Love Odyssey

Today is one of the first nice days for being outside at the marina. Lots of folks are down working on their boats or just messing around and making plans for future boat projects. Bryce is wrestling with a new anchor that we bought, trying to make it fit on our bow roller without scraping the gelcoat. Then he needs to mount the new life-ring on the stern rail and figure out where to put the man-overboard pole. Bryce hates these manual-labor projects and I often escape his vicinity so I don’t have to hear him complaining about them.

So I took our little Yorkie, Mitzie-Sue, for a walk down the dock to the other side of the marina. It felt good to be out in the sun even if the wind still had a bit of winter’s bite. I love to see what other people are doing on their boats- call it a bit of rubber-necking. And of course there are always people to talk to. Dog-walking always seems to act as a people magnet for other dog-lovers. Today I stopped and talked to a lady who had to euthanize her golden retriever two years ago and is still anguished by the experience. We shared our mutual grief about loving a dog and then having to watch them get old, frail and sick, and eventually having to part with them. I don’t think it ever becomes easy. We have had to do that four times over the past 25 years. It seems so unfair that we adopt our dogs as little helpless pups and in a brief span of 10 to 15 years they become old and die.

Mitzie-Sue will be fourteen in June and I know she is slowing down. She used to love to go on long walks and pull me down the street with her compact 8-pound body. Now she wants to go out just to potty and pulls to get back to the boat. She has arthritis and takes pills for the pain; she sleeps 23 out of 24 hours, it seems; she doesn’t play much with her toys anymore. I have toyed with the idea of getting another Yorkie puppy but I think it might just be an annoyance for her. So maybe I’ll just let her enjoy her life in her own fashion and cherish days like today when she seems to take some pleasure in going for a short walk and standing out in the warm sunshine. You know, maybe that is what life is really all about anyway–just enjoying what you can each day.

Helen 03/06/10

We just returned today to our boat after a two week hiatus. Bryce and I get antsy when we are gone too long. Last weekend Bryce had to attend a professional conference in the Raleigh area and we also had to host a family birthday bash. So by Tuesday of this past week we were in boat withdrawal, longing to be back here and counting the hours before our departure.

Now you need to understand that Bryce and I consider this boat our real home, even though we have a nice enough house in Cary. Our boat is our mutual passion and we treat her lovingly and with much care. She is spoiled and given all sorts of expensive up-dates, repairs, and even a few real luxuries. We spend far more dollars on her maintenance than we would ever consider spending on our house. In fact, the house has always played second fiddle to this boat. We don’t flinch about the cost of hauling her out of the water annually and treating her bottom to a thousand dollars worth of paint or installing a several thousand dollar generator. But even mention painting a bedroom or installing granite kitchen counters at home, and the idea would not even be worthy of a second thought–after all, who could afford that?

Yes, our boat is our home sweet home! Nothing is too good for her. We are her servants and her guests. She has protected us, given us shelter, and taken us to lovely places most people living in a house only dream about. Helen 02/26/10

I’m sitting here in the pilothouse of our boat on a Saturday morning, mug of hot chocolate by my side, dog snuggled up in her bed, and good smells wafting up from the crockpot in the galley.  Last night it snowed about four inches and I can see it drifted on the deck and siderails.  All is still on the dock-just a few footprints of where Bryce got off the boat earlier to take our Yorkie for her morning potty-walk.  I am enjoying the peacefulness of this morning.  Usually we are frantically doing jobs on a Saturday morning–installing new safety equipment, cleaning decks, polishing stainless steel, etc., but today the weather conditions have made it impossible to do any outside work.  Yes, we have lots of things that need doing inside too, but I think this morning I’m going to take a break.  Bryce cleaned off the car and went to the West Marine (boater’s toy store) to collect all the things we ordered last weekend.  So I am sitting here alone and at peace.

Last night was a crazy wild ride to get here before the predicted snow storm arrived.  We knew for at least 24 hours that it was coming.  Now most folks would have just made the logical decision to stay home, since roads in NC can become pretty bad rather quickly when the white stuff arrives (we don’t have the road-clearing equipment that other states farther north use).  But not us!  No, we have this obsession with our boat.  We really get antsy when we have to spend many days away from her.  So we decided to go anyway, given about a three hour window of time before the forecasters said the storm would arrive.  About ten minutes outside of Oriental, the windshield picked up a few flakes and by the time we got here it was snowing big wet flakes.  This morning everything was covered with this soft, thick blanket of snow.  Yes, a perfect day to get cozy in the cabin, hunker down, and make a big pot of slowly simmering lamb shanks in an orange anise gravy.  Perhaps I’ll sit here a bit longer and watch the snow, then curl up with a good book and even take an afternoon nap.  Life is very good!

