Are Hot Tubs Time Machines? Part I

With all the stress of the boat and wondering when she will be ready, we decided to take off this weekend and travel a little bit.  Of course, this was when our mechanic tells us that the boat should be back in the water by Monday.  We had plans to be in Delaware Monday so the splash date was changed to Tuesday.  We didn't have a lot of faith that the boat would splash that day, anyway; you know, something WILL come up to delay us once more.

Figuring It Out

I first flew the coop and went back home for less than 24 hours on Saturday, but those hours were so well spent.  First, I did laundry.  Then, by wonderful coincidence, Saul visited for two whole hours while his parents went out to spend some together time on their 7th anniversary.  That boy is just something; he figures things out so quickly and it's such a blast to watch the processing going on.  I remember the same thing with my kids as they were growing up.  And I could listen to his voice all day long.  So lucky to get that time with him.

After they left and my laundry was finished, I drove out to Culpeper to visit my Dad and stepmom.  We had another good visit.  He's done with the radiation portion of his cancer treatment and is meeting with doctors to discuss next steps.  I told him that I would stand by him whatever decision he made.  

Culpeper Skyline

Later that afternoon, I joined together with a group of lovely women to wish one of the group well on her upcoming marriage.  You know, what happens in the women's circle stays in the women's circle.  I can say, though, that it was a sweetly uplifting experience with tears, laughter, and so much love.  And the FOOD, oh my GOD, the FOOD!

My thoughts about driving back to the Island that evening were for naught; stayed with my friend and slept so well on a wonderfully comfortable bed, and then found it hard to leave the next morning because when she and I get together, we love to talk and talk and talk (usually for about three hours).  With promises of a visit soon, I got in the car and made good time up the highway back to the guys.

I had not left on good terms with the hubby because we had argued about nothing other than directions.  I won't go into the whole stupidness of it all, but thank goodness I can find my way from Point A to Point B (or is it C?).   And we must remember that not all who wander are lost.  Fo' sho'. 

Part II Coming Up!

And Then There are THOSE People . . . .

This past Sunday started out really well; Gary and I took a 15-mile round trip bike ride from here to the Chesapeake Bay.  I do well on the trails here because they are flat for the most part and not very strenuous.  The trail wends over marshes and into woodland, and even though you're right next to Route 50, it feels like you are miles away.  A family of deer were grazing not 20 feet from where we were riding.  We had paved trail for most of the ride, but then we jumped onto an oyster shell path that was bumpy, but still level and fun.  Years and years ago, when I was still working for the Department of Transportation, I joined some coworkers on a 30-mile bike ride from Easton to Oxford via ferry.  I did well and we ate great food in Oxford and I made it all the way back.

It was very cool to catch sight of the Bay Bridge from the trail and the walk along the shore was cooling after running down a really hot bit of sand to get there; we'd accomplished something good.  Getting back was hot and sweaty, but we knew the pool was waiting for us, so we kept on and arrived in pretty good shape.  I did get a little woozy from the exertion, but some water and fruit got me on good legs again.

During this time, Gary's parents had arrived at the marina in their tug.  His mom would join us later at the pool; his Dad walked over with us and we got lunch, which was pretty darn good.  I had chicken salad and the guys had fresh-grilled burgers.

For the first time this season, the pool called an "adult swim," which was very nice; I reveled in it for a while.  I am not a fan of being splashed, so it was sweet to just swim.

Gary's mom finally joined us and decided to do her usual exercise in the adult lap pool.  She dons a mask and snorkel and swims back and forth underwater for about 20 laps.  Typically, this isn't a problem.  Where she usually swims, the crowds are non-existent.  Today, at this pool, however, folks were congregating in the adult section to chat and have drinks.  But she was determined to do her exercise.

