In the rush to get out, you'd think we would forget Mother's Day. Well, technically WE didn't. Technically only my daughters and my husband forgot. They still have a few hours to make it up to me, however, and I believe Dr C invested in a gadget so there is potential forgiveness in the air.
In the meantime, a wonderful young woman from the SHRC sent me the following message:
"Mother's Love
Her love is like
an island in life's ocean,
vast and wide
A peaceful, quiet shelter
From the wind, the rain, the tide.
'Tis bound on the north by Hope,
By Patience on the West,
By tender Counsel on the South
And on the East by Rest.
Above it like a beacon light
Shine Faith, and Truth, and Prayer;
And thro' the changing scenes of life
I find a haven there.
~ Author Unknown
From: Mother's Day Celebration
When i read this, i thought of you straight away! Happy Mother's Day!"
To which I pass on the spirit to the mothers in my life: my own wonderful mother, my fantastical mother-in-law, my patient step-mother, and those mommy friends Kristina, Behan, Laureen, Joanne, Polly, Beth, and Keet whose support and love has touched me in so many ways.
Happy Mother's Day to you too.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Time to Go
The shore days grow shorter, and our asset sheet drops accordingly. These last few days have been a rush of going away parties and dinners, last minute errands, and major upheavals.
Probably the most dramatic, if not the most traumatic, has been the sale of both of our cars. They went >one< >two< on Thursday and Friday after weeks of preparing them for sale and posting them on Craigslist. We've owned both vehicles since somewhat before the introduction of the VCR, so parting with these machines is akin to selling a family member.
Towards the end, I started referring to the mini-van as She with a friendly - almost sisterly - affection. When She arrived on my door step, I could not have been more unjuiced about any event. A mini-van. A FORD mini-van. Complete with child seats built into the center bench. My god was there any more insulting vehicle for a wild and sassy lady like myself than the absolute prototypical expression of middle class suburban, soccer mom motherhood than that van. Thank you whims of fate that none of my girls ever played soccer. I could never have lived with the shame.
However, She grew on me. She never broke down, carried everything, forgave my children for being filthy heathens, and took care of us through some really crappy situations. Literally crappy, since She made a great hauling vehicle on gardening days. But now she's gone.
So is the Honda. So are all the library books, the kids' WAMU accounts, and the ends of Mera's hair. We also cleaned our teeth at a cost closely approaching a B.O.A.T. unit, remembered to retrieve the solar panels from the garage, and made a last run to the discount fabric store.
We haven't gone on a "stocking" run to the grocery store... we're not going on vacation. We've made plans instead that put us in the neighborhood of an anchorage with a convenient grocery in about a week.
Today is a Dock Day. I have a list of tasks that henceforth we will always do on a Dock Day. These include: filling up the water tank, washing the boat down with fresh water, laundry, showers, topping every rechargeable battery on the boat, and making my children run on shore for an hour. But these tasks are not in preparation for leaving... these are just going to be part of all our Dock Days.
So in some indefinable sense, we left yesterday when the Honda drove off leaving us carless here at the marina. Thus far I'm happy to report it's a great trip! We've not made many miles, but we're doing well for supplies.
And if Dr C stops futzing with the engines this afternoon, maybe tomorrow you'll finally see a new placemark on our Google map.
Editor Note: Thank you to all for the many comments and emails wishing us well! Yes, of course we'll be trying very hard to post regularly as we head out. This should prove no great challenge until we head south of the border in November. You can be assured, I'll write chapter and verse about how to blog from a boat.
Probably the most dramatic, if not the most traumatic, has been the sale of both of our cars. They went >one< >two< on Thursday and Friday after weeks of preparing them for sale and posting them on Craigslist. We've owned both vehicles since somewhat before the introduction of the VCR, so parting with these machines is akin to selling a family member.
Towards the end, I started referring to the mini-van as She with a friendly - almost sisterly - affection. When She arrived on my door step, I could not have been more unjuiced about any event. A mini-van. A FORD mini-van. Complete with child seats built into the center bench. My god was there any more insulting vehicle for a wild and sassy lady like myself than the absolute prototypical expression of middle class suburban, soccer mom motherhood than that van. Thank you whims of fate that none of my girls ever played soccer. I could never have lived with the shame.
However, She grew on me. She never broke down, carried everything, forgave my children for being filthy heathens, and took care of us through some really crappy situations. Literally crappy, since She made a great hauling vehicle on gardening days. But now she's gone.