Helen– 02/13/2010

Friends- I can’t imagine not having friends.  When I think of our boat and the little village of Oriental, I immediately associate it with all the people we have met here and consider our friends.  Everyone in this small town is friendly.  You can’t walk down the street here without someone tooting their horn and waving.  You don’t need to know someone’s name to be friendly.  I have trouble remembering names–always have–but it has become worse in the past ten years –but in this town no one seems to care.  If you smile, wave, or chat with anyone on the steet or in a shop, then you are friendly. 

Bryce will often ask me, after I have had a conversation with someone at the Bean (the coffee shop in town), “Who was that?”  Well, I really don’t know their name, but I had a great time chatting, and I know that we will continue waving and chatting in the future.  Yes, they have become a friend.  Names are not important. 

 I remember people by what we usually talk about.  There is the fellow who often sits out on the front porch of the Bean and always has something nice to say about anyone’s pooch.  He used to have a little Yorkie like ours, but it died a while back.  Now he takes delight in everyone elses dog.

There is the clerk at the Dollar General that never fails to wish everyone a warm greeting as you enter the store and always has something nice to say when you check out.  Then there are two clerks at the West Marine in town who always want to hear about your latest boat project and what you are going to do with whatever you are purchasing.  And the people behind the counter at Inland Waterway Treasure Company who always engage in a lively discussion of the weather, what’s happening that week in town, and latest news in the area.  Yes, I don’t remember all the names (although I am getting a bit better over time), but they certainly qualify as friends.

And then there are the people who you see each week at the marina.  Certainly the dockmaster, but also many of the other slip holders who you can’t help but run into (literally) at the bathhouse, the clubhouse, and on the docks.  You chat about your boats, the weather, your boat problems (we all have them–something is always breaking or needing repairs), your future sailing plans, where you have been with your boat, and your dreams (which many of us share).  Yes, it’s wonderful to come down here to Oriental from Cary (where you are a nobody, except for the few people you see at work and your next-door neighbors) and feel the warmth and friendliness surround you.  I can’t imagine any other place being so chock full of friends!

Helen–02/06/2010

The hollow empty feeling in the middle of the chest, the lump in the throat and of course the occasional gasping sobs.  These are the signs of grief that I counsel other people about day-in and day-out.  And to confess the truth, I had probably become habituated and numbed over the years so that I don’t feel terrible pain when I work with others.  Perhaps it’s like the medical examiner who can perform an autopsy with one hand while eating his lunch with the other.  But  it’s interesting that I can still feel ripped apart and laid open when conditions are right.  That’s how I felt 4 days ago when I held my little dog while putting him down.

My strong feelings show how much I made this little animal my child.  It’s apparent to me that my emotions are rooted in some pretty powerful dynamics:  Helen and I struggled in vain to have our own biological child many years ago.  Our two children (both adopted by me) are now grown.  I think I have relished Helen’s nurturing of “our baby boy” and I think little Danny was a surrogate for some powerful needs we both still feel.  I know that rubbing Danny’s bare belly, feeling him snuggle into me at night and feeling his muzzle on my neck all somehow nurtured my own small self parts that resonated to his joy.  It’s interesting how we make our own virtual worlds of meaning.  This little animal was smaller than a Thanksgiving turkey yet I projected so much meaning into him by nuturing and protecting him.  His death devastated me.

It’s four days later and the pain has declined significantly.  I remind myself about what he was and what he wasn’t.  He was my cute little affectionate dog but I made him my child.  He really wasn’t a child but I made him into one in my mind.  

I find myself wanting even more physical contact with Helen as my need for touch and warmth redirects.  Helen and I share our memories, our sadness.  Someday we’ll get a new puppy but not now.  We don’t want to deny the loss and leave splinters of dissociated pain in our minds.  We’re both coming more into the present.  The empty hole in the chest and the lump in the throat have gone away.  Life continues.    Bryce (1/31/2010)

Today was one of the most painful days I have had.  We had to euthanize our little four-pound Yorkie, Danny Boy.  We brought Danny home at 6 weeks of age, a mere ball of black fur that fit into the palm of my hand.  From the very first night, he has slept in our bed between Bryce and I, cuddling close to feel our warm bodies.   Danny has always been our “baby”, even as he grew up to become a spunky little dog with a big dog personality.  Yes, Danny was only four pounds but he  never hesitated to bark at dogs  ten times his size.  He also had a big, big heart and showered everyone with is wet doggie kisses.  There wasn’t a human alive that Danny didn’t like.  However, other dogs were another story.  He had no problem defending his territory and that sometimes got him into trouble–usually with his older sister.    Mitzie Sue is a year older and twice his size, but Danny never seemed to learn that she could only tolerate his behavior for so long, and then she would get angry.  The fights were akin to any human sibling quarrels–lots of noise but never any bloodshed.  When push came to shove he would always relent and wind up on his back.  We always said we should have named him “Little Caesar”.

