Mastering the Old Tricks: Shakedown Day

Our first stop: Vero Beach City Marina, where we met for the second time today.

After retrieving me from the West Palm Beach airport, Pope sped up the waterway at top hull speed under full jib in 15+ winds in Echo II, being extra careful because he only had 50% of the normal observational power needed to safely operate the boat, being all alone. And promptly hitting a piling pulling out of Fort Pierce.

First day on the Waterway: 7 young ladies on a powerboat bared their breasts for Pope, instigated by their boat captain. Which of course made Pope's day! Unfortunately, the captain was guzzling whiskey--cruising for a crash.

I was attacked by a four-inch cockroach that had made its home in our bunk.

I drove the rental car to Vero Beach and returned it there to join Pope on the boat. Stopped at an ocean beach or two.

Cruised the dollar store in search of a fly swatter, being forewarned by other cruisers about the biting green-headed horse flies. They were sold out! But I found the next best thing.

Beautiful old trees with Spanish moss in Vero Beach, home of the rich and richer, with miles of gated communities and golf clubs.

Already, we are playing midget to the giant cruisers...

... while relearning the tricks of the trade.

On the Go: Travelling in a High-Tech World

OK, I’ll admit it. Finally. I love my iPhone.

Here I am, sitting at Gate 31 at Ronald Reagan National Airport, trying to get airport Wifi (does it ever work, anywhere in the world???) and appreciating the ability to whip out my tiny machine, prepare an email, or jot down notes for the blog. Or, catch up with friends by phone.

Pope and I bought iPhone 3s to use on sailboat cruises. Even though the model is out of date in the Apple world, and connected via the substandard Sprint network, the mini-computers have enhanced our communications immensely. Pope calls from Chesapeake Bay or Cape Cod—or, this weekend, Fort Pierce, Florida--where he is off proving his worth as an old salt. The blogspot app allows me to add photos of sailors or whales or –or airports--to my blog.

During the years I stubbornly stuck with a Virgin Mobile flip phone ($5 a month), friends insisted a smartphone would become “my best friend.” They were right. (At a substantial cost, of course.)

When technology really comes in handy is when I am busily multitasking, running to 3 or 4 events in one day, trying to meet up with others and at the same time help Pope decide what to cook for dinner.

But you know all that.

What I really wanted to say is that, on the cusp of another cruising adventure—moving the sailboat up the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) toward home—the usual fears are cropping up, though on the whole I am looking forward to the adventure.

I had a mild anxiety attack last night, even while sitting in a spiritual center chanting mantras. Amateur psychologists are welcome to jump on board with us, to analyze my twisted brain waves--while serving as Second Mate, of course.

Unlike the ocean passages last summer, fall, and spring, we have an easy trip ahead--travelling in the US and docking at marinas. Enjoying shoreside dinings. Meeting fellow cruisers heading home before hurricane season.

Today I join Pope in Fort Pierce to begin yet another journey on the high seas and inland waterways. Despite the occasional shiver, I am anxious to reunite with boat and Captain and find out what’s in store.

Are We "Living the Life" Yet?

Pope said to me many times during our Bahamas cruise: "We're finally 'living the life,' Amber!"

Who popularized that phrase anyway, and what exactly does it mean?

Like any enterprising journalist with a reputation for accuracy, I needed a credible source. So I looked it up on Google. Other than being the name of a B-grade movie about a tattooed teenager, and more recently a British TV series, I didn't find a lot of credible information about the expression. It's likely that the phrase got mixed up with "living the life of Riley," an expression that suggests an ideal contented life, often living on someone else's money. That phrase has been around since World War I and was the focus of a humorous radio and TV show in the 1940-1950s.

Pope, in using the expression, definitely was referring to an ideal, contented life. Well, I don't completely agree that the cruising conditions were ideal--as you know if you've been reading the blog--but you could say that I lived on Pope's money for a while. He paid for 3/4 of the boat upgrades and operation and the majority of marina fees.

For our first month back home, however, I definitely felt like I was "living the life." Retired. Happier than being on the boat. My fears calmed down, I was warm and dry, and my days were calm and uneventful.