Gary's mom has been on drugs for depression and anxiety for more than 20 years.  The effect these drugs have is to make her very self-centered (in a protective way, I guess) and because of that, she doesn't care what people think and in fact, delights in bringing even negative attention to herself.  If you're speaking to her, she laughs at everything and yet hears almost nothing because of some script she has going on over and over in her head.  The effect on family and friends is a whole other story.

At this point, in the pool, I noticed that, instead of choosing the far (and empty) lane away from where everyone was congregating, she chose the closer lane and she swam right into the people, literally.  The first few passes it seemed were guessed to be mistakes, so no one said anything, but I could tell as time went on that she was being a nuisance.  Personal space is another thing that she has trouble with in social situations. 

After watching her a while and having both my husband and his father fall asleep in their pool lounge chairs, I had to do something. I walked over and jumped in the water to help direct her in the other direction.  The father of a young son at the end of the pool was teasing her, too, by doing the "Jaws" theme as she came towards them.   

I got her attention and told her what the effect of her swimming close to people was, and she said she didn't care because no one had said anything to her, and took off again.  I reached out and grabbed her and explained as firmly as possible that it was not appropriate to be swimming in the lane where the people were standing and mentioned how lovely and unblocked the far lane was looking.  I insisted that I wanted her to be in that lane only.  She got it, moved to that lane, and slowly swam away, doing her dog-paddle stroke underwater.  I thought I had solved the problem.

Unfortunately, the mixture of pool water, hot sun, and fermented hops causes grown men to act like little pricks.

Back in my chair, but keeping a sharp eye on the situation, I noticed that even though she was well enough away from the groups, these "men" were laughing about her and one of them had the audacity to time dives under her as she swam by to see if he could do it without her noticing.  "Oh, that was so funny; aren't we funny boys?" (And I have no respect for the women who were with them and watching and laughing along with them.)  

She had also knocked into some people dangling their feet in the water, so one of the guys thought it would be funny to lay back with his legs spread at the edge so that she would come up between his legs.  She turned before she got to him, thank goodness, but by that time, I'd had enough.

I hate confrontation and don't do it well as my throat closes up and I usually cry, but my hackles were up and I marched over to the group taunting her and yelled at them, "Don't you have anything better to do?"  Mumble, mumble from them.  I continued, "That is my mother-in-law you are mocking and I want you to stop right NOW!"  The jerk diver tried to be syrupy; "Oh, she's great; we like her!"  Again, I said, through gritted teeth, "Stop right now!"  He came back with, "And you are great, too!"  I just glared at him, pointed my finger at him, and with so much anger, my voice cracked, "STOP!"  I left them open mouthed; stupid numbskulls.

My heart was pounding so hard I was worried about stroking out.  I sat down and breathed in and out until I felt more relaxed.  The guys were still sleeping, so I just stewed and kept my eagle-momma-eye on that group. 

Now, I can tell you honestly that dealing with someone who has been diagnosed as mentally ill is very hard.  In this case, conversations are very one-sided.  Combative comments abound.  Regressive traits are not unusual.  Obsessive behavior is common.  And I know the huge cocktail of psychotropic drugs she is prescribed are such a hindrance to memory, common sense, and good decision-making.

BUT, these guys did not even know she was impaired in any way.  It seems they would do this to any older, more able woman who might take it upon herself to get some exercise.  Okay, the other woman may not have knocked into people haphazardly, I realize that, but still!  What would their mommas say if they saw this behavior?

Maybe I overreacted; I don't know.  I just couldn't stand to watch the drunk, infantile behavior anymore.  Maybe I'm just tired of pretending nothing is wrong.  My mother-in-law would never have known what happened because she is oblivious of her impact and can't tell when she's being abused or teased (or she blocks it from long years of experiencing it), but that absolutely doesn't make it right.  And it worries me, too, to think what may occur when she's out someday, somewhere, in the future, being taken advantage of or abused by someone else.  I hope that day never comes, but it could so easily happen.  

It's All About the People

Since we've been incarcerated staying at the marina waiting for our boat to be made whole again, we've been on the receiving end of a lot of caring and kindness.

