Having spent Christmas with family, which included lots of dog walking in lovely mild weather, I returned to New England just in time to be attacked full force by that white crap. I feel sorry for all the drunks who were planning to drive tonight. Me, I’m going to cancel my 'outside plans' to sit home all cozy with my dog, trying to convince myself that I really don’t mind heaps of snow all over my recently melted world. Tonight I’ll contemplate my new year’s resolution, which is to make a road trip south very soon. If my dog is to be a boat dog, even if it’s simply to day sail or to kayak the bay this summer, she must learn to swim before she gets too old to like it. Since ice is not a great medium in which to teach a dog to paddle, and since it will remain way too cold to toss a small puppy into New England’s frigid waters any time within the next six months, I will be forced to drive my dog to Florida, where we can both splash around in warm, alligator infested waters. Honestly, that’s the only reason for heading south. It has nothing to do with wanting a break from winter or any such thing. I simply have to drive to Florida to teach my dog to swim. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Holiday Cheer

It’s almost Christmas, and for some strange reason I’m not as grinchy as usual. I’ve made my gifts, played barefoot in the snow, looked at the pretty Christmas lights, and watched the seagulls rip apart the luminaria bags that had been carefully placed along the seawall, spilling sand and wax all over the place.

Maybe it’s having a puppy, maybe it’s having such great friends, maybe it’s knowing that day after tomorrow I get on the road to see my family, maybe it’s simply sheer happiness at knowing that all that white stuff out there is going to melt in the next couple of days. Whatever it is, I’m not arguing with it. I’m just enjoying it, frozen toes and all.

Top ten reasons why dogs are better than dudes

For all you single ladies out there, I can recommend a healthy alternative to the fruitless search for Mr. Right because, let’s face it, there is no such creature. Getting a puppy is a much less frustrating ordeal than dating, and gives you many more benefits and rewards:

1)Dogs can be housetrained, unlike that man who never learns to pee without getting it all over the floor and toilet seat, which he always leaves up so that you fall in the hole in the dark of night.
Dog:
Man:
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2) Dogs hang on your every word, waiting to hear the magic ones: walk, beach, cookie, outside, play, can I have a kiss? Men never hear a dang thing you say to them.

Dog:
Man:

_____________________________________________________
3) Dogs are trainable, quickly learning to sit, stay, come, heel, roll over, drop it, etc. Men never learn this.
Dog:
Man:

__________________________________________________
4) Dogs need daily walks, which means you’ll be much healthier. Men just like to sit in front of the TV, and the only exercise you’ll get is throwing things at them to get their attention.

Dog:
Man:

_____________________________________________________
5) Dogs don’t care what you look like first thing in the morning.

Man:

_____________________________________________________
6) Dogs always greet you enthusiastically when you come home. Guys rarely notice that you’re even there.
Dog:

Man:

_____________________________________________________
7) Dogs won’t take all the blankets off you in the middle of the night.

Dog:

Man:

______________________________________________________
8) After the initial puppy stage, you can leave a dog alone in your house without worrying about what kind of mess you’ll find when you get home.

Dog:

Man:
______________________________________________________
9) A dog is easier to keep well-groomed.

Dog:
Man:

______________________________________________________

10) Your dog won’t put up a fuss when it’s time to get neutered.

Dog:

Man:

______________________________________________________

So there you have it. If any guy cares to argue with me, well, then, get your leash because we're going to the vet's. And not for booster shots!

Bush says he didn't compromise soul to be popular
WASHINGTON – President George W. Bush knows he's unpopular.
“What do you expect? We've got a major economic problem and I'm the president during the major economic problem.

Duh, and why do you think that we have this mess on your watch?

“I mean, do people approve of the economy? No. I don't approve of the economy. ... I've been a wartime president. (only because you started it, bonehead) I've dealt with two economic recessions now. I've had, hell, a lot of serious challenges. (such as trying to complete a sentence without using made up words) What matters to me is I didn't compromise my soul to be a popular guy." No, you sold your soul for big oil profits for yourself and your backers.

"But I'm not going to let this economy crater in order to preserve the free market system. So we made a lot of very strong moves and it's been painful for a lot of people, particularly because, you know, this — the excesses of the past have caused a lot of folks to hurt when it comes to, like, their 401(k)'s or, you know, their jobs.”

Bush said. "Obviously anytime anybody allegedly betrays the public trust there's got to be great concern because, you know, democracy really is, you know, really rests on the trust of the people. It's a system of people and by people and for people. And, therefore, the public trust is important."