A leisurely day at the botanical gardens with Pettit (pictured) and Leslie

It's never a good idea to take "the good life" for granted, though, whether you're enjoying harmony at home, a fantasy vacation, or being "in the zone" during extreme sports. (Not that I personally am into extreme sports.)

Anything can happen. Your orderly, well-managed life can change in an instant.

On Wednesday, I took a bus to REI to pick up my bike after getting a tune-up. Rode home 11.6 miles, mostly along trails. I felt fine--until I entered the 14th Street Bridge, at which time my sense of peace and contentment started developing hairline cracks. Bike commuters whizzing out of DC came at me at top speed, on a narrow sidewalk bordered by 8-foot-high steel railings. There was barely room to pass--yet they didn't even slow down.

I held my breath each time black and yellow spandex flashed by. Felt vulnerable. Recalled my ill-fated bike ride in December.

As it turned out, I didn't get my skull split open against the steel rails on the 14th Street Bridge.

Around 9:30 pm, however, Pope staggered into the house, dazed and dripping blood. He had wrecked his car a couple of miles from home, trying to drive back from Chesapeake Bay after a sailboat race followed by eating and drinking. He probably fell asleep at the wheel.

The visible damage

An hour later, we were startled by screaming and banging in the street. Our local burglar had struck again, smashing car windows in front of our house. (We suspect drug addicts in search of anything that can be sold for cash. Maybe they are in cahoots with the perps who murdered a man in 7-11, a few doors away.)

The noise was from owners returning to their cars and unleashing their fury on the neighborhood. Not locals, I guess, or they would be inured to the violence of broken car windows and stolen bikes.

The point is, anything can happen to upset the apple cart and send the bruised and battered remnants of Riley's ideal life straight into the dumpster.

What's left after upsetting the apple cart

 

The second point is: Enjoy the good life while you can. Don't take it for granted. And be ready to adapt when you encounter "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." *

Today, Pope is patched up and is out scouting body shops. The first body shop, and our insurance company, want to write the car off as a total loss. Value: $0. We are discussing whether to buy a battered old pickup (reminds me of our battered old boat...) or just share my old but still-decent Honda.

So...are we "living the life"? Who is the wise guy who dreamed up that phrase, anyway?


----------------------------------------
* From Hamlet, Act III, Scene I:

To be, or not to be, that is the question—
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?

Recipes From a Lightly Populated Planet

The planet I live on—cooking-wise—is a lonely one. My tastes are of the quirky sticks-and-twigs variety, my diet is further restricted by food allergies and sensitivities, and I live with someone of often-opposing food values. So how did Pope and I adjust on our Bahamas cruise, where we ate three meals a day together, and none of my favorite foods were available? Below are three of my frequently consumed recipes.
 

The principles I try to follow at home in preparing my daily bread include:

1. Vegetarian—non-violence to animals. (My domestic partner is a dedicated carnivore.)

2. Whole grains and organic, or at least close-to-the-source, ingredients for maximum nutritional value.
3. Leafy greens (the only scientifically proven nutritional cancer fighter).
4. Convenience. I don’t follow recipes.  Instead of correct ingredients for any given dish, I use whatever ingredients are available in the pantry and refrigerator.

Living on the boat in the Bahamas posed challenges way beyond meshing my eating style with Pope's.

The alcohol stove in the boat's tiny galley worked every time, oblivious to saltwater spray, and had two burners—just large enough for a pot of pasta and a pan of sauce. However, the secondary butane stove, which could be used outside, and the propane grill on the back rail  (photo) eventually rusted out, due to saltwater corrosion. Until then, they were a godsend for keeping Pope’s meat separate from my food and the greasy meat splatters out of the boat's cabin.

 

 

The local diet in the Bahama out-islands (beyond heavily touristed Nassau and Freeport) seemed to revolve around fried conch and fries. Whole grains and leafy greens were non-existent. Virtually nothing is home-grown; although a few households had chickens in the yard, their eggs were not for sale.

A minimal selection of canned and packaged foods are shipped from the U.S. and sold in tiny markets the size of the average American dining room (in photo below, note the fresh bread and small selection of canned goods).