When we had to move because of the crowds expected for the bikini contest (don't get me started), we moved to the side where it is quieter and the view is of the marsh and its denizens.  

Within an hour of our tying up, we were greeted by Jack, who is a liveaboard.  He welcomed us as part of the "community."  We met his dog, River, who is a gorgeous Australian shepherd.  Jack introduced us to Corlita and her partner Glenn, who live on the next boat over from him.  They've all been wonderful, especially when it comes to food (my favorite).  We've been to Corlita and Glenn's boat for dinner.  They've invited us to partake in the weekend breakfasts served up by the Kent Narrows Yacht Club.  

At the start of the season through to the end, which is Labor Day, the volunteers prepare a great buffet of food:  boiled eggs, single servings of greek yogurt with granola and many different fruits for toppings, bagels, toasts, muffins, doughnuts, cereal, oatmeal, and the best--make-your-own waffles!  There is no cost for this breakfast; the way they make back their money is by selling raffle tickets to win t-shirts, jackets, and other yacht club tchotchkes.  They've been doing this for 31 years and we actually met some of the people who've been helping out every one of those years.

Corlita won the raffle on Sunday and instead of picking out something for herself, she chose a windbreaker for Elliott.  Glenn, who is a former commodore of the club, asked Elliott to help take down and fold the flag on the last day of the season.  When we thank them for their generosity, they say, 'We're all family here."

Elliott goes over to their boats to play games on the computer and hang out with Jack's grandson when he is on board.  Elliott knows more folks around here than we do; he's great at socializing and he also likes to help out with the lines when people are coming into their docks, so he chats up the folks then, too.

For me, I'm still relying a lot on my relatives and friends back home.  Because of our new-found situation of only being two hours away, I sometimes sneak home for visits. I try to see my girlfriends and I always make sure to visit as much family as possible.  One friend, especially, has been amazing; she sends me cards, notes, and calls to check up on me.  That extra effort really lifts my spirits.  Does it make it easier to be away?  Well, not really.  Maybe I miss them more, especially after a phone call with my daughter that ends up also being a conversation with my grandson, who is chatting like a pro now.  Leaving my kids and their families has been the hardest part of all of this; I wish I could be two places at one time.

We also had a great visit with a classmate whom I didn't really know well in school; he lives in Delaware now and stopped by to say hello in person on his way back from a trip to Fredericksburg.  Ronnie is a great guy who served our country well and was injured, but his enthusiasm is contagious.  Met his fiancee, too, and she and I are now battling it out in Words with Friends.  We are planning an overnight trip to the beach soon with a stop at their place for a longer, more relaxed visit.  We are always open to having visitors!

Gearing up in my mind for longer trips away makes me a little anxious.  Technology will help with kind of bringing us face to face, but I'll always be missing my people.  Thankfully, where we'll be going, there are lots of folks that I've already made contact with via a Facebook forum (there it is again!) called Women Who Sail.  We have our own burgees that we can fly so that when we pull into a marina, we can recognize group members and say hello, socialize, and maybe have a meal together, or even better, some Margaritas!

Some people may think that what we are doing is getting away from it all, and granted, some parts of the trip may make us feel like we're in the Amazon, but mostly this is a trip that will bring us together with like-minded people who love what they are doing and love sharing their adventures with us.  That will keep the positivity flowing!

Up Next:  And Then There are THOSE People . . . .

What's Behind the Mirror?

While this title may sound like some psychobabble for introspection and the like, it is far from it.  Nor is it the beginning of some horror story about spirits hiding in the mirror waiting for a  vulnerable person so that they can inhabit his or her body.  It is a literal statement concerning our boat Nalani.

Today is Monday, September 1 and we've been living here at Mears Point Marina for six weeks.  It's starting to feel like we're never going to leave.  It's like we're stuck in the nautical version of  "Groundhog Day."  Every day we wake up and it's the same thing over and over; our waiting for some news about the fixing of our sailing vessel.

