the 22nd Christmas with my fourth and forever husband, John -- Yes, it a lot of practice to get it right.  I thank Bob, Bob, and Jim who came before him. You all taught me to enjoy the good times and learn from our mistakes.  I hope you all find yourself in a good place now.

But I diverge.  Back in the early years, our early 40's in the 1990s, John and I found the holiday season filled with excitement, secret present shopping, and annual visits to NYC.  We felt like teenagers with raging hormones, lusting after each other between visits to friends and family, walks in falling snow to Rockefeller Center, big dinners at fancy restaurants and a midnight masses just blocks from our hotels in NYC.  Why church?  We are barely cultural Christians, some say.  However, the holidays give us permission to sing.  It's the only time we can sing and no one bothers tells us to be quiet.  We are jointly tone deaf and always completely off key.  When we sing, we are happy.  Why we even glow!

Now, in our sixties the nature of the holiday has evolved for us. The lust has given way to contentment; a perfect pairing we feel lucky to have.  Presents are now selected treasures for our kids, now in their late 30's and 40's and their kids, our grandchildren.  The oldest two (16 and 19) text us links for what they want. We are a reliable delivery source, right after Amazon.  However, we still have one little believer, now three and a half, who knows is Santa coming  and is thrilled at every present she opens, no matter what it is.  But soon that will pass when she joins the ranks of "knowing" kids.  Christmas is for little kids, always and forever.

We use the winter holiday time to plan our next life adventure. It's a playful time.  We fantasize about where will we be at this time next year.  Neither of us will be working; we'll be in an apartment to give us "get up and go" flexibility; the boat will be paid off; and, who knows, we may find ourselves in Key West munching on Christmas cookies while sipping Margaritas in the open air next to the water as Christmas lights sway in a warm breeze at sunset. Family and friends may visit - or they may not.  That's the surprise of the adventure - you never know what may happen.  I'll be writing -- that I know.  What else? That's a present yet to be opened. 

So, to everyone who reads these missives -- Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!  May you continue make your dreams come true.  Never stop dreaming! Never stop playing!  Without dreams and play, life can be very gray and very sad.  Don't let that happen to you.  Have a bright New Year filled with jolly laughs and surprises!

Life in the city

Our taxi found the Japanese Ambassador's residence a bit early so we strolled up and down Nebraska Avenue eagerly waiting for the evening to begin.  The November air was crisp but warm enough to enjoy the walk.  Just before 6PM the modern wrought iron gates to the residence opened.  After checking our invitations and IDs we were allowed to walk down a perfectly manicured path to the entrance.  The public entrance expanded into a ballroom of light wood panels reaching from the soothingly pale carpets to the white ceiling 25 feet above.  The room was brightly lit with the most delicate chandelier that ran the length of the room.  We sipped wine with other invitees, chatting about the films we had seen over the past year at the Japan Information and Cultural Center (JICC), and gazed out into the garden in the center of the complex.  We had been transported to Japan.  It was a special night.

Exactly at 6:30, doors on the inside wall opened.  We were ushered into another slightly smaller room with ~100 other guests of the Ambassador.  He warmed the room as he welcomed us.  The backdrop was a massive Japanese screen covered in gold cloth.  It's subtle circle pattern revealed itself as the lights dimmed  and the evening's speaker Artist Koji Kinutani took the stage, his art displayed on a large screen on our left. 

Kinutani is a fascinating man.  He takes Japanese art to a new place working in gesso, the tradition of Leonardo De Vinci and other Italian greats.  He translates traditional themes into modern paintings that tell stories in symbols.  His command of Italian and French failed him with this audience so he spoke in Japanese, having a translator communicate his words to us.  Some of the audience knew Japanese so they laughed a bit ahead of the rest of us.  It was fun to be so engaged.  Kinutani reveled in our excitement.  Like our artist friend Judy Southerland, he does a lot of work with children, helping them learn expression through making pictures.  And, like our friend Judy, he gets great satisfaction and pleasure from working with young people.

We finished the evening with a sushi buffet and a pleasant thank-you and handshakes with the Mr. Kinutani and the Ambassador.  Life in the big city is good! 

Life by the Numbers

Today I turned 68.  There was only one other kid in my class as old as me, so Happy Birthday Joanie!  There were at least a dozen fellow classmates and other folks I've known though the years who posted birthday wishes on my Facebook page. Even an ex-husband wished me a "Happy Birthday."  What else can a girl ask for?  I thank everyone for all those good wishes. My daughter sent flowers to home and my husband sent flowers to work.  My sisters called and cards arrived.