 

An even more minimal selection of fresh produce arrived every week or two from Florida by mail boat, and was snapped up within an hour of being unloaded by the “highest bidders” (boat owners/frequent visitors who had established a relationship with the store owners). These would be kept in the market's refrigerator,at left in the photo above. Despite the fast turnaround for lettuce, tomatoes, and eggplant, however, we were almost always able to find onions and potatoes, limes and lemons, and often carrots.

 

Ice was available on many of the islands, so--when we found them for sale--we were able to keep butter, eggs and milk fresh for a couple of days in our cooler.

Waves and wakes rocking the boat can send hot liquids flying, so meals while underway tended to be crackers, cheese or peanut butter, and fruit.

The following frequently used recipes reflected logistical realities (i.e., what was widely available and convenient to cook). Despite the shortage of nutritionally high-value ingredients, my recipes must have contained sufficient vitamins, because I felt better and was less fatigued during the cruise than at home. Some of that may have been due to retiring and leaving home. But I like to think the fresh limes and local rum had something to do with it!

GRILL-UP  (a weekly standard until the grill died)

Miso – for flavor; brought from Miami; can also use just olive oil or butter

Tofu – vacuum-packed, brought from Miami (substituted sausage in Pope’s portion)
Onion, cut in chunks
Potato, cut in chunks
Carrots, cut in chunks
Other vegetables as available – eggplant, zucchini, cauliflower, broccoli, or kale – we found each of these once during the cruise
Salt, pepper, other seasonings
Pats of butter or dabs of olive oil for flavor to prevent vegetables from drying out

Wrap all ingredients tightly in heavy-duty foil, each serving wrapped separately to allow for individual tastes. Grill 20-30 minutes depending on temperature. Remove from grill when smell of cooked vegetables permeates the boat. This works nicely on any backyard grill! After the chopping, there's nothing to do.

BLACK BEANS & RICE   (at least once a week)

Cooked white rice (brown rice would have used too much cooking fuel)

Canned black beans (ditto; dried beans would have used too much fuel)
Seasonings (whatever spices are on board; I used cumin, turmeric, chili powder, and lime; Pope used tomato sauce, red chili flakes, and hot sauce)
Lots of onion
Red or green pepper if available; if not, perhaps canned corn or peas

Saute onion and pepper in olive oil until transparent; add rice and seasonings, then beans. Cook together, stirring constantly, just until heated.

DARK & STORMY (my daily cocktail-hour staple; recipe is from a previous sailing trip in Bermuda; all ingredients were readily available in the Bahamas)

Dark rum (Gosling’s Black Seal is best)

Ginger beer (non-alcoholic; Gosling’s or Barritt’s is best)
Dash of bitters
Juice of a lime

Pour each ingredient over ice, and watch the way the pretty colors layer themselves. Yum. Hint: not very good if ice is not available. I tried several of the rum punches in the local Bahamian bars, and, in my opinion, none of their recipes came close to my favorite dark 'n' stormy.

 

 

Bottoms up!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything is Relative

Our yacht broker in Florida almost found a buyer for our boat. We had mixed feelings about letting go of our home-on-the-water. Pope is despondent about not having a boat available for weekend getaways on Chesapeake Bay. He has begun lamenting the "advantages" we are giving up.

Hmm, I replied; everything is relative. A couple of examples of the relative "advantages" of boat vs. house:

1. Space. Last week I spent 20-30 hours cleaning eight months of accumulated dust and grime out of our 1,250-square-foot row house.

I restocked the pantry and refrigerator and unpacked boxes of clothes and shoes. I spent a day tracking down insurance and property tax bills for a storage garage in which Pope and I own units.

Yes, it was grueling. Pope reminded me of how much easier life was when we had only 200 square feet of istorage space and lived in a few t-shirts and swim suits.

From my perspective, however, the boat had to be cleaned regularly, too. It wasn't easy. And, I am grateful for the space. A real desk with a real chair. I practice my guitar (which wouldn't fit on the boat) every day, and work out with fitness videos in the living room. I am grateful to have a storage garage just big enough for my car while out of town, keeping it away from ticket-writers. I also noted that Pope's garage is full of tools, kayaks, and other man "toys."

The clincher, in my opinion: Pope has room to start seeds for the garden in our spacious dining room.

