adrift

Almost six months since I last posted here. I feel guilty for abandoning this blog, my writing, my boat. I have been adrift, as usual, trying to find my way, trying to cut a path toward peace and stability, but also toward love and adventure. The world is not enough. I want so much more. 

Spring and summer had ups and downs. Filled with music (among the highlights, David Gilmour, Ween, Dead & Co., a Phish run over my birthday weekend, Rebelution, The Green, and a crazy sparkly spinning four days camping at Lockn’ Festival). Filled with love and with tears as the surfer and I navigated our first year together. Filled with change. 

Just over three weeks ago we, (the surfer, pup-dog, and the cats), moved off of Ambrosia and into a small house ashore. My attempt to purchase a home was shot down due to the student loan disaster that haunts me. But we rented a little (less than 800-square-foot) house around the corner from where I rented prior to buying Ambrosia. It’s too small, too expensive, and has only one closet for storage in the whole house, but for the time being it’s ours. The move has been very, very hard on me. Between saying goodbye to Ambrosia, the strain big changes put on a relationship, and the financial pressures, I sometimes just want to get in my car and drive until I get to Cali. But I’m trying to hang in there, be strong, be patient, believe in myself, my future, the surfer, and love.

I haven’t seen Ambrosia in two weeks. She was in the water when I left her but has since been hauled and blocked for storage on land until she sells. She’s listed on craigslist in Annapolis and Washington, DC, as well as SailboatListings.com. The  asking price is what she surveyed for when I bought her four years ago. I may not get that much, but it is a fair number considering the upgrades I made and the ones she would still benefit from. I am hoping someone will buy her soon, love her as I did and more, restore her to her former glory, sail her far and wide, and give her plenty of adventures. 

I’ve spilled a bucket of tears for her in the past month. I stood alone with her in the dark at the dock, having moved almost everything off of her, and cried. I told her I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t sail her away, didn’t give her all that she needed. So sorry that I failed her. I don’t enjoy sailing but I loved that boat. She was the only home I’ve ever owned, kept a roof over my head when I would have been homeless, kept me safe, kept me going when all hope was lost. She saved my life in so many ways. And I failed her. Now she sits on the hard with all those other boats and dreams people have abandoned. And she must be so sad and lonely. 

frost

The first frost arrived and pup dog was wary of hopping off the boat. I still have to see whether the stern is close enough to the bulkhead to run her dog ramp so she doesn't have to brave the finger pier when the ice and snow arrive. Luckily, it has been an unseasonably warm December. Unfortunately, I have heard January is supposed to be our usual cold and February is supposed to be much worse than usual, with heavy snowfall. I try to keep telling myself that this is the last winter, at least for a while, and we simply have to hang in there and get through it.

Pup dog has been very spoiled having a guy who will throw the ball far enough and often enough to tire her out. He even bought her a Chuck-It. If only she would retrieve a little better--she has a habit of dropping the ball about 15 feet away. For years I have worked on getting her to bring the ball all the way to me, so she has this funny routine where she keeps nudging it with her nose to roll it toward me as I keep telling her "closer, closer." We took her along last weekend when we played disc golf and only about half way through the 18 holes she was slowing down and eventually "lost" (or more likely hid) the ball so she could rest.

School ended in early December for fall term and I was relieved to have made my "A"s in both Swedish Massage and Anatomy and Physiology. I also managed to avoid being massaged by the total creeper who was in the Swedish Massage class and who was incapable of being professional or appropriate. Many of us in the class were disappointed that the program didn't take any real action to remove him from the labs, instead giving him useless warnings. If by some miracle he passed and ends up in the Deep Tissue class in the spring, I'll refuse to work with him and either leave the program or the school can have a legal battle with me. I came to dread the massage class but feel I'm already committed to finishing since the time and money already invested are completely wasted without a license. So, we'll see what happens.