But this year is different.  I can't just ignore the fact that I'm 10 months away from leaving the world of school  and work I've lived in for 50 years.   It's time for an accounting.  I found it revealing - both enlightening and silly.

• Children 1 - She's the girl I always wanted  even if she didn't pop out of my body.
• Grandchildren 3 -  Ages 18, 16 and 3.
• Books published 2  and book unpublished 1 - It's a whole lot easier to write about business than fiction.
• Degrees 3 - Guess I really liked the going to school gig.
• Husbands 4 - As a shrink once said, "Dorine, you certainly can't pick'm, but you sure can't leave'm."  The nice thing is I've reconnected and reconciled with the first three in the last few years.
• Longest relationship 22 years - With husband #4.  He let's me think that I am in charge. And, most importantly, he loves to shop and learned to sail even if he can't swim a stroke.
• Careers 5 - Airline attendant, corporate climber, consultant, business owner and professor. I either love variety or am totally unable to focus.  I don't count the time I sold shoes at Nordstrom's for six weeks. 
• Most embarrassing personal moment as a kid 1 - The cops caught me with my high school sweetheart, naked, parked in a corn field in his dad's red Dodge station wagon in 1966.  There are just some things one never, never forgets. And, no, I won't provide details and I'm sure he won't either.
• Most embarrassing as an adult 1 - My boss finding out that I was having an relationship with her boyfriend back in 1972.  In my defense, I didn't know it when the relationship started. But, in retrospect, it was a wild time, those 70's.
• Most accomplished sport 1 - I could beat guys with bad knees at racquetball.
• Job firings 2- lost two clients for stupid stuff in the 1980s.
• Most exciting adventures 2 - Sailing off shore to Block Island and living on a boat in  Bahamas for six months.
• Most thrilling event 1 - Being at my daughter's side with my son-law when she gave birth to her second son. 
• Most memorable description of me 1 - Coined by my friend since first grade  as I left the Midwest for the east coast in 1971--"Determined little dumpling."  She's always had a way with words.
• Regrets 0 -  I'll never say "I wish, I could of."

All of that and more makes me one happy person as I prepare for the next stage of my life.  What's the most exciting time of my life -- Now and what's lies ahead.

Getting the feel of it

Out of bed at a very late 7:30AM.  I read a bit of the Times while I drank my normal morning coffee.  Instead of dressing for work, I dressed for the gym and found myself running on a treadmill, not driving into the office.  It could not have felt better.  Sweaty from following my trainer's instructions and feeling somewhat righteous, I escaped the gym, stepping into the morning air -- it was all crisp and sunny.  "I could get used to this!"

By noon we were on our way to the marina to check Forte Vento's last set of repairs.  She is looking very good again--finally.  No more tress cracks.  However, we can't let her sit there in the marina for very long.  A severe winter is ahead of us.  At least that is what John and the long range weather forecasts he reads. So we made the decision to leave her on the hard (aka on solid ground) to be shrink wrapped in a cocoon of white plastic for the duration.  Her deck and cockpit will be sealed from the winter weather.  Snow and rain will run down this tenting before it can harden into ice.  No worries and no emergency trips to dig out the boat from under the weight of accumulated snow -- except of course that she will be up on those testy "sticks" (jack stands) holding her upright.  Let's keep our fingers crossed.

Today, the drive between the marina and DC reminded me of New England.  Bright sun warmed my neck as I drove.  Brilliant orange, red and yellow leaves glittered in the light wind.  Our 50 minute trip took us through one of the many bucolic areas in Southern Maryland.  Lots of rolling hills, plowed fields and winter crops just laid in.  Civilization is stuffed behind tree lines.   We turn off Route 4 (it eventually becomes Pennsylvania Avenue) at Suitland Parkway and continue to enjoy the ride until we cross the Anacostia Bridge and pass the Nationals (Nats - our baseball team) stadium.  It's only then that the reality of the city smacks us in the face.  But today it's a gentle smack because its pre-rush hour.  All is well.  "I could get used to this."