And especially after a holiday weekend with all the accompanying hubbub, mechanics were off doing their own thing, which they are right to do, but we still anxiously wait.

One of the things about getting a boat that is new to you is that you have to relearn so much.  Our first boat together was very basic and very simple.  This boat is grander in scale and highly engineered.  Granted, my knowledge of the boat is an nth of what Gary knows, but even he does not know everything about it. 

While new electronics were being installed, even the mechanics were thwarted by the placement of "boxes" that fed power to the electric winches.  They found the one on the port side easily as it lay just under the decking and was accessible by removing a panel from over the pilot berth.  Done and done.

The second port side winch and one on the starboard side proved very elusive.  Nothing was found right under decks and more searches following all the electrical components brought up a big fat zero.  Mulling over it for days, no answers were forthcoming.

Being the social media addict that I am, I suggested that maybe one of the Moody or other sailing forums on Facebook might lead to some answers.  My husband was skeptical, but I'm a get to it person; thinking about something that proves a dead end over and over is no fun.

I got on the forum and posed the question.  I got an answer within 24 hours!  Oh, but it didn't really answer my question.  The poster suggested that I go to the Moody website and pose the question there.  I signed on there and found the question-and-answer forums, wrote out my question, filed it in the right boat size category, and waited.

Who knew how long it would be?  At this point, all we could do was wait, but I felt good knowing that I had taken a positive step forward.  The effort was well-rewarded with a detailed answer the next day from a Moody owner who was sailing the Chesapeake.

He said the boxes in question were behind the vanity mirror in the aft cabin.  I thought he meant the bathoom (head) vanity, but no, it was the huge mirror that measures about 4-1/2' by 3-1/2' feet.  Now, why would a boat company put something like that in such a strange place; who would ever think to look there?  Moody is a British company; maybe this is part of their UK humor.

When I passed along this message, Gary and the mechanic clambered up the ladder and onto Nalani to check it out.  Success!  Behind the mirror was a panel, which, when removed, uncovered the two missing electronic winch boxes. 

It was a great feeling to have solved the puzzle, so to speak, and to have had such great teamwork on the FB Moody Owners' Association page and the Moody webpage itself.  Many thanks to Laurence G. for a referral, Mike S. for a referral, and Michael B. for the answer.

* And just in case you're thinking, "Why didn't they just check the manual?"; well, it isn't in the manual because electric winches are an option. So now I can't blame the Brits for their quirky humor.   Lesson learned and we'll never skip the opportunity again to engage in electronic conversation to help solve a problem again.

Waiting on Da Boat

Waiting for something to get done is the hardest thing.  Especially when it has caused a complete stoppage of a dream trip.  And did I tell you that not one week after our boat was struck by lightning our OFFICE was struck by lightning?   Really crazy times.  While we wait, I can sit around being bored, as I've already mentioned, sweating in the camper, being miserable, complaining and being generally grumpy. And I did some of that because that is just my personality.  But yesterday, something motivated me to get moving.  Maybe it's the new Menopause One pill I started taking a few weeks ago; maybe it's because I'm 56 freaking years old and if I can't motivate myself, no one can.

So I saddled up old Bessie the Bright Blue Bike and we set off for a local bike trail.  Every time I get on this bike, the theme to Miss Gulch's bike ride in Wizard of Oz goes through my brain and my pace picks up speed.  Do do do-do do!

I like to pride myself on being ready for almost anything, but as I made my first stop on the trail (I only did about five miles or so), I realized that I had not packed a snack (oh my!) nor had I packed a poncho in case it rained (cats and dogs!).  This is very unlike me.  It may have had something to do with my fear of bicycles getting in the way of my brain cells functioning even a quarter of their usual ability. 