Danny had a good life.  He always got treats.  He was the dog that would bark and beg for goodies, and of course, his sister always got some too, because after all, parents can’t play favorites, right.  Danny and Mitzie had a wardrobe of clothes that would make any diva jealous…matching pink and blue harnesses and leashes; matching pink and blue sweaters; matching turquoise rain slickers; brown bomber jackets with imitation sheepskin collars; the black Harley shirts; etc.  Yes, both dogs were treated well.

Two months ago, at the age of twelve, Danny started to get sick.  He couldn’t keep food down.  An expensive four days in the vet hospital with lots of tests and x-rays revealed that he had pancreatitis, kidney, bladder, and gall stones, arthritis in his spine, nodules in his spleen and gastritis.  After much reading on the net, I began making him home-made doggie food with lean chicken, brown rice and vegetables.  Danny loved this food and inhaled it in record time.  He started to look pretty good and the extra vitamins and salmon oil that I added made his coat shine.  Yes, it looked like we had our ole Danny back again!  But this past Sunday he seemed to have trouble walking, falling over a lot crab-walking to one side.  He also would not drink any water–not good.  On Monday we put him back in the vet hospital and were told that he probably had a stroke or maybe more than one.  Danny did not improve over the past few days.  The outlook was grim.  I didn’t feel I should take him home and watch him die from dehydration or another stroke.  So Bryce and I, with much pain in our hearts, made the decision to preserve his dignity and end his suffering.

I like to imagine that his little soul is free now and he is barking and running after all those big dogs that have gone before him.  Good-bye my dear and faithful friend–you will always be remembered and loved.

Helen

Date nights- we used to have to plan these when our children were younger.  Sometimes we planned them weeks in advance when things got really hectic.  Then we would both anticipate what we would say and do when the evening came.  Sometimes by then we might be too tired to stay out late, even if we had a babysitter, but at least we would try to make the most of those precious hours together—filling each other in our most pressing concerns, triumphs, and future plans or desires.  We learned early on that if we didn’t get these times to re-connect, our everyday irritations would soon boil over into major conflicts with much gnashing of teeth and snarling at each other.

Now that we are empty-nesters we don’t schedule date nights anymore.  But that is not to say that we do not need them anymore.  On the contrary, we still can bottle up resentments if we don’t re-connect on a regular basis.  It is just the nature of our date nights that has changed.  It used to be that we would go out to dinner, see a show and then maybe have a drink before driving home, dismissing the babysitter, and then sneaking up to our bedroom for some romance.  Now most of that is gone.  We often have re-connection time driving down here to the coast, like last evening.  For three hours Bryce drove while I sat and kept him company, discussing everything from therapy ideas, boat projects, money issues, healthcare reform, and yes-even the meaning of life!

Now I don’t want you to think that we don’t go out to dinner together anymore.  It’s just that we don’t have to orchestrate it weeks in advance.  We can be much more spontaneous.  And that is always good.  But if we don’t have our date nights, be they spontaneous like last evening, or planned, like in the early years, the consequence is still the same.  Yes, date nights are very, very important for us as a couple.   Helen (1/22/2009)

Helen thinks I’m obsessive and I know that’s true.  Lately I’ve been obsessing about anchors and storms.  What’s the best way to face one of those demon storms that severely punish many boaters who are naively confident from their history of Sunday afternoon sailboat regattas.  Two months ago I met a man in the local coffee shop where many of us sailor types like to hang out.  His leg was in a caste and he told me an interesting story about how his anchor snubber line had chafed through one night during a wild Northeaster storm.  This allowed the chain to pull tight with tremendous force and even yanked the windlass completely off the boat.  In all the turmoil, his foot got caught in the anchor chain and was nearly amputated. 