So let me get this straight? You don’t care that you have the lowest approval rating of any president in history, and yet you say that public trust is important? Can you say oxymoron with a capital M? Careful, don’t hurt yourself.

Public Trust, that’s a good one from a guy who said, ‘Iraq is like, you know, a major threat, like, you know, they’re going to kill us with weapons of mass destruction and stuff.’ Which they did not have. And don’t tell us that the Iraqi people needed to be saved from their terrible leader. How come we aren’t in Africa saving those little countries we could easily crush, you know, the ones fighting with sticks and rocks, trying to get out from under their terrible leaders? Oh, yeah, that’s right, they don’t have anything valuable for us to loot, so why bother? Anyone with half a brain knows that taking over Iraq was not about protecting ourselves from any enemy. It was about the greed of a few who wanted oil, and Iraq was the weakest, most easily taken target. Like, you know, you big Bully, forget the shoes, what about a trial for war crimes?

Okay, sorry for the rant. Most people who know me are aware that I’m hardly political. In fact, we were once making a passage during presidential elections. When we made landfall, our first question was, ‘so, who’s the president of this here country anyway? (Answer-Clinton) The only time in my life that I registered to vote was when I saw that shrub’s face on TV. I heard him speak one sentence and said “not that guy”. I registered and voted, my candidate won, but that shrubbery ended up being president anyway. All I got out of it was jury duty. A lesson in democracy, where your vote counts for???

But hey, we’re back on track now, because Obama’s going to save the world, isn’t he?

My sailboat had been moored across the channel from a couple I kept hearing about all summer, but we came and went on different schedules, so had not yet met. That changed when we all moved our boats into the docks for the winter. Since the water was shut off to prevent burst lines, every three weeks or so, the few of us winter boat residents would get together to pool our hoses, connecting them to the spigot inside the warm shed and running them down the dock, where we would pass the nozzle from boat to boat to fill our water tanks. I met this couple in the shed as we were coiling hoses after the watering orgy. We were chatting, getting to know each other, when their 20-something son grumped in, grumbled a response to something his mother said, and then stomped out. She watched him go with her arms folded, and then said “I can’t wait until his girlfriend gets back from her vacation. He really needs to get laid!”

Not much floors me, but that did. Most mothers don’t acknowledge that their sons are no longer virgins even if they have kids of their own, let alone say that he should go get some action! But this was her, in all her unique and funny and wonderful glory. She and her husband used to race each other down the dock at lunch time. Their boat has a galley with very low standing headroom, and they used to do the ‘which came first’ routine, the boat or the wife, as she was of the perfect stature to fit into the galley and he was not. They had many wonderfully funny bits that they did together, such as, when people would see that they slept in separate bunks, sometimes the comment would be, “I bet you can’t wait until the kids move off the boat so you can move into the double bunk together.” At that point this couple would look at each other in mock horror. She would say, “But he drools!”, and he would say, “But she snores! Why on earth would we want to sleep together?” And then they would both shudder. And then she would say, “However, we are looking forward to when the kids go out on their own. Then we can sneak home for a quickie whenever we want and not have to worry about getting interrupted!” Even after three decades of marriage, they held hands everywhere they went, and she rode right next to him in their truck. Their closeness to each other touched everyone.

When I got ready to sail south the following year, they came to my going away party. They gave me the most wonderful gift, which was a collection of consumables in a canvas bag with all the east and west coast lighthouses printed on it, “to be used for navigation in case you get lost!” But the real gift was their business card, which had written on the back “If you ever need anything, just call us.” That touched me dearly, and as I voyaged south, I would reach into the bag on a long night watch, and come up with a package of cookies or crackers to keep me going. On New Year’s eve, I found myself becalmed offshore with a non-functioning engine, 100 miles shy of my destination, where all my cruising friends were together having a party without me. I was feeling quite sorry for myself alone on the sea, when I remembered the sparkling cider that was still in the bag that this couple had given me months earlier. I popped open the bottle, and as I filled two glasses, one for me and one for the sea, a pod of dolphins swam up and frolicked around my drifting boat, staying to play for over half an hour. It was one of the finest moments of my life.