2. Property taxes, utility bills, leaky toilets. Yes, they are annoying. However, they don't go away while on the boat unless you sell your house. Many cruisers have done that. Personally, I am appreciating the pleasures of a dishwasher, clean hair, and an occasional hot bath. I am getting used to drinking health-promoting filtered water again, after being hooked on sugary canned fruit "juices" all winter.

For four months we had limited access to clean, safe, tasty drinking water. A few places sold bottled water shipped from Nassau ($2.50-$3.00 per gallon) or water treated by reverse osmosis ($0.40-$1.00 per gallon). No one knew whether that process killed all the e. coli and other germs.

3. Activities. We read dozens of books on the boat. We made new friends at marinas; however, we are unlikely to see them again. In town, I have met up with old friends. Wehave resumed zydeco dancing and I am taking a French class and guitar lessons. And we can continue to read!

There are other contrasts: Freedom to roam vs. neighborhood and family ties. Beautiful sunsets and sandy beaches vs. well-stocked supermarkets and libraries. Fresh air vs. shelter from storms and insects.

Dear readers, take my advice and do not take your old friends, walk-in closets, and hot and cold running water for granted. Everything is relative!

Retirement Fantasy, or Retirement AS Fantasy?!

Brrrrring.
"Hello?"

"Hey girl, how about dinner?"

"Oh gosh, got a French/fitness/yoga class tonight. Another time?"

Everyone knows someone who was busier after retirement than before. I'm on a fast track to membership in that club.

Three weeks after walking out of the National Science Foundation, I flew to Vancouver, British Columbia, and boarded a sailboat headed for the Pacific Ocean. Two months after that, Pope and I moved aboard a different sailboat headed down the Atlantic seaboard to the Bahamas.

Six months passed slowly while I sailed, swam, and recounted my adventures and shattered fantasies about bliss on a tropical island on this blog.

Two weeks ago, we returned to our house and neighborhood--and I picked up the pace. In that short time, I have enrolled in a fitness class and a French class, resumed studying guitar and participating in jam sessions, tackled Windows 8 on a new laptop, and brought home a stack of library books. I got together with friends, went to a writing workshop, and dutifully attended two Board of Directors meetings. I bought tickets to concerts and theatre.

Busy, yes. But no surprises there. Long before leaving my job I had looked forward to having time for these activities. The surprise lies instead in what I am NOT doing.

As I met with counselors and financial advisors to plan for my pensioned years, an important part of the plan was to launch a freelance writing business. In preparation, I purchased a laptop and business cards. I sent query letters to magazines and newspapers, proposing to write articles about my upcoming sailing trips.

On both boats, I lugged along camera, computer, paper and pens, and samples of magazines, intending to record my impressions and transform them into clever, humorous travel pieces that readers would gobble up like hotcakes.

As you know, I religiously tended my blog--and loved it. However, I have been less than enthusiastic about writing anything serious. Was that just another fantasy?

You see, when I walked away from my private office with the courtyard view and ergonomic chair, I experienced a profound sense of relief. I was free of deadlines. Free of other people's standards. Tired of taxing my brain to write words that sell.

There will always be problems to solve. But for now, they are my problems, and my solutions, not somebody else's.

Will I return to writing for pay? Writing to please an editor, to get my name in print, and to keep my skills sharp? Stay tuned.

Maybe I am learning from Pope how to be laid back instead of uptight. And that, my friends, may be a good thing.

 

 

How To Survive 151 Days At Sea Together: A Relationship Primer

During the five months we lived on our sailboat, Pope and I probably averaged 20 hours together each day. The majority of those hours were spent in the cozy confines of a 30’x10’ space—a v-berth, 6-foot-long settee, dinette, and outdoor cockpit.

V-berth where we slept--always damp, and 11 inches wide at the foot

 

On some days, we experienced difficulties with anchoring, leaking, and engine breakdowns. The weather wasn’t perfect: hot, cold, humid, windy, stormy.

 Rough weather for a sailboat, in Fernandina Beach, Florida

Several friends and readers have marveled that our relationship survived. A typical comment: “You and Pope may have broken some record for staying together in trying situations.”

Here is the thing about relationships: they are full of compromise and sacrifice and personalities and habits you have to accept. Or at least tolerate. (Or not, if you choose to dance alone. It takes two to tango.)