I now had three hours to spend doing whatever. What to do?  I've never had three hours to just be (on land).  I found a few little tasks to tidy up the place, but then I came face to face with leisure.  OMG!  Determined not to nap--I cannot waste the day-- I paced a bit, then read -  a WHOLE DAMN magazine.  WOW!  Decadent.  What an experience! It was so astonishing that I just had to write about it.  Hence, this blog entry.  "Can I get used to this?"  If I learned to sail, I can learn to relax.  I am determined!  Ok everyone, you can stop laughing now :-)

Cheering the runners!

The air was crisp and dry, the sky the best of blues, not even a wisp of cloud in sight, the wind light (at least in the beginning) and the crowds cheerful and friendly.  All the streets in downtown (the area we call Roslyn) were blocked off ready for festivities, music and post run good fun.

We missed the start -- we just couldn't be up and out by 7AM on Sunday for anything.  Fortified with coffee and dressed in sweats, we took the short walk to the Iwo Jima Memorial that is directly east of our place.  We found ourselves in the middle of the marathon's nerve center before 9AM.  Marines were everywhere. Security police were abundant, but distinctly watchful, ever standing firm.  Music bounced across the landscape.  The announcer kept quick paced banter to ready the crowd to welcome the racers across the finish line.

We made our way over to Arlington Cemetery. After this additional short walk, we took-up a cheering position with a clear view at the bottom of what everyone was calling "Marine Hill" this morning -- the last stretch of road from route 110 to the memorial grounds. 

First came the 10K "People's Marathon" finishers.  Some ran, some walked, They passed us in clumps, in all shapes and sizes, dressed to run mostly, but there was a number of tutus and assorted costumes.  I began to laugh, but then I  realized they were trying and I wasn't.  So I cheered and clapped to their success as their ranks dwindled after more than two hours.

What really brought us to attention with cow bells ringing, hands clapping and shouts of "Hoo Rah! Do it!" were the wounded warriors racing in their recumbent bikes. Their sweat, endurance and strained determination to finish the race was breathtaking. My heart pounded as these men and women, Viet Vets and young ones used every muscle in their bodies to bust through this last obstacle to the finish.  Nothing is so inspiring as to watch these racers ignore their disabilities to do what most of us would or could never do.

Word has it that over 30,000 people signed up to race the Marine Corps Marathon mother race  - the 26K.  When the leader hit the 24 mile mark we got ready once again. The leader was an Army man who cross the finish line in 2 hours, 22 min., 11seconds. We waited almost 5 minutes for the next guy and again for the third place runner. Men continued to climb that Marine Hill every minute or so, then the  fastest woman, an Army girl, crossed the finish line in 2 hours, 51 minutes, 46 seconds.  By the 3 hour mark both men and women started to stream in one after another.  With hoarse voices and chapped hands, we left the side line to begin the uphill hike home with a now stronger wind blowing in our faces out of the west.  Life is good. 

Doing the "Fall thing"

With Forte Vento on the hard undergoing the last of repairs, we turned to pumpkin and apple picking with granddaughter and family on Saturday. There were hundreds of families at the local farm near Mount Airy Maryland.  Even a non-domestic, urban girl like me had to succumb to festivities as we road behind the John Deere tractor on the hay rack.  I filled my apple bag quickly as we marched up and down the rows of trees.  I even bagged a few in my purse - but don't tell anyone.  This Nana is certainly no role model for Miss Bridget, the granddaughter.  But, she didn't see me so all is well.  As we searched the patch for just the right pumpkin, the wind was brisk and, when the sun burst beyond the covering clouds, it was a picture perfect moment.

Today, John and I are cooking a traditional Sunday dinner.  We are hosting our young friends from across the hall  so while the warm sunshine streaks though the open door to the balcony, John has started to roast the chicken.  As I sit here writing, browned butter, onion, and garlic aromas waft into the room.  By 5:30, the bird will be brought to the dining room table on a nest of roasted root vegetables.  However, the apple tarts that I just pulled out of the oven will not measure up.  Once again I was reminded of how important it is to follow the recipe when baking.  Unlike cooking, where you can throw what you have in the fridge into a pot and have a very good chance for a delicious success, baking is not very forgiving.  You can't substitute non-fat half and half for cream and expect perfection.  In fact, you can't expect anything but a vague resemblance of the original.  It tastes fine, but you don't really want to look at it.  This is why I am no longer the chief cook and bottle washer at our house.