So is the Honda. So are all the library books, the kids' WAMU accounts, and the ends of Mera's hair. We also cleaned our teeth at a cost closely approaching a B.O.A.T. unit, remembered to retrieve the solar panels from the garage, and made a last run to the discount fabric store.
We haven't gone on a "stocking" run to the grocery store... we're not going on vacation. We've made plans instead that put us in the neighborhood of an anchorage with a convenient grocery in about a week.
Today is a Dock Day. I have a list of tasks that henceforth we will always do on a Dock Day. These include: filling up the water tank, washing the boat down with fresh water, laundry, showers, topping every rechargeable battery on the boat, and making my children run on shore for an hour. But these tasks are not in preparation for leaving... these are just going to be part of all our Dock Days.
So in some indefinable sense, we left yesterday when the Honda drove off leaving us carless here at the marina. Thus far I'm happy to report it's a great trip! We've not made many miles, but we're doing well for supplies.
And if Dr C stops futzing with the engines this afternoon, maybe tomorrow you'll finally see a new placemark on our Google map.
Editor Note: Thank you to all for the many comments and emails wishing us well! Yes, of course we'll be trying very hard to post regularly as we head out. This should prove no great challenge until we head south of the border in November. You can be assured, I'll write chapter and verse about how to blog from a boat.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
A Tale of 20 Beds
In all my complaining, I'm surprised I've forgotten to mention that DrC and I haven't had a good night's sleep in close to seven months. While the possibility of frozen extremities, drowning in spit, or the sounds of the diesel heater taking off might possibly come to mind as causal, the real culprit has been the bed.
Or perhaps it is more accurate to say beds, because DrC and I have cycled through a startlingly broad range and bewildering variety of bedding in a vain attempt to find the perfect comfort mattress. We've tried Frolies and we've tried Ikea. We added foam padding, bubble wrap, and space age stuffing. We even tried $2.50 swim floats from Walgren's. Thus far, the search for a comfortable night's sleep has been fruitless. Each morning we awake to the same ritual.
Toast yawns, “Okay, that sucked for me. How 'bout you?”
DrC tentatively stretches and clenches up half way to a full reach, “No.”
“No, it didn't suck? or No, it sucked and I hurt like hell.”
DrC creaks as he sits up and edges to the end of the bunk, “We need to try something else.”
There are two possible interpretations of this quest. First – and the theory I personally favor – boat bedding is a considerable challenge. Alternatively, DrC and I are over 40 and getting old. I'm not going to even dignify the second theory with additional clarification. Either you, my dear reader, are old enough that back problems are something you reject on principle in the same way you pull gray out of your scalp each morning, or you are a young whipper snapper, and you need to shut up and listen to your elders.
Going with the first theory, I offer the following supporting arguments:
Thing 1) Boat beds can not have box springs.
Thing 2) Boat beds frequently do not fit standard shapes and so rule out conventional solutions such as popping down to the nearest Mattress Outlet and getting something on sale. And finally....
Thing 3) Boat beds almost inevitably must fold in half or break into pieces because some crucial, must-get-to-it-in-less-than-30-seconds-or-the-boat-sinks bit of equipment is installed beneath it.
It's that last one that screws the pouch on Don Quixote. Real Sailors™ will undoubtedly either sneer or boggle, but the Lagoon's are outfitted with bunks that come in standard, commercial bed sizes. The aft cabins are both queens, the port forward cabin is a twin with wings. This makes sheets easy. It should have made a mattress easy. The problem is that our battery bank and the single most usable locker for stowing books, spare clothes, and parts is under that bed. With DrC's wonderful shelving addition, it is just not possible to put in a standard queen size mattress.
We started with the cushions that come with the boat. Those suck. If you are ever offered an opportunity to provision a brand new boat, just say no to the factory bunk cushions. Say it loudly. Say it really really really loudly. In addition to being wildly uncomfortable, for some damn reason it does not matter which orientation you put them in, they slide everything to the middle. This is great until your husband arrives in the middle of the night in a comatose, massive lump on top of your right hip.
Cushions on Frolies meant we slid into each other during the early evening instead of waiting till the middle of the night. Putting the Ikea mattress pad on top made the sliding less noticeable, but DrC's head hit the ceiling when he went to pee in the middle of the night. Removing the cushions dropped us down six inches at the cost of my man's tender hips. Adding egg shell foam from WalMart made his hips hurt less but resulted in a nasty sponging effect that felt like sleeping on the edge of a kitchen sink complete with skanky sponge smell. Covering the egg shell with a super padded mattress pad from Target worked for a few months. However, reluctantly we realized that we'd eliminated the pressure points, but now had no give for the curve of our spines resulting in crippling pain every morning.