Years later, I was back here in this town, on my way to a holiday party, when I got the news. I was so crushed I decided to simply buy a bottle of wine to drop off at the bash, and then return home to mourn. I went into the liquor store and grabbed a bottle in a daze. I was in line behind someone, thinking, ‘come on, hurry up, I have to get out of here before I start to cry.’ I got to the register and couldn’t hold it back any longer. The guy behind the counter asked if I was okay, and all I could manage to say was her name. He started crying too! Neither of us could speak, so we cried together as other shoppers looked a bit alarmed, probably hoping that whatever we had wasn’t contagious!

Earlier that very day, I had been filling out my Christmas cards, when this couple’s name came up on my list. I paused to think, ‘how long has it been since I last visited with them?’ We had occasionally said a few words as we dashed past each other’s busy lives, but I was shocked to count back and discover that the last real conversation had been with her, almost three months ago. She and I met on the fuel dock in the drizzle. I had just brought my boat in to the dock to load up the new solar panel and the new autopilot. She was waiting for her husband to come pick her up so they could start their annual fall cruise. As we stood there chatting so enjoyably, I thought about how much I loved this woman and how lucky I was to know this couple. Too much time had passed since we had last talked. I had set aside their Christmas card to deliver in person the next day.

That following Monday, the boat yard gang went into the local market for lunch as they had done for the last 20 years. But this time, she was not among them. As they headed to the deli counter, everyone working behind it began to cry. As the gang collected their soggy sandwiches and headed to the soup/salad area, everyone there began sobbing. And as they got to the registers, not one cashier had dry eyes. By then neither did the boatyard crew, despite their determination to not give into tears.

I’m guessing that the few people not fortunate enough to know this woman probably thought this town was a terrible place, if everyone in it was so unhappy that they were all crying! I am sorry for any merchants whose holiday sales were off that year as we scared people away with our unabashed sobbing.

It has been four years since the church was filled beyond capacity, overflowing onto the sidewalk. We will always remember her with love and a smile, and can only try to be as upbeat, caring, and as fun loving as she.

Life is to be enjoyed, go forth and celebrate!

Thanks a Lot!

You all were supposed to stop me.

I’m going to blame the lack of comments for the reason that I now seem to have a dog.

Not that I'm in love, and love is blind and stupid just like me!

Hey, at least it's not a man! A dog is WAAAAAY better!

Love At First Sight=Stop me, please!

Last month one of my friends called me and said, I got puppies. And I'm going away this weekend. Can you keep them for me?
Puppies? Say no more. I love dogs.


I went to my friend's house to get a look at the creatures who would soon be peeing all over my carpet. There were two dogs, but I'm sorry, I saw only one, falling instantly in love:

The owner has no terrier experience and is overwhelmed. I could have this dog. But sailing is in my future, and while there are certain situations where one can have cake and eat it too, sailing and dogs simply do not mix. I know, I tried it. After too many days being chronically seasick, my two Jack Russells packed their little bags and jumped ship.

For all of those who know me and love me, please please please, comment now. Keep me from saying to the owner, when she comes to get her dogs, why don't you leave Roxy with me. Stop me now, or this poor beautiful dog will have to go sailing, something no dog should ever have to experience!

The Great Man Deterrent (hopefully)

Today it finally happened. Before I tell you what, let me set the scene a bit: My bathroom has soft mood lighting and a 3x5 inch mirror. That’s it. There’s another, larger, mirror in the closet, but that lighting is worse. I haven’t really seen myself since I moved in three months ago.

I have always looked a whole lot younger than I really was, and wondered how that would play out as time went by. I was carded twice at age 40, a scant three years ago. Would I still get carded at 50? Or would old age hit me all at once, like a blast of wind from a hurricane?

This morning I got my answer. I was sitting on the couch in bright sunshine, holding that little mirror from the bathroom, trying to get that damned tick off my neck using tweezers. (reminder-get a lyme’s test) The light hit just right and I was awestruck at what I saw. Tiny, fine lines all over my face. Surely it must be the light? I tilted the mirror this way and that, focusing the sun, and only saw more evidence of that dreaded American disease: aging.

Well then. That was rather abrupt. How rude. What happened to an occasional laugh line, followed by a few gray hairs, adding in a crease by the eyes, all slowly building to old hag? How do I feel about this sudden shriveling? Well heck, since recent events have left me feeling old, I guess I may as well look the part. Thing is, I know the feeling is temporary and will pass once I go sailing again. The wrinkle bit, well, I don’t believe in artificial ingredients, so there it is.

