Love Odyssey

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)