Breaking the Silence

Writer's block.  Even a casual blogger like myself can succumb to it.  It's not that my life is boring; actually it is far from it. But, who cares?  Lately, each time I sit down to write, my thoughts seem irrelevant or the words on the page look like bragging.  For example, last week, we  "crossed the pond" to spend a week in London with the primary purpose to celebrate our friend Martyn's 80th birthday. Why? Because Martyn is special -- he lives life to the fullest, refusing to sit back and let it all cave in on him.  He gives me hope.

John and I are very lucky, but certainly not without care and caution as I approach the end of working as I know it.  We did the trip with our frequent flyer and hotel points so it certainly did not break the budget. But, the Midwestern in me always wants to apologize for spending money.  I should not do this. It is silly.  If I've got it, I should have the courage to spend it or keep my mouth shut about it. I remind myself of my mother who always checked the seams of store bought clothes.  She was sure they were not made as well as she could make them and it pained her to spend "good money" on clothes when she could do better sewing them herself.  Me, the child for whom she was shopping hated not having store bought clothes.  My rebellion as an adult was to throw away my sewing machine after I caught myself making clothes for my daughter.

Like a mosquito bite that itches the more you scratch it, negative feelings have been gnawing at my brain, eating my positive thoughts.  Some of the feeling is sadness, a realization that life is a infinite adventure.  Around me several friends are battling cancer and more than a few high school colleagues won't make our 50th class reunion next year.  The trend will only increase as I age.  All this makes me anxious and impatient.  With less than a year before I stop daily work in the office, my feeling is that I just want it to be over, so John and I can get on with our lives.  I want to escape the work now, but if I don't stay, we won't have the finances arranged to move to the future.

I don't see retirement as the end of a "life's work".  I have plans.  I have a passion.  To me, a whole new way of living is just before me, teasing me with snippets of lusty freedom.  As my 68th birthday approaches, I want to get on with it before something bad happens. The mental pressure of waiting makes me feel like I did at 12, waiting to become a "teenager" when that year seemed to take forever.  Again, time passes too slowly for me and I'm feeling afraid that the dream will never be realized. But, as Martyn showed me, no matter what happens, there is hope and joy to me had just around the corner.

Why sail?

Sailing is camping without the dirt.  That is one of the reasons why I like it so much (besides that fact it is something short people can do).  Sweating is the hot afternoon sun while docking or anchoring, hosing down or polishing a boat is fine with me.  What is not fine is the dust and dirt that mingles with sweat when you take to the roads and camp. Both can have beautiful vistas at the end of the day, but only sailing leaves me clean.  No stains on my clothes. No dirt buried in under my nails or in the crevices of my body. 

Ah, you might say – why sweat when you can have a recreational vehicle that moves smoothly and directly over the roads while cooling you in air conditioning to protect you from the elements thus limiting your camp set-up to hooking into the electrical outlet.  My answer is simple – sailing demands that I travel in the weather, with the weather and that I live in the weather.  It is takes skills and knowledge to know the weather and its powers.  The elements are the experience that has me learning something every time I go out.  But, it is also a dirtless experience. My boat does have air conditioning; but only at dockside when it can’t head up into the evening breeze at anchor.  Dockside is the garage of the boat world.

But, you might say, “Why depend on the vicissitudes of the weather, when you can have a power boat to take you directly and quickly to where you want to go.”  Again my answer is simple – sailing makes me slow down; I don’t have total control.  I can make plans, but they can change as the wind and weather changes.  I sometimes have to wait.  I must indulge in “getting there”, not just “being there”.  Sailing challenges my ability to adjust to my environment.  I do not battle the elements as racers do, squeezing every drop of leverage against the wind to be faster and better than the next guy. I take the time to live with them rather than fight it. I explore and I cruise.

However, you might say, “Wait, you have a diesel engine on that sailboat of yours.  You cheat the wind any time you want. That sailboat is just a camper without tires.”  True, my “iron jenny” can transform sailing into a direct trajectory.  It is my safety net; however, even when I use it, there is no mud to infiltrate my body and my belongings.

My anchorage is always well away from street lamps. There is much space to separate me from other boaters.  I rest, eat and watch the water.  After the sun sets and the air slows to a gentle breeze, the sky darkens and stars appear. If I wait a bit, that sky bursts, filling the inky blackness with the billions of galaxies of the Milky Way.  Only on the water do I feel that vastness of what I will never know.  And, there is no dirt between my toes.