There are plus sides to this. Time and again, in bars and restaurants all over this great land, I have watched men well into their 60’s or better, bypass groups of women their own age, heading straight to the tables filled with much younger women, to drool all over them. Both groups of women wonder what the hell is wrong with these guys.

Well, they’re guys, they can’t help it. I have been saying that men are like flies, barely brush one off and another one lands. I can’t squash them fast enough. But now that it appears as though I’ll be crossing over to the ‘old’ category sooner than expected, I can be hopeful that finally, after all these years, the pests will bypass me on their way to make fools of themselves on fresher fruit, leaving me in peace.

If that turns out to be the case, glory halleluiah, bring on the pruneage.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

Not mine; I don't earn enough to pay taxes. See, there are some advantages to living in a car!

While driving that car, I was so impressed to see brand new, bright and shiny street signs installed in front of the elementary school. How wonderful!

Just one thing: that school has been closed since 2005. The town had to close it in order to afford the annual fireworks display. The building is now just an empty shell, nothing whatsoever in it, not even a stray yoga class.

Road crew work=job security.

Oh Deer!

Yesterday there were ice balls on my deck. I never once dared to open the door to go outside. Later it warmed up enough that mass quantities of rain washed away the evil ice, reactivating the mud bath that is my yard. I spent the weekend safely inside, warm and toasty, happily making Christmas gifts, with absolutely no fear of being murdered by impatient, irate shoppers.

Weather variety amazes me. One year, Thanksgiving weekend was so very mild that I decided to make the six hour trek to West Virginia to camp and hike. I departed early Sunday morning, beating traffic, arriving to discover what I’d hoped would be the case: there was no one in the campground besides me and my dogs. Early Monday morning, driving the sixteen miles to the trailhead, I wondered about all the pickup trucks scattered along the roadside. There were eight more in the parking lot when we arrived. What the heck, don’t these rednecks have jobs? Shouldn’t they all be at work today? Why are they out here on ‘my’ trail? Sigh. I let the dogs out, donned my red sweatshirt, and off we hiked on this lovely 60 degree day.

The forest was littered with hunters. Not just sitting in trees, but riding mountain bikes along the trail! Near the end of the twelve mile hike, I accosted a hunter on foot, and asked if it was a tradition to go hang out in the woods instead of going to work, or was the economy really so bad out here in the sticks that they had nothing else to do? Looking at me as though I was a complete imbecile, which given his answer, I was: “it’s the first day of deer season.”

It’s amazing that I’m still alive to tell this tale. Not wanting to ask any more incredibly stupid questions, I went on my way at an accelerated pace, hoping no one would mistake my Jack Russell Terriers for deer. But I did wonder, how could one manage to sneak up on and shoot a deer from a bicycle? And if by some miracle you bagged one, then what? None of the bikes I saw appeared to be equipped with any type of deer carting equipment.
What did I find when the dogs and I reached the van late that afternoon, happily unshot, not once hearing a single gunshot near or far? The ground was littered with tons of deer feet prints that hadn’t been there that morning! At that moment I felt better, because while I may have been stupid enough not to know it was hunting season, at least I hadn’t just been outsmarted by a load of deer who knew the safest place to avoid death on this day was in the parking lot!

Proud to be an American

From Associated Press: "Excitement over the early morning specials proved fatal for at least one store. Police from Nassau County, N.Y. say a Wal-Mart worker died after being trampled by a throng of unruly shoppers shortly after the Long Island store opened Friday. Wal-Mart offiicals would not confirm reports of stampede, but said a "medical emergency" caused them to close the store."

Yeah, but each trampler saved $1.99, so it was worth it!
I rest my case.

Last Shop

Today was the last day you’ll see me in a retail store until next year. And that’s not just because I’m cheap, waiting until after the new year so I can get all the post-holiday deals.

Many holidays found me away from family, traveling around on a small sailboat, usually in some remote area, far from commercialism. I learned to scrounge the beaches for shells, flowers, and other debris to decorate the boat. I would make my own cards and send them to my family and far away friends, expressing my love and appreciation. Fellow sailor/friends would receive coupons for boat work, spare boat parts I’d never use that they could, or invitations to dinner.
My mate would get coupons good for,
Well never mind.

My first year back in ‘civilization’ was a rude awakening. Everyone around me was madly dashing, cranky, complaining about how they were too busy for Christmas but it had to be done. Just another job on the list of expectations, like ‘varnish the toe rail’ on the boat to-do list. Bah humbug. Yes my best friend is the Grinch. While appalled at this fine display of holiday cheer, I still tried to play along.