Tonight we installed a $25 queen size air bed from Target underneath the Ikea mattress pad. It's possible this will work. As I sit and type, my butt does not hurt. My hair is brushing the ceiling, but at this point, I'd put up with halving the air space in this cabin if I could just get a full night's sleep without waking up feeling like I'd been in traction all night.
I'm no longer hopeful, however. Hope is for young people.
Or perhaps it is more accurate to say beds, because DrC and I have cycled through a startlingly broad range and bewildering variety of bedding in a vain attempt to find the perfect comfort mattress. We've tried Frolies and we've tried Ikea. We added foam padding, bubble wrap, and space age stuffing. We even tried $2.50 swim floats from Walgren's. Thus far, the search for a comfortable night's sleep has been fruitless. Each morning we awake to the same ritual.
Toast yawns, “Okay, that sucked for me. How 'bout you?”
DrC tentatively stretches and clenches up half way to a full reach, “No.”
“No, it didn't suck? or No, it sucked and I hurt like hell.”
DrC creaks as he sits up and edges to the end of the bunk, “We need to try something else.”
There are two possible interpretations of this quest. First – and the theory I personally favor – boat bedding is a considerable challenge. Alternatively, DrC and I are over 40 and getting old. I'm not going to even dignify the second theory with additional clarification. Either you, my dear reader, are old enough that back problems are something you reject on principle in the same way you pull gray out of your scalp each morning, or you are a young whipper snapper, and you need to shut up and listen to your elders.
Going with the first theory, I offer the following supporting arguments:
Thing 1) Boat beds can not have box springs.
Thing 2) Boat beds frequently do not fit standard shapes and so rule out conventional solutions such as popping down to the nearest Mattress Outlet and getting something on sale. And finally....
Thing 3) Boat beds almost inevitably must fold in half or break into pieces because some crucial, must-get-to-it-in-less-than-30-seconds-or-the-boat-sinks bit of equipment is installed beneath it.
It's that last one that screws the pouch on Don Quixote. Real Sailors™ will undoubtedly either sneer or boggle, but the Lagoon's are outfitted with bunks that come in standard, commercial bed sizes. The aft cabins are both queens, the port forward cabin is a twin with wings. This makes sheets easy. It should have made a mattress easy. The problem is that our battery bank and the single most usable locker for stowing books, spare clothes, and parts is under that bed. With DrC's wonderful shelving addition, it is just not possible to put in a standard queen size mattress.
We started with the cushions that come with the boat. Those suck. If you are ever offered an opportunity to provision a brand new boat, just say no to the factory bunk cushions. Say it loudly. Say it really really really loudly. In addition to being wildly uncomfortable, for some damn reason it does not matter which orientation you put them in, they slide everything to the middle. This is great until your husband arrives in the middle of the night in a comatose, massive lump on top of your right hip.
Cushions on Frolies meant we slid into each other during the early evening instead of waiting till the middle of the night. Putting the Ikea mattress pad on top made the sliding less noticeable, but DrC's head hit the ceiling when he went to pee in the middle of the night. Removing the cushions dropped us down six inches at the cost of my man's tender hips. Adding egg shell foam from WalMart made his hips hurt less but resulted in a nasty sponging effect that felt like sleeping on the edge of a kitchen sink complete with skanky sponge smell. Covering the egg shell with a super padded mattress pad from Target worked for a few months. However, reluctantly we realized that we'd eliminated the pressure points, but now had no give for the curve of our spines resulting in crippling pain every morning.
Tonight we installed a $25 queen size air bed from Target underneath the Ikea mattress pad. It's possible this will work. As I sit and type, my butt does not hurt. My hair is brushing the ceiling, but at this point, I'd put up with halving the air space in this cabin if I could just get a full night's sleep without waking up feeling like I'd been in traction all night.
I'm no longer hopeful, however. Hope is for young people.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
A Life at Sea
Myke and his photographer visited us a few weeks ago to do a piece for the local Queen Anne and Magnolia Times. We spent a long time chatting. He's an easy person to talk with and his daughters are charmers. The article came out this week entitled "A Life at Sea." It's longish but it does provide more back story about the Congers than I've possibly written about us in the entire two years I've been prattling on this blog. Thank you Myke!
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