Not exactly news, but I have too much stuff. I’ve gotten rid of 95% of my worldly belongings, but still have too much. I know I’m only supposed to care about people, not things, but I am such a Cancer--my home is so important to me and some of my “things” are part of what makes it feel like home. Then there is the bigger, deeper issue that I feel I am unlikely to have the financial wherewithal to replace things or acquire new things. I’ve been living with piles of stuff everywhere and although it bothers me it wasn’t mission critical to deal with it since the boat isn’t ready to head anywhere yet. But now I have the surfer living aboard with me and I want him to have space to feel at home. I bought him a hanging shelf and added it to the main hanging locker so he would have a place for clothes and I got rid of the mini fridge to make more space and have a better spot for his guitar. I need to do a lot more organizing, cleaning, and paring down so he doesn’t feel like a houseguest and knows he has his own space. But somehow we are juggling the Rubix cube aboard and fitting two people, two cats, and pup dog on this little boat.

Although I gave up the mini fridge, my marine fridge is still not working. We’re sucking it up right now and using block ice; at least it’s cold out so it doesn’t melt nearly as fast as it did in the summer. But once I get the car paid off and tuition covered, repairing--or more likely replacing--the refrigeration system will be a priority. Although a new compressor will be pricey, I have a feeling it will be more cost effective than paying for hourly labor to troubleshoot whatever is wrong with a 20-year-old unit.

I’ve only been out running twice since I fell back in September and scraped my knee badly, but I have made it out ice skating a few times. A few years ago I was skating 4 or 5 days a week but the past two seasons I only made it out once or twice. This year I spoiled myself with a 30-skate pass, one of my Christmas presents to myself. I do love to skate and I’ll enjoy the pass, but I quickly remembered why I stopped skating at Quiet Waters regularly--rink rats and jerk parents who raise brats. I have to force myself to be on the ice right at 9AM if I want to get any time to skate before the a$$holes and their kids arrive. Sigh.  

My other Christmas present to myself was three discs for disc golf. I didn’t expect to enjoy playing stoner frisbee and initially just went along because the surfer really likes it and I wanted to spend time with him. But I’m not terrible and the surfer is a great coach, so we try to play as often as our schedules and weather permit. His discs are mostly better for someone bigger, stronger, and more experienced than me, so I picked out three different discs, a distance driver, a fairway driver, and a mid-range, better suited to my level and my backhand throw. One of my Christmas gifts from the surfer was a bag for my discs.

The holidays have been very stressful as usual. I never have much of any money and am always missing my father. This was the first Christmas in four years (since my father died) that I exchanged any gifts and while I enjoyed picking out some surprises for the surfer, the financial and emotional stress of the gift exchange process overwhelms me and fills me with dread. We did finally put some Christmas lights up the day after Christmas. I managed to get through the weekend and now just want to get past New Year's. I'd say "maybe 2016 will hold better things" but usually each year is worse than the last and hoping otherwise is likely to jinx me. But just maybe this coming year will be full of health, wealth, and love. 

waves

The past month has been marked by waves. Waves upon waves of sadness, but there have also been waves of joy. Water, life, they ebb and flow, bringing bad tidings and good, but ever changing. Knowing that a high tide will come and wash the tears, blood, muck, and hurt back out to sea makes the low tides of my days survivable. 

First things first, I owe you photographs of my beautiful new battery box. The wooden box was custom fabricated and epoxied. It holds my house bank of four 6V "golf cart" batteries and the black box in front is the group 31 dual purpose start battery. The bottom photograph shows the water pump relocated forward near the engine rather than laying loose atop the batteries as in the past.

I finally removed the stand-up portable air conditioner and returned it. It never condensed any water and just operated as a glorified fan. The boat is actually cooler without it! I have the window unit running over the forward hatch and it keeps the v-berth frosty and the rest of the boat comfortable enough. 