That was the last year I did my part to ‘stimulate’ the economy. Yes, that's right, I am responsible for the downfall of the entire financial system, because I refuse to Christmas shop. My idea of Christmas spirit is not about getting mowed down in the parking lot. It's not about having my toes crushed by a loaded shopping cart pushed by some spoiled suburban housewife in a rush to grab that last toy so her bratty little darling doesn’t feel deprived. It's not standing in long lines hearing people say repeatedly, "well I don't really feel like decorating but it's expected."
Every year, right before black friday, I make sure I have everything I need to see me through this merry holiday season. Light bulbs, contact lens solutions, duct tape, windshield washer fluid, spray paint, floor wax, spare door knobs, two turtle doves...

…Oh *#&%, I forgot to get a snow shovel! Oh well, then I'll just stay in until it melts...

By stocking up before the ogres come out on Black Friday, all I need to do between now and next year is to hit the supermarket for consumables, until it's safe to shop again. Since I don’t eat much, that’s easy, and if it gets too crazed in the grocery, I can always live on sprouts until it's safe to come out again.

So there you have it. My friends and family will once again have to make do with handmade gifts and cards, and deal with my expressions of love and caring. What would the world come to if we all took time out to do that to each other?

I haven 't been out of the house for two days, other than to check to see that my mail is still in the box, unpicked up. Yes, honestly, the check IS in the mail. Has been for two weeks now.

It's rather too early in the year to go into hibernation mode, but so what. I feel like it, okay? In fact, I've been looking forward to this for quite a while. Outside, it's freakin' freezing and the wind is howling. Inside, it's oh so toasty thanks to the lovely wood stove. My home is so beautiful that I marvel at it everyday. It's not like I'm sitting around doing nothing all day but biting the florets off broccoli while plotting the downfall of the world's financial well being. Whaddaya mean, someone beat me to creating a poorer planet? Drat the shrubbery!

I turned my spare room into a canvas shop, and have been joyfully finishing up some overdue sewing projects, realizing my fondest dream of working at home in my underwear, even if it is long!

Someday I might even go outside to deliver the finished canvas to my clients. Like when I need more rent money to keep me in this haven so I don't have to go outside into the cold, harsh world.

Watch this space as winter progresses, to see if I can get as loopy as the guy on the 1000 days voyage around the world.

My cottage was once the guest house for the big main house. Yes, I live in that kind of neighborhood. I try to be real quiet so no one notices that there’s such a poor person among their greatness, despite the fact that my aged Escort stands out among the German car contingent surrounding me, especially with no three car garage to hide it in! Anyway, the main house, located on a corner, has a different address on a different street from my cottage. When I lived here three years ago, mail addressed to me landed in my mailbox without fail. And mail for my landlords was almost always placed in their box. This time, however, since I moved in on Sept 15, my landlords and I have played trade the mail almost daily.

What am I to think, except that it is comforting to know that handicapped people are being given jobs. Those who can’t read, can’t see, don’t care, or any combination thereof, are now behind the wheel of a vehicle, delivering sensitive material from door to door, even if it is all the wrong doors!

Okay, so mass quantities of what they deliver is wood stove fodder, but still, it’s my wood stove and I can always use extra paper to get a fire going.

At least I now have a great excuse for paying bills late. On Wednesday morning, I put the cable bill, the electric bill, and the rent check in the mailbox, with the flag up. It’s all still in there, four days later. I suppose it’s hard to make out the mailbox in the cluster of others that surround it on this quiet, dead end street, a street that has a total of twelve houses widely scattered along its quarter mile length.

And in the time that the mail has been sitting there getting soggy, waiting for someone to come and get it, my landlords have brought over three pieces of mail on three separate days, with my name on it, clearly marked 81 W, not 41 G. I am seriously considering making a flag out of my glow in the dark red underwear to see if that gets anyone’s attention!

I know who is going to get the Christmas tip for mail delivery this year, and it ain’t gonna be the person with the mail truck who has only to lean out the window to drop stuff in my box. It’s gonna be my patient, long suffering landlords, who have to trudge that long distance across the large lawn, including wading through the construction mud puddle, to bring me my mail.

And yes, I greatly appreciate that this is all I can find to bitch about at the moment. Life is good, despite two weeks of rain!

