Love Odyssey

Yes, we finally took the boat out of the slip! Hurray! We decided to sail to New Bern since we only had two days. I should amend that to “motor” rather than “sail”, since we had absolutely no wind–the water was as still as a millpond. But that was alright; I just needed to get a brief respite from the “same old, same old” of fixing things and installing items on the boat.

We left at 7:00 a.m. just as the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon–a beautiful sunrise with the promise of a perfect day. And really we could not have ordered a more perfect day for the end of March and the first day of spring. The day dawned with clear blue skies and the promise of warm, sweet air. We had not a cloud in the sky all day.

We arrived at the New Bern Grande Marina at 10:30 and tied up on the seawall in front of some pretty huge motor yachts worth many millions. By 11:00 we were strolling through the farmers market and sampling the relishes, brownies, and chutneys while eying all the sundry wares for sale. We spied a roof-top restaurant that looked like it was opening and snagged a table that gave us a bird’s eye view of the downtown, harbor and marina. It felt wonderful to have ole mister sun shining on my winter-starved skin again. After a leisurely lunch we strolled around town visiting our favorite shops and just enjoying being outdoors minus hats and coats.

We returned to our vessel about 3:00 and curled up for a snooze in the cockpit. I awoke 45 minutes later to a good stiff breeze and the sounds of lots of water craft buzzing around the river. Where was that wind this morning when we could have aired out our sails? 

Mitzie, our little Yorkie, and I enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the waterfront park. It seemed like everyone in New Bern was there, either walking, playing ball with their kids, fishing off the seawall,or just sitting and enjoying the 75 degree warmth. What a perfect day! We followed our walk with a chilled glass of chardonnay in the cockpit (that is, the humans, of course). I wanted to enjoy every last bit of the sunshine and blue skies.

This morning we left the dock in New Bern again around 7 a.m. as the sun was rising, but there was more chill in the air and more clouds in the sky. However, once again, the wind gods had over-slept and there was not a zepher to sail on. The morning proved to be mainly cloudy, with a tease of sunshine now and then. Returning to our home dock at 10:30 I felt happy to have had this nice mini-vacation–at last!
Helen

Yes, I have a bad case of sailing fever. We have not had the boat out of our dock since New Years Day. I tend to get antsy much more than Bryce. He is content to spend time each weekend on the boat fixing stuff, adding new equipment and generally just hanging around and breathing in her ambience. But unlike Bryce I like to get her out on the water and put her through her paces–get sails up, engine going, watch her track on the GPS and feel the breezes in my face.

So this weekend it actually looks like we are going to take the boat out of the dock. I am really not too picky about where we will go. I do enjoy driving her through the Pamlico Sound to Ocracoke Island, which takes about five and a half hours if we are not bucking a head-wind. The island is so serene in March; no tourists; little ferry traffic on the one main street through town; just the sound of shore birds squawking over-head; the purr of a few boat engines as the local fishermen come back with their fresh catches of the day. The beaches are deserted and there are plenty of nice shells to collect. Few shops are open, just the grocery/hardware store and a couple of restaurants that the locals frequent. You can walk in the road and not worry about being mowed down by bicycles, trucks, cars, etc. with beeping horns to add to the caccaphony. Yes, I do love visiting this island in the off-season.

But then there is New Bern. I have always enjoyed this lovely river town in every season of the year. This is an easy sail up-river from Oriental. It is very protected water so we never see the waves like the Pamlico Sound can get when the wind is really whipping. It is a nice, easy “reach” up river. We turn on the outside speakers and play Jimmy Buffet tunes as we glide along at 5 knots soaking in the warm sunshine. The town comes into view about an hour before we arrive at the high-rise bridge that spans the river. We usually tie up at the Sheraton/Skysail Marina which makes traveling by foot around town very feasible. The marina has floating docks, wifi, lovely bathroom facilities for boaters, and a nice pool when the weather is warm. But we like the marina because it is only a block away from the down-town area. Bryce and I have our routines here. After we dock the boat we like to inquire about what is happening that day/evening in town. One year we arrived while there was a clown convention in town–yes, I said CLOWN. There were clowns everywhere and that evening we were treated to a show under the big top, each clown competing to be recognized for the funniest! Another year we happened upon an antique car show- there were over a hundred antique cars in the Sheraton’s parking lot and the owners were anxious to tell you all about each one. After we find out what is happening (and in the spring there is a wonderful azelea festival- I just don’t know the exact dates) we walk to our favorite coffee shop and get a large brew. Then we walk around town and try to decide which restaurant we should visit for lunch; there are several nice ones that we have tried and sometimes it is hard to make a decision. After lunch we usually go to the best hardware store in the state–I’m not joking–I love this place because it has so much more than just nails, hammers, and saws. They have a wonderful gardening section with quite a selection of goodies for the home gardener (I try, but I have a brown thumb!). They also have lots of pots, spoons, funnels, etc. for the “would-be chef” (yes, that’s me!). I also like to peek into the toy store (after all, I am a pediatric SLP and “big kid” at heart). Then it is on to the out-doors store that has stuff for those of us who like to camp, hike, ride horses, etc. And we hate to miss the neat boating store, the wine and cheese shop, the bakery, etc. So we certainly can make an afternoon of poking around town.

Then of course there is Beaufort. This is another easy motor-sail across the river and then up Adam’s Creek through the ICW (which becomes a narrow “ditch” after about an hour. So the sails come down and we motor along. It’s fun to look at the lovely houses backing onto this waterway. About three hours after leaving our dock we enter a bay and follow the markers under the Morehead City Bridge and around Radio Island and into Taylor’s Creek. The little seaside town of Beaufort is on our left and a couple of barrier islands on our right. Now we have to make a decision. Do we want to anchor in the creek along with about fifty to a hundred other boats or should be take a town dock that cozies up to the main street and all the action. Ah, decisions, decisions! In the summer-time it can get quite noisy on the docks, especially since several of the waterfront restaurants have live music every evening and folks just stand around on the boardwalk and participate. So summertime we often choose to put down a “hook” in the creek and take our chances with our neighbors. This time of year I would probably vote for a dock, just for the convenience of coming and going without having to put the dinghy into service.

So yes, I am very excited about leaving the dock this weekend–any of these choices could make me very happy. I’ll let you know in my next blog about what we chose to do. In the meantime, just keep thinking “sunny skies and moderate breezes” (no ’small craft advisories’ or ‘gale force winds’). Helen (03/16/2010)

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)