Tomorrow morning we head home after a week with Forte Vento.  Two damage issues still plague us --weak batteries (easy to replace) and the very much more serious stress cracks around the cockpit arch and port shroud that will require  a redo of the gel coat and realignment of the arch).  BUT we are sailing once again. 

In search of sleep - on vacation?

The problem of getting to sleep plagues me often.  I can’t predict when it will happen.  It’s way beyond the tension at work situation (although I’ve got a lot of that lately).  Take last night for instance.  It’s our second night on our long awaited Chesapeake Bay sailing vacation.  We finished up a vigorous sail coming back from Forked Creek, ate and fell into bed, properly exhausted by 9:30.  My eyes were stinging like I’d pulled an all-nighter, but they determinedly popped wide open and refused to shut when I lay my head down on my pillow.  The husband was not snoring so it was all about me and not him.  I pulled out my iPad and proceeded to read a lengthy New Yorker – surely that would work, but it did not.  I turned to Words with Friends, then Solitaire and then stuck a bud in my ear, hooked into my “bedtime” playlist and still my shoulder did not go cold (my physical alert that I am about to go to sleep).  I sighed, got up, pulled out the ZZZQuil bottle and took a slug, stabbed the bud back into my ear, and hoped for the best.  It worked.  I oozed off into a restless sleep. This morning, after a long talk with myself, I chalk this episode up to battery worry.

The previous night, after we found the creek and ever so cautiously motored it (we motored all day due to a dearth of wind or any semblance of breeze), we had secured Forte Vento two a couple of old pilings that held up a sun dried, sliver filled pier.  As always, we left it to our batteries to keep the fridge and freezer running for night.  We enjoyed the company of two dear old friends over a casual picnic style dinner of hamburgers, potato salad and grilled corn on the cob on their broad screened porch.  It was an old fashioned late night complete with libations and much talk until the wee hours. 

The next morning we returned to Forte Vento to find our batteries had lost 60% of their power.  We expected 10% at most.  So, while sailing down the Bay (we originally planned to anchor out for a day or two), we returned to our slip where the sleepless night greeted me. 

All is not lost.  These are deep cycle marine batteries.  Normally they are good for five years.  However, we’ve determined that they are weak because of the year they spend drained of all “deep cycles” when Forte Vento was on the hard for repairs.  We’ve ordered new batteries (think summer round trip airplane fare for two to Europe for an estimate of the investment) and they should be installed this week.  We will just cut expenses elsewhere for a while.  A boat is a deep pit into which you sink money unless of course it’s your passion so it all seems reasonable. It’s my passion.  (Stop laughing now, please!)

The morning was bright and cool.  I swabbed the deck until it sparkled in the morning sun, then rewarded myself with a two hour nap this afternoon.  It was a dead deep sleep.  I woke see my husband looking at my refreshed state.  I am ready to enjoy the evening.  Why try to get out of the slip when there is a 15 knot wind blowing across your beam?  It’s just too much work. 

Forte Vento sails again

Our last entry in the ship's log was September 30, 2012, the last sail of the season.  It was June 7, 2014 when we sailed again.  It was everything we remembered it to be -- I am sane once more, ready to endure all that my work is currently demanding of me in this last year.  I will say no more!

In Africa - On safari in South Africa

The best times for safari are at "twilight" and "early morning" so we signed up for both.  John made the twilight safari the day we arrived, but did not make the 5:30 am early morning ride.  So, I went alone and what wonderful sights did I see?  Lion, Cheetah, Zebra, Giraffe, Wilde-beast, Elephant Hippopotamus, Rhino, Warthogs, and Vultures galore.  In some cases we were so close I could have touched them as they swayed walking across the road.

The animals say it all.  People care about these wonderful beasts; except of course, the poachers who sell tusks to the Chinese.  Here a few of the animals I saw that morning.  It was an incredible adventure.

In the past four years, my work allowed me to visit Africa twice and step into five very different countries - Senegal, Ghana, Botswana, Swaziland, and South Africa.  I do not love the continent as so many people do.  However, I appreciate their struggles to have stable governments after so many years of colonial rule; enjoy the countrymen I have had the honor to meet and work with; and continue to be amazed at their cultural heritage.

The flight home on Monday was both on time and uneventful.  I thanked the Gods that made it so.