Yes, this woman who spent hundreds of hours on her bike as a kid in the 60s and 70s, starting with tricycles, moving up to banana bikes (remember them), and then to 10-speeds (my least favorite).    I remember delivering papers in a bikini on my bike (don't ask, just stupid teen brain).  I remember getting on my bike in the morning and biking down to Featherstone Park (in Woodbridge, VA), swimming all day, and then biking back home, without a helmet!!  I grew up in a trailer park surrounded by Route 1, apartment buildings, housing developments, and a shopping center.  I was always on my bike. 

As I got into adulthood, the automobile became my mode of transport.  I really never got back on a bike except for rare occasions.  Even at Cape Cod, my only motivation to get on a bike to ride was the destination of Guapo's for fish tacos and Margaritas.  A good reason, maybe, but what about the exercise and fresh air?  Yeah, fish tacos would win out every time.

So I rode on the Cross Island trail yesterday, which, even though it runs along Route 50 on Kent Island, means it is loud from the zillions of cars flying by in both directions.  But it is beautiful riding over the marshes and bridges watching birds and squirrels.  I got off the trail to make a stop for lunch (peanut butter crackers next time!), then came back to the marina via Route 18, which is a stupidly bad road for anyone to ride on, but I steeled myself and just did it. Kept that Wizard of Oz song going in my head and I was fine, except that I would really like to have one of those teeny rear-view-mirrors that attaches to the helmet.  That would have been handy, I think, though sometimes NOT know what is coming could be better.

Before I rode over the Kent Island bridge, I ventured down a side road to the crab boat docks.  Every time we drove over the bridge, I would think that I'd like to stop.  I love the working docks, whether for crabbing or fishing.  Just that atmosphere of hard, stinky work on really stinky boats has some appeal.  Old, really old boats, new boats, boats going through a retrofit.  They were all there. 

As I biked out of there, I was going over in my head my planned route to get on the East side of the Narrows.  I made a wrong turn and found myself in an under-the-bridge commuter parking lot adjacent to a small fishing pier.  Great view out to "our" side, where the boat is in the marina boatyard, but not exactly where I wanted to be.

 

Got back on the bike and rode over the bridge, but of course, stopped in the middle to take a photo of a crab boat fighting against the crazy current to make its way under the bridge.  I do this when I'm driving, too, making my family crazy.  And this area is especially full of wonderful photo opportunities, day and night.

Even though I had already been out for two hours, I kind of wanted to ride more (yeah, me!).  I was sensible and headed in to the boatyard.  That felt really good, because I went out and I went out on my own, definitely out of my comfort zone.

So yes, the waiting is uncomfortable and sometimes hard, but if you ever find yourself in similar circumstances, listen to the wild(er) side and do something you would not ordinarily do.  Ride on!

Up Next:  Who the Heck Knows!     

Heart to Heart (and Head)

Having a parent (or, in our case, two) who is experiencing a life-threatening disease is hard, as I've discussed in a former blog post.  We came back from our Northeastern travels to support my husband's father.  He's been living with heart disease for many years and had already had open-heart surgery for a quad bypass.  During a family trip last year, he became ill and it was found he was now living with diabetes.  This year, he started having shortness of breath and low energy.  Tests found that he needed a new heart valve and a stent to broaden a thickening vessel. 

The surgeries, done on different days, went well and he was home by the week end.  In the meantime, I had cleaned out and added some healthy foods to the fridge and made a few dinners.  A home health nurse visited and mentioned that diet would be very important from here on out.  I guess I'm just too heavy handed.  While discussing a grocery list for the next week, I suggested leafy greens, fruits, protein sources and other ingredients for the non-white (rice, flour, bread, pasta, sugar) diet he was supposed to adopt.   His wife felt defensive immediately and said, "You can have anything you want."  Of course, that included cookies and Coke.   (Sounds like me and my sweet tea . . . .)

It took me a long time to get the message; my husband is the total opposite of me.  He just doesn't let himself get involved.  His sister is like me and gets quite upset; her partner is like Gary and does not; they are able to laugh it off.  We parked the RV in their driveway for quite a week or so and had meals together, so it just got harder and more tense for me.