I had only seen the boat for 5 minutes in the dark before Pope signed a contract to buy it. It had features he was searching for: a shallow keel for avoiding Bahamas sandbars; a stable beam to avoid heeling when sailing, which was important for minimizing my fear of tipping over; and a self-steering wind vane. When I next saw the boat, in daylight, I suggested we ask for a refund. The boat was full of mold, torn cushions and curtains, bad odors, uncomfortable sleeping and seating areas, dirt, gunk, and general degradation. I suspected the operating systems had also been neglected, which turned out to be true. We had agreed to buy a boat that was ready to live on and didn’t need much work. This was not it.

Pope got stubborn, which sometimes happens when he is challenged. He gave me an ultimatum: he was going to the Bahamas on this boat, with or without me.  I could have said no, and that would have been driven a serious wedge between us. Instead (isn't it often a woman who compromises?) I paid for professional cleaning and new upholstery--$4,000. We tore down the moldy carpet lining the hull and glued up fabric. Pope replaced the blackened hoses and did some carpentry to reshape the seat backs—work that he would not have bothered with for himself.

Repairs and upgrades of boat systems and living quarters engaged Pope for six months and me for two months. Despite our labor, I had to put up with various annoyances: leaks, dampness, and odors. Pope didn’t care about those. Other boaters say they are normal; they come and go. As you know from the blog, some of the mechanical and electrical systems also caused us trouble. At those times, Pope paid more attention.

Trying to get Pope to pay attention to my complaints

 

I never grew to love the boat like Pope did. (And even he had some qualms after the engine breakdown and electrical problems.) However, I got used to it. We fixed the mechanical problems. The sitting areas were comfortable and attractive. We worked hard to seal leaks and keep things mildew-free. I sewed mosquito nets to keep out no-see-ums. I  relied on cleanliness and organization to stay sane. Pope tends to lay things around and lose them; I put them away and find them. It's our M.O. at home.

I poured out my frustrations in my blog. I complained about the boat--a boat that suited his personality as a happy-go-lucky optimist. He complained about the blog--a blog that reflected my personality as a critic and pessimist.

The daily blog: my life preserver

 

Underlying our willingness to spend 151 days floating in fiberglass was our commitment to relationship. I tolerated the conditions and the discomfort of crossing ocean passages because the trip was important to Pope. For at least three years he had dreamed of sailing his own boat to the Bahamas, talking about it continually, showing me articles in sailing magazines, travelling to look at boats for sale. 

So I moved aboard and served as First Mate, housekeeper, part-time cook, tour guide, and chief finder-of-lost-things. Pope served as primary driver, navigator, mechanic, and handyman. When I cried, he tried to address the source of my fears. When I screwed up or got hurt, he came to my rescue--such as when my fingers got jammed between the anchor chain and cleat, or when I got knocked down by a car on my bike. 

Near the end of our trip, Pope acknowledged the legitimacy of some of my complaints about cruising and the boat and became more sympathetic. That step, which was probably hard for him, went a long way toward improving relationship harmony.   

 

For now, we left the boat with a broker in Florida and drove home in a rental car. It is a better boat than when we started--everything is fixed. The next owner will probably be blessed with a trouble-free cruise.  However, I am happy to be home where life is easy and I can hang out with people I know.  Pope has mixed feelings about being in a boring, stationary house and ending the adventure. He misses his boat. We understand each other's point of view.

A few other things important to relationship during those long winter months:

- Books. Pope and I are avid readers and can spend entire days and nights engrossed in a mystery or crime novel, biography (Amber only), or treatise on politics (Pope only), psychology, or philosophy.

- Separations. I went swimming, snorkeling, and shopping alone or with people I met, while Pope read books, met with mechanics, or worked on the boat.
- Resets. A technique we learned from another couple: when we can’t agree, and the conversation deteriorates into acrimony, we agree to start over.
- Third-party mediators, i.e., cruisers we met and friends we made. They would listen to both sides of the story, laugh, and suggest another beer or rum cocktail—restoring a proper perspective.

Enlisting the ears --and shoulders--of third-party mediators

All's well that ends well. We are home, more or less in one piece, and still committed to making a life together.

Restoring harmony after a long, hard day on the boat