In Africa - Swaziland

It's a land of  mountains, not the steep high craggy kind, but rather rolling kind, smoothed over from millions of years of wear.  They are dotted with small farms and small towns.  Although the weather is ideal, a smog from burning fields may cloud your vision if the wind blows the wrong way.

Swaziland is a land of extremes - a kingdom run by man for almost 40 years with 14 palaces, one for each wife surrounded by subsistence farmers and struggling town dwellers selling wares and foods from ramshackle stands.  The middle class is small.  It's not growing and thriving like Botswana as the king and his family and certain government officials take "a percentage" of every investment.

People are quiet, not talking about politics. Talking critical can land you in jail as two Swazi journalists discovered when they criticized the king.  You may have read about it recently.  I was not allowed to take pictures at the airport.  Not very welcoming to say the least.  However, it is also a land of kindness, persistence, and hope.

It was Bush Fire Music Festival weekend so there was no room at the inns or hotels.  We bedded down for a couple of days at the country director's home, hosted by his welcoming wife and kids.  After a full day of meetings with staff and Volunteers about the technology situation,  we went with the locals to the festival Friday night.  A parade of brightly costumed men walking on stilts waving flaming torches preceded loud, rhythmic, beating singers on the main stage.  Around the perimeter were an array of outdoor, craft markets, eateries with everything from grilled chicken, steaks, ribs and even some very decent pizza combined with a multitude of libations.  All of this took place  under a clear sky filled with the southern cross swimming the a milky way sea.  A perfect venue for this charity event to raise money for HIV and AIDS prevention.

Of course, the visit didn't start so well.  Although the flight went well and we arrived on time, two of our bags didn't.  The young girl at the Gaborone check-in counter only checked John's bags to Johannesburg, not all the way through to Mazzini. Luckily, my bag had my clean clothes.  John made do for the day on his tour into the countryside for lunch with a  homestead   family.  He even ate lamb stew from the communal bowl (and didn't get sick).  Our bags did get recovered that afternoon by one of the post's drivers.  Patience is the watchword.

On Saturday morning, sharp at 10AM we were in a van traveling to our next and last destination - the Grand Lodge Resort just off Kruger National Park.  In just about three hours we were going on a twilight safari!

In Africa - Botswana

The country reminds me of our Southwest - dry, broad taupe plains sprinkled with sage  green shrubs and small trees and big expanses of blue sky with hazy  mountains framing the horizon.  This flat land is punctuated occasionally with rock outcrops that look like pimples from the air as you approach the airport.

Botswana is not a place you would vacation.  It is land locked and, as I described above, not particularly beautiful.  However, once here, you will find the people are kind and welcoming.  The pace of life is calm, but not lazy.  There is no sense of urgency, but people are attentive to time and schedules are kept.

The food is good.  Hoved animals graze the countryside.  Many cuts of grilled meat, roasted vegetables and salads fill menus.  Breakfasts are English as this country was once a British protectorate (not colony).  Their squashes are terrific smashed or roasted.  And, to our surprise, favorites include pizza and italian dishes.  John tested the pizza  twice.  His assessment was "tasty toppings, but the crust, despite the wood fired ovens, needed work".   We followed the basic outsider eating rules -- don't eat raw veggies,  drink bottled water only, and eat fruit if it has been peeled.  We both continue our trip without gastro-intestinal issues.  Thank God!

The money is called Poula.  There are 8 P to the dollar.  That makes Botswana a bargain for tourists, especially if you venture outside of the hotel.  Even then, a great bottle of South African Cabernet-Shiraz blend  is only 179 P or about $22.50 in the hotel restaurant.

There is no sense of fear or tension amongst people, although neighborhood theft crime is up.  The locals blame refugees coming across the boarder from other countries experiencing turmoil.

Gaborone, the capitol, is a small city or a big town depending upon where you came from.  It has a growing middle class.  Autos abound.  They are proud of their manufacturing industrial area, modern malls, and good roads in the city but the foundation for the country of only two million people is diamonds - the right kind - not blood diamonds.  People still have small stands by the side of the road at intersections and across the street from the small mall shopping areas.  You can buy groceries, lunch, clothing, and get a haircut.  Each stand is shaded by a tent like cover on four poles.  Houses and housing complexes for rich and poor are walled for protection.

My meetings went well.  We stayed at the upscale Lansmore Hotel in the center of the new downtown in Gabarone. John toured during the day with two other spouses, hosted by the wife of our Botswana post.  The small group drove into the bush a bit - off the pavement onto dirt roads to find crafts and lunch locally.  They also visited a local museum and generally "saw the sites", what few sites there are.