Elliott made friends with the new kids on the block (next door), a new addition that has brightened the social aspect of the dead-end street, so long quieted by older residents.  In fact, we saw him for about five minutes over a two-day stretch where he spent the night, ate with the family, went boating and wakeboarding (he loves it!), and then spent the night again.

His grandmother did get him out a few days a week in the mornings to play tennis with her group at the country club.  Sounds hoity-toity, but don't worry, it's not.  He was the youngest player by about 50 years, but had a good time playing and learning more about the sport.  At this age, he seems to have a natural talent to do well in anything he tries.  Kind of like my older kids, except that they immersed themselves more into the visual and writing arts.

Depression is also something that has to be dealt with in managing parental health care.  We've seen it for many years in the family and are now seeing it manifesting itself in different ways across the board.  Any suggestions or advice would be so helpful in getting the family through this tough time.

And, I finally have to admit, I had to walk away for a while, though there were some lovely and serene moments gazing at the water or watching the wind rustle the leaves in the trees.  As stubborn as I am in wanting to be right, KNOWING I am right, actually (ha), I had to step back.  It is not my fight to fight and my husband was right when he exclaimed, 'Run away, run away!"  (Monty Python accent here.)  And my own diet sucketh at times, so maybe the lesson would be to clean mine up, lose some of this poundage, and come out healthier in mind and body on this side of things.  Send me good ju-ju, won't you?  A little less ballast on the boat would be a good thing.

Next Up:  Waiting for Da Boat

Intercourse: Not as Racy as NASCAR, But Fun

Quite a few Pennsylvania towns have evocative names.  Among them are Blue Ball, Shickshinny, Virginville, Climax, and our destination, Intercourse.   It was named in 1813, as Intercourse at the time meant a commercial or trading site or a gathering site for community.  According to a sign in the town, there was an attempt to change the name back to Cross Keys, which was its name before renaming.  But those wiley Amish were smart; would you drive out of your way to say you visited Cross Keys?  Nah, didn't think so.  But Intercourse?  Well, that's another story altogether.   I heard that their signposts are the most frequently stolen of any town.    I believe it!

The countryside is seriously beautiful; full of verdant farms with unbelievable black dirt just begging to have your fingers run through it.  The little tourist trap area we visited was okay and we did have a great meal and some good purchases at Stoltzfus' deli.  Oh, and the canning factory across the street was a lovely tasting party of pickled beets, chow chow, and sweet pickles.  I am a huge fan of canned foods and could have stayed there all day.  We got away with three jars of heaven.

On the other side of the road, we stopped at a fruit stand and bought some superbly delicious  eat-over-the-sink juicy peaches.  When Gary awoke from his nap, we went to the pretzel factory to take the tour and eat many pretzels.  We were successful at both.

As we were readying for home, we asked our electronic Maps dude to provide the route back to the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  It took us down so many windy skinny roads including a detour, but it was a gorgeous drive and we stayed off the highway for the most part.  As I said earlier, the farms were beautiful, the carts and ponies of the Amish a great reminder of what things were like for all of us back in the day.  

One of my favorite sights anywhere in the whole wide world is a line of clothes hung out to dry. I know this takes me back to my childhood because I remember running through lines of damp sheets in the hot summers.  They felt so cool on my cheek.  According to Amish lore, the clothes are hung on lines between farm buildings or on front porches to show that they have nothing to hide.

We drove past so many mouth-watering displays of home-grown fruits and vegetables for sale, but could not stop due to the size of our RV.  I'm a really good driver, but pulling into someone's yard with an RV and then having to back out onto a fairly busy road is not my idea of fun.  Fortified with the peaches, we drove on.

We got to Gary's parent's house later that evening; his Dad was to start his week of surgeries the next morning.

Next Up:  Heart to Heart