Farewell, Safari

10 a.m. Sunday morning the call came in. The boat is on the rocks. It took us awhile to find it, because it wasn’t where we expected it to be, given the wind direction. She was down, about two hours before an extreme high tide, with a 35 knot northeasterly blowing her further in among the rocks. Unable to reach her from the beach, a lee shore, we dashed off to arrange for a boat, to collect dive gear, to make a plan. I was in such a tither that I didn’t think to take a photo, but I now dearly wish I had, so we knew exactly where she lay when the call first came in and the tide was still rising.

11:30, the diver was underway, high tide due at 12:08. We were waiting for him to come by to get the crew when the harbormaster called again. It’s too late, she’s breaking up. We were stunned, and piled back into the car to dash off again, back to the beach. This is what we found:



Cancel the diver. Wait for low tide. Take it all in and try to fathom that a well cared for boat, a 40’ Alden ketch built in 1931, which had the same loving owner for the last 23 years, was no more.

Said she, upon viewing the remains: ‘Well, I guess now we don’t have to fix that leak in the stern.’

We spent the remainder of the day carting all we could above the tide line, separated into two separate piles, ‘salvage’, and ‘bonfire.’ When all the loose bits were picked up, the axes and chainsaw were put to use. Not an easy moment for a loving boat owner.



By the end of day two, this is all that was left:


That's the owner in the water. Those sticky up bits beside him are the remains of the keel.

By the end of day three, even the engine had been salvaged from the keel and dragged ashore, where we helped lift it into the bed of a truck.


By the end of the day tomorrow, there will be nothing left on the beach but the intact, undamaged masts. Arrangements are being made to float them around to be lifted out using the shipyard crane. The boat came ashore in front of some very large, very pristine homes, with perfectly manicured lawns that come right down to the beach, far from the main road. Getting in heavy equipment was not really an option. Everything that was accomplished so quickly and efficiently was done using a group of determined people, a few large pickup trucks and a trailer. Ideas of how to remove the keel, which is still underwater, and contains nearly 10,000 pounds of lead, are still being bandied about. I am in favor of running an ad in the back of Wooden Boat magazine that reads, ‘free lead, you pick up.’

Any other ideas are welcomed.
While we understand that there will be a period of mourning, we stand by to welcome the owner of Safari into the boatless club, when he is ready. Instead of spending long winter evenings contemplating the upgrades and repairs to be done to his boat come spring, he can join us in those long internet trolling sessions, seeking out the next perfect boat!

No Post

I have nothing to post at this time. While I hear the world has been rapidly sinking, so far my life has remained pleasantly afloat, perfect weather, perfect house, good company, car running nicely, and spending every spare moment struggling with a huge boat canvas project way beyond what I should have taken on, but I'm doing it anyway. And I might even be finished by Christmas so I can get back to posting!

Hodophobia

Of course there's even a name for the fear of roads.

We all have our phobias, which may or not be grounded in reality. Some people fear snakes even though they have never touched one, or been threatened with one. Some are afraid of dogs despite never having had a bad experience with any.

I have my phobias too. Babies terrify me. Men should be kept safely locked away on their own damn planet.

In my sailing life, people, read landlubbers, ask me all the time if I am afraid out there on the big ocean. My response is: are you not afraid of the interstate, driving 90 miles an hour surrounded by cars on all sides no further than two feet away all traveling at the same speed? Fear is a relative thing.

I had to laugh at myself traveling south on interstate 95 one night. It was very late, and there was construction around the exit for the George Washington Bridge. The way the barricades had been set up and the signs were hanging, I found myself channeled off the interstate and into New York City. Worse yet, I had been funneled into the Bronx, along that section of highway where if you get a flat tire, get out of your car, call your insurance agency and report a total loss, because bad assed dudes are going to be all over it within minutes, removing every bit they can pry off, including you if you don’t run like hell. This was the same area where one friend was changing a flat tire on his truck when someone came along and actually said “right, man, you get that tire and I’ll take this one.” Luckily my friend was 6’4”, and looked like a deadly biker dude. He pulled himself up to his full height, folded his arms and said in his deepest voice. “Dude, this is MY ride.” The stripper stepped back, put his hands out while backing away, and said “sorry, man, no problem”. Luckily the guy didn’t know my friend was a total pussycat who is against violence of any type. Another friend was driving through the same area when his old classic VW van did what they do best: quit running. He had just come back from sailing the Caribbean, and had collected a load of various items to sell in his Connecticut “odds & ends” shop. He was messing with the motor in the back of the van when he heard a noise up front. Someone was trying to pry out a headlight while at the same time trying to free the emblem from the grill. One of the items lying near the top of my friend’s collection was a machete. He grabbed it and went yelling like a maniac after the guy, who ran off screaming. Anyway, here I was, alone in my vehicle, on the streets of the Bronx, in the neighborhood where these things happened all the time, and I began to panic. I could see the interstate; the street I was on paralled it. I began to hyperventilate and freaked out about being over here and not there. And then I had the thought that if someone picked me up at that very second, and plopped me down on the deck of a small sailboat in a heavy sea, I wouldn’t be nearly so bothered. That thought made me laugh, and I began to notice that most of the other cars around me had out of state plates. We all had our heads craned to the left to keep our eyes on 95. Many others had fallen for the same dirty trick. We formed a procession as the lead car discovered a way to get back on the highway. The rest of us followed like sheep, glad for the safety in numbers. Whew. Safe at last, back on the interstate, speeding in a crowd of cars.