That sailor’s story reminded me of my 1988 fight with another Northeaster storm in which we nearly died. In fact we were anchored in the same location as the unfortunate sailor who nearly lost his foot.  During my brawl with my own demon storm, our jib unraveled in near hurricane winds and cinched up like a small spinnaker that put us under sail.  Our Bruce anchor plowed through the bottom muck instead of holding us fast.  We could see we were dragging towards shoals and the only things that saved us was when I crawled up to the nose and pushed off a second anchor that eventually set.  I learned alot that night:  how to secure a jib for a storm and to not use a Bruce anchor when I need strong holding power on a silt bottom.  I also learned something very empowering about myself that I previously didn’t know.  I hadn’t known that I would have the where-with-all to face probable death and still self-reflect.  That’s what happened.  When the worst part of the storm hit, our jib blew out and started catching the wind with a humongous crashing sound.  It felt like a monstrous giant was pounding the boat to pieces.  As I ran up the stairs to the top deck and caught a face full of hail, Helen yelled out “I’m scared!”  I yelled back ”I am too!”  The sea conditions and the uncontrolled sail looked like Hell unleashed.  It was apparent that the sail could literally decapitate me if I made a mistake.  As I stood there thinking we were all going to die within 10 minutes, I also thought it was ironic that I had expressed my fear to my wife.  I had expressed my feelings.  What a new-age man!  Big whoop-deep-do!  I thought it was darkly humorous that I would self-reflect on my own authenticity during the last moments of my life.  But as fate would have it, my second anchor did the trick and death was postponed for a probable 40+ more years.  Which brings me to my main point.  I’m going to give myself permission to get obsessive about my new anchoring SYSTEM. 

I’ve been visualizing, planning, obsessing, researching and now purchasing the meanest, nastiest bad-ass anchoring system I can fit on my boat:  a 75 pound pivot arm Super-max anchor with 2 humongous 3-strand snubber lines, chafing gear and all stainless steel thimbles, hooks and shackles.  I’m imagining that next demon storm and I feel like shouting  “Come on!  Bring it on!  I’m ready for you!”  Sometimes I think my obsessing helps me to prepare and feel safe.  It’s rather like having a big protective brother.          Bryce (1/22/2009)

I’m feeling  “boat-sick” this week.  Not sick of my boat–oh no, not by any means!  No- I’m home-sick for my boat!  You need to understand that we usually travel to our boat about every 4 or 5 days, usually on a Thursday or Friday evening and spend the entire weekend, leaving late on a Sunday.  We do this year-round irrespective of weather.  But once in a while life conspires such that we have to stay home.  That’s what happened last weekend.  It was our son’s 38th birthday and I have always made a family party, complete with barbequed ribs and homemade chocolate cake. 

Now I do love my boat, but my love for my son is even stronger.  After all, it doesn’t seem that long ago that he was a toddler, then a teenager, and now a grown man with a son of his own.  And this grandma thoroughly enjoys her grandson.  So it was a marvelous weekend with lots of quality family connection.  But come Monday morning I felt a wee bit of envy for those folks who got to spend the weekend on their boat, and each successive day this week, that longing just got greater and greater–and now I have a full-blown case of boat-sickness.  The only cure is to leave tomorrow evening as soon as Bryce finishes seeing his patients and travel as fast as the highway patrol will allow (more or less) until we finally get to board our boat and once again be “home”.         

   Helen (01/14/2009)

We needed to set up a checking account-that was a fact. We wouldn’t be able to purchase all the items on our to-do list for Love Odyssey charters until we had a dedicated account and also a credit card. So yesterday Bryce and I marched off to the bank with the assumption that this would take only a few minutes. After all, he had two business accounts at this bank and I had one; we both had business credit cards and a very good credit history.

Well, the lady at the bank made us feel like we were asking for the keys to the state treasury. How much money do we each make annually? How much do we anticipate making the first year of business? Why are we starting this business? on-and-on-and-on….

Then let’s get to the type of business account. The simpliest small business checking account will be free if we use our debit card each month but cost us $13/month if we dare to forget to use it. Now I know everyone in the civilized world uses a debit card, but I’m an old-fashioned girl and I like the physical act of writing out a check (gives me time to decide whether I really need to spend the money). It seems to me that I am being punished if I want to write only checks–at the tune of $13 a month or $156 a year (hey, that’s not chicken feed!).

Now I also want a credit card for Love Odyssey charters. Well, the lady yesterday could not even delve into that. No, that was saved for another more experienced bank torturer who called me today to waste another hour of my time. We went over the same questions that yesterday’s lady asked and I had to give the same information. Interesting! After I went over all this he said he had all my answers on his computer from yesterday. Maybe the bank really trains police and detectives–make sure your answers don’t change. Anyway, after an eternity of questioning and a good ten minutes on hold while he talked to his supervisor, I was told that he would decrease the credit card limit on my other business and also on my personal credit card so he could grant me another new card for Love Odyssey. Oh, how generous! What a nice way of thanking me for doing business with his bank for twenty years and have a sterling credit history!            Helen  (01/05/10)