It's time to board the plane for Manzini, Swaziland.  We transit through Johnessburg.  That airport is a sprawling place, full of shopping opportunities.  It is the "big city".

Date line:  Arrived Manzini missing two of our bags.  Seems the young lady at check-in in Gaborone only checked them to Johannesburg.

Into Africa - Take Three

The attendant led us out of the KLM Lounge down the glass hall to the gate. With boarding passes and passports checked and swiped one last time, we confidently entered the plane and were walking to our seats. Seats that were within our reach, when "Ladies and Gentlemen," the lead attendant said announced with determined authority, "All crew and passengers are instructed to leave the plane as quickly as possible.  Please turn around and exit through the door you entered."  She repeated it for emphasis.  This time there was strain in her voice.  We spun around and marched to the exit door.  John and I looked at our  colleague who was traveling with us to Botswana.  Our faces spoke to each other, "What the F---?"

Like kids pressing our faces to the window to see into the night, we stood in the glass hall looking out onto the plane.   It was over.  We smelled the fuel before we witnessed the expanding spill on the tarmac.  A leaky fuel tank valve, the captain told us minutes later, The flight cancelled an hour later after two promises of repair.  Betrayed again. We dragged ourselves out of the lounge area, sat a small table, put phones to ears and did it all over again.  Time was running out.  We had to get to Gaborone by Monday.

Dateline: It's 9:30PM Sunday in London where we have just taken off. We arrived about 11AM into Heathrow.  Now it's an 11 hour flight to Johannesburg, then a four hour wait to get our flight to Gabarone.  In total, I will have spent over 36 hours in same underwear and makeup by the time I arrive.  Makes you put international travel into perspective and yearn for a shower all at the same time.

Dateline:  Arrived at hotel at 3:30PM Monday.  Quick shower to revive me and I joined the last hour of the conference.  In Africa at last.

Into Africa - Take Two

Sunshine opened my eyes this morning as cool air breezed through the balcony screen into the bedroom.  Our  new flight didn't leave until 6PM so the day was in front of us.  The bags were still packed and after a coffee, energy was seeping from my pores.  I had to move.  After 80 sit-ups and a couple of  "planks", I plugged in my ear bits and took to the streets.  I walked and ran for over an hour.  The streets were full of tourists, locals and "Rolling Thunder" visiting Arlington Cemetery and viewing the Potomac River and its quite elegant Memorial and Roosevelt bridges.  Not a cloud in the sky, the air dry, the trees at full leave, brilliantly green.

This time we leave from Dulles Airport.  I sit in the KLM Lounge typing and sipping white wine in a soft but modern chair.  What a difference a day can make.  Yesterday we were amidst hundreds of other frustrated passengers just like us, iPhones pasted to our ears trying to rebook for today.

Today is better.  If the plan takes off it as planned, I'll upgrade it to excellent.

Into Africa - Day 1

We stood in line waiting to board.  Ahead of us was two hours to Atlanta with a two hour layover before an over night haul to Johannesburg. We'd have to arrive an overnight at an airport hotel before a short hop to Gaborone, Botswana on Sunday morning.  We waited.  Boarding time passed.  A broken cockpit gauge stood between  us and an African adventure.

A series of announcements soon brought home the reality that we were not flying today.  All connections would be missed. It was chaos as people scrambled to change flights.  John reached the airline reservation desk (Bless the smartphone1).  Two hours later we were rebooked.  We fly tomorrow evening.  Instead of arriving in Gaborone Sunday morning with the day to enjoy before my conference begins, we arrive Monday morning after it has commenced.  At least we will get there.

Into Africa is now Out of Africa.  The good news is we are packed.  The bad news is that the trip is 8 hours longer.  We must go through Amsterdam, not Atlanta.  And, I forgot, it's coach all the way.

Splash!

The waters did not part nor did the sun hang in the sky a bit longer today, but you might have heard a low roar from the east coast late this afternoon.  Forte Vento is back in the Chesapeake waters, snuggly bound in her slip. It's been a year and 26 days since the disaster in dry dock.

We return on Saturday to empty the shed and fill her up with gear, domestic paraphernalia, and prepare her for a tuning sail sometime next week.  It is a good feeling to know we will sail again soon. I can't wait!