Yes, I get afraid at sea sometimes. I’d be stupid not to. But I get petrified on the highways all the time. And that only makes sense. But it doesn't stop me from thousands of miles of road trips!

Cheating

Today was Harborfest. A friend asked me to join him in the mixed doubles rowing races, and we each participated in the men's and women's competition using his dinghy. Well, there was competition in the men’s race, at least. Although my friend was last over the starting line, he was way out in the front of the pack when crossing the finish line. Back in the day, I could outrow everyone in the harbor, male or female. But having been boatless for a while, and a landlubber to boot, I had my doubts. No worries; I only had two other women to race against.

In the second half of the race, I got silly and started rowing slowly, leisurely, toying with the idea of rowing in cirles. But I decided that would be too insulting to my competition, whom I could almost make out way off in the distance. Since I came in miles ahead, I was annoyed all over again that we had been segregated by sex. Then came the mixed doubles. As we got to the start, we could see dinghies equipped with two people and four oars, something we were thought was not allowed. Long before this weekend, we had been told that we had to sit side by side and each take an oar. My friend and I had never rowed together. We never got around to scheduling practice time. We assumed that we'd be so mismatched and out of sync that we'd be rowing in circles. We thought that we would end up either laughing so hard that we'd be adrift while our competetors passed us coming and going, or we would be sitting there whacking each with oars.

We did start off in last place. And we did get giggly. But, as we made the turn, getting used to each other's strokes, so to speak, we pulled ahead. And by the time we crossed the finish line, we were all alone out front! Granted, there was one couple, using four oars, who would have beaten us easily, except for that pesky dock that jumped out in front of their dinghy and stopped them cold as they were speeding along! By the time they got going again, we were giggling our way past them.

We swept all three competitions oars down. We suspect that the dinghy won't be allowed in next year's races!

Kudos to my friend, who built the dinghy himself. A fine show of craftmanship, indeed.

Be it ever so humble

There's no place like home. Only the old, gray part on the left is mine. The rest is new construction and is only a shell inside that looks like this:

That's how come I can's afford the rent-it's discounted for me having to put up with all that banging and other electrical power tool noises.

Don't tell the landlords, but I find that racket rather comforting-sort of like being back in the boat yard among all the dreams in progress. I don't mind in the least. Everyone goes home around dark anyway, and this place is just so very awesome, a work of art. I love it here, and am even twisted enough to be looking forward to the winter! This weekend's project is to hook up the woodstove and eliminate any squirrels cohabitating in the chimney.

Should I be attacked by pirates during the rowing race at today's Harborfest, preventing wood stove attachment, I can always spend the winter in my new bathroom. The floor is heated, even in the shower!

All this, combined with wireless internet connection, Netflix coming to my door, and the supermarket delivery service, means that I can hibernate in comfort and style! Once it gets cold, I probably won't be out until spring!

It's Too Late

I did it. Paid my money and signed the lease. Co…mit..mit.mit…..ment, ouch, made to staying put and sticking it out. No cold snap appeared to save me. The weather stayed pleasant and warm, allowing me to hallucinate that global warming has arrived, that all those geese flying NORTH recently were an omen that there will be no more winter in New England, and that even if there is, this time, I will be able to tolerate, maybe even enjoy, the cold.

Yeah right. Reality is going to bite like frost.
I am the same person who spent the entire summer breaking out in hysterical laughter whenever someone would ask me if I was staying the winter. “Who, ME? NEVER. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” What a silly idea.

