Love Odyssey

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)

I’m feeling really old and frustrated today. Bryce and I have been spending time today trying to figure out Twitter. Once we got an account, we tried to figure out how to send tweets on our phones. Well, I guess our phones are just too old like us to send tweets–can’t access the net. Oh dear, do we just buy new phones (only a few months old) or do we stay tied to our computers? I guess we’ll need to make that decision soon.

I feel really challenged by technology. Bryce is so much better than me about learning how to do stuff–then he usually shows me (or asks me to read the tutorial and learn myself). I felt pretty good for a few weeks when I taught myself how to text message. My 22-year old daughter couldn’t believe that I was actually able to send texts! Now she sends me texts several times a week–messages that I might not have received had I not learned how to speak her language, like “I love you, mom”. Priceless! So maybe it is worth all the grief of learning how to keep up with technology. Helen 01/02/2010

It’s a little scary to be out in the open river with blips on the radar but no way to really identify what those blips are. It is even scarier to know that there are marker bouys somewhere in the next 1/4 of a mile and you cannot see them until you are practically on top of them. Deviate even a quarter of a mile and you could be hitting a dock or shoals; even scarier, you could be trying to go under a bridge span that is not high enough to accomodate your 63-foot mast (most bridges have a clearance of 65 feet!). Yes, there were times the adreneline really flowed.

But somehow with the help of modern technology, experience, and sheer guts we made New Bern in four hours–not bad, considering it usually takes us three hours in perfect weather. So here we are, sitting in the pilothouse, warmed by the central heat and perfumed by the meatloaf baking in the oven. We are indeed lucky to be able to lead this lifestyle.

As I write this, I hear some loud “booms” and look out the companionway (back door) to the sight of fireworks over the harbor. It really doesn’t get much better than this. Yes, life is good! Have a Happy New Year!         Helen (12/31/2009)

Today, I have something reverberating in my skull from a couple I saw. It was a couple who almost never have conflict, who are always nice to each other, treat each other with respect and never rock the boat by saying anything that might reveal too much or get too deep. Why? What’s really going on? Many people would say that they just need to learn how to open up and be willing to be vulnerable with each other. A lot of shrinks will make good money by just meeting their expectations: by training them in “good communication techniques” or good “repair techniques.” I despair that this is what’s most often offered by us so-called professionals.

This is what I suggested to them and I’ll try to simplify for brevity.

1) They’re not communicating intimately because they’re too vulnerable. The virtue is to get less vulnerable so that they can risk exposing more.

2) When they self-edit and refrain from sharing an intimate awareness, their unconscious is actually anticipating what their partner’s emotional reaction might be in the worst case scenario. They’re usually anticipating that their partner will show angry disapproval or hurt feelings. That’s not the end of it though.

3) They’re also anticipating that once they see their partner’s reaction, that they won’t be able to prevent their own shame/guilt emotional shutdown response that will feel horrific. They don’t really feel confident in being able to boundary off from their partner’s mind.

4) Because they anticipate far in advance that they might wind up awash in shame or guilt, and they don’t feel confident that they can stop their reaction, they wind up avoiding even the consideration of sharing their thoughts on a deeper level.

What’s important is to realize that this is all taken care of by the unconscious. The choice to share intimate thoughts and feelings just never seems to come up to the surface. Isn’t that interesting? I also find it interesting that shrink types just never want to really think this through. That’s too bad because if they did there would be a lot more effective therapy helping people out with these kinds of problems. Instead we just see this garbage about how people need to be taught how to communicate better!

So anyway I tried a new homework exercise assignment with this couple. It’s too detailed to give here but it’s similar to a longer therapy I developed that works quite well in the ofiice. If it works, it will be very useful for many couples. If it doesn’t, I’ll go back to the drawing boards.

Here’s a real paradox. The world tells us how we should always try to empathize and be sensitive to each other’s minds. But I think that automatically and compulsively being empathic all the time is a prescription for communication breakdown. If you don’t have a way of defending yourself from painful feelings then you’ll just distance in any relationship by avoiding deeper communication. At least that’s what your unconscious will do for you. Try this paradox: Being confident in your ability to mentally build your separate frame of meaning can actually give you the confidence to risk closeness. So dynamic separateness is necessary for emotional togetherness! Weird, huh?

So this is what goes through my mind. I feel quite alone because I can’t get most clinical colleagues to think this through. However, I’ve been very gratified by some of these ideas being appreciated by some research types in the scientific community (ie. Reversal Theory folks). It feels like I’m exploring a strange land where there are no other human footprints. It’s exciting and that’s why I lose sleep. It’s also why my wife Helen finds me zoning out sometimes. “Earth to Bryce…Earth to Bryce….” she calls. At least she’s not bored when I do answer.           Bryce (12/30/2009)