I move in on Monday. Tough job, that, shifting the contents out of the Ford Escort wagon and into the cottage. No more long walk or zipping by bike from ‘the boat end’ of the marina to the bathrooms at the other end. Which means I will now get very lazy and out of shape when all I have to do when I need to pee is to take a few steps into the bathroom. Where’s the fun in that? Maybe I can make up the difference by splitting wood for the stove!

I have always thought that ‘good’ and ‘winter’ were a perfect example of an oxymoron, but I am now insane enough to feel that not only is it going to be a good winter, it might possibly even be a great one!

Call the people with the straightjacket, please! Make it fleece lined with matching hat and gloves.

Paradise

It’s official, I am insane.

Spending the summer here has been so wonderful that I’ve developed a major blind spot to how completely dreadful winter can be. I am leaning strongly towards staying. How can I not? One can still pump gas before paying! And in this place, trust is so rampant that you can leave your keys in your car with all your possessions still in it while gallivanting around on your bicycle all day, because you know that the boatyard may need the keys to move the car to move a boat. And later you get the ribbing from the one who moved the car who saw your sprout seeds sunning in the front seat. What, doesn’t everyone grow sprouts in their cars? Why not, what’s wrong with them? What do they do when they want a snack, stop at a convenience store and buy junk food? Oh, right, and I’m the weird one.
Here, I am among the best friends a person can ever have. If one is going to be insane, this is the best place to do so, among trusted friends who will stand by me no matter what. As long as I don’t take to running after them with an ax!

And that I can’t promise. If this lease for the cozy cottage goes through, I will need to cut a lot of wood for my wood stove, and might need some volunteers to help!

Winter… I’m still half hoping that we’ll have a good cold snap to snap me out of my delusions, but by then it may be too late. My friends are already considering it a done deal and have mapped out how often I am having parties in my cottage for them! They’ve been deprived ever since I sailed away with the ‘party boat’, and then went and sold it! I soon may be committed, to keep the home fire burning for the duration.

What have I almost done?
Found my home again.

Pausing

I am way too young for this, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference. What does matter is the insanity that began last year. I really don’t mind being alitoff, but it does bother me to know that there are times that I am almost completely, totally off my rocker and that it is a major struggle to control it.

Take this morning, for example. I was unable to find a critical piece of paper despite knowing exactly where I left it, and ended up going nuts and emptying out my car on the side of the road.

The plus side is that my car is once again well organized. The bad thing is that I am now completely discombobulated and out of sorts. And if I don’t try really hard to get a grip, this could last all day. A day which followed the night of howling coyotes, a day that officially began at 4:30 a.m., when the cat awakened me in order to demonstrate his impressive ability to projectile vomit all over the bed. At which point I thought it might be a good idea to get up and do some laundry.

And now, it’s not even mid morning yet. Well I suppose it could be worse. I could be in the path of a hurricane. Literally, that is, instead of creating my own!

Jamming

Given my seeming predilection for all things British, this weekend I was invited to something called a ‘Brit Jam’. I almost didn’t go after learning that this wasn’t an occasion where one would get a chance to physically stuff a few Brits into some small dark hole, or to can them up and spread them on toast later. However, being reassured that there wouldn’t actually be any real, live Englanders at this event, but only UK inanimate objects, I decided to join the gang for the ride. After all, one can’t go sailing all the time. Mainly because one stupidly sold one’s boat and can’t always find a friend to sail with. Anyway, six bikes containing nine people made the trek to the next state, to wander around a green grassy field and stare at an assortment of motorcycles. It was a lovely day, and I learned something by riding the back of a motorcycle that is part of a group. It might be a good idea if everyone riding together had an idea of where we’re headed, because there are an awful lot of cars out there who just have to cram themselves into the middle of the bikes traveling together. I mean, really, if you are that desperate to be part of a biker gang, go get yourself a motorcycle and come apply for membership in our elite clan. Since most of these vehicles were SUVs, of course, that made it hard for the rider(s) now stuck behind it to see where everyone has turned. Still, we managed to arrive at our destination and return all together, except for one lone ranger who decided to leave early and find his own way home.

Due to a technical error that led to the loss of my funny, clever, photos, I had to steal photos from last year’s meet. My apologies for the boringness of these, but I’m tired, biked out, and have to go to work at 5 tomorrow morning.