I had to finish sanding the brightwork. Here are snaps of the brightwork, before, during, after, and one of me after the final 8-hour day of sanding. I haven't finished the hatch, but can't currently afford the mural I want painted on it, so I figure it's better to leave what varnish is left as protection until I can tackle that project properly.

The new batteries and wiring didn't solve my engine problems, so the electrician removed the starter and took it up to Best Battery in Baltimore for testing. It failed the test so they did a rebuild. Before and after:

In the midst of all the repairs, the electrician had to disconnect and reconnect the water pump frequently to access the starter. Something must have jiggled loose at some point and the pump ran continuously, dumping half my water tank in the bilge. Below is the icky old automatic bilge pump that wasn't doing its job. Now there is a beautiful new automatic pump running well (donated by Doria, thanks!). It gives me peace of mind when I see the red light come on the electrical panel and the pump gurgle for a few seconds to clear the bilge (while my galley sink drains overboard, the head sink drains to the bilge...so the bilge is always getting a fresh influx of water when I wash my face or brush my teeth, yuck.)

I received a lovely bottle of port from a reader. Thanks! (Also pictured a bottle of Italian red I haven't opened yet, a gift from a dockmate). 

The electrician installed the rebuilt starter and miracle of miracles, the engine started right up. Of course, I had 45 gallons of old diesel in the tank I was worried wouldn't cooperate, but I gave it a good dose of tank cleaner and haven't had a problem. (Knock on wood.) Friday the new starter went in and Sunday the boat was out of the slip for the first time since the end of February 2014. 

A friend came to help me on the adventure--a trip down to Thomas Point Light, anchoring out a few hours, and then the hardest part--docking! Coming out of the slip we had our first big surprise. I had the wheel hard a-port but the boat was heading hard to starboard. I freaked out, backed her back in the slip, and fretted a bit. My friend hopped off to look at the rudder and indeed, the steering had gotten reversed. Apparently when my old mechanic and I installed the new engine control cables a year ago and the chain slipped down into the binnacle, we lost the twist in the chain that is needed for the correct steering. We didn't let it stop us, though it made for stressful moments when dodging shoals, crab pots, other vessels, and when docking. 

We went almost to the lighthouse and then headed back north looking for a spot to anchor. Everything shallow enough to be feasible was a minefield of crab pots but we managed it. We anchored out for a few hours, had lunch, and enjoyed the sun and breeze. Enjoying some waves of joy getting my beloved Ambrosia away from the dock at last.

We took some decent waves right on the beam--unable to turn into them quickly enough due to crab pots-- which caused the mini-fridge to tip open and spill its contents everywhere. The fan on top of it tumbled to the floor, pulling the power strip and the computer monitor connected to it to the floor as well. Luckily, nothing was broken, but since every surface on the boat is cluttered, I have a lot of work ahead of me to clear all those surfaces and secure appliances and such with shock cord to prevent mishaps in choppy seas or when heeled over. This was, however, the first cruise when no cats puked. I put them together on a towel in a pop-up dog crate so they wouldn't be able to get sick in some remote locker unbeknownst to me, and so they would be safer from falling objects. It was a good plan that worked out well.

On the way back north we opened the jib and got an extra knot and a half. Naturally, the furling line got fouled beneath the drum rather than wrapping onto it, so I had to go forward and unwind it while carefully jumping back whenever there was slack since the sail would take the slack and fill, spinning off the furler with force. Yes, that is my lovely hatch A/C in the photo. It is too much of a hassle to remove it so we just let it be. And, yep, below you can see the ratty weathered bungee cords keeping my main halyard from slapping against the mast. Don't judge me.

Docking was a major challenge and I freaked out quite a bit. I really don't want to hit another boat so I get very trepidatious in close quarters maneuvering; this is a tight docking situation and a slip I'd never docked her in before. The reversed steering situation didn't help. Gratefully, the dock master was waiting on the pier to throw lines and give advice and we eventually made it in unscathed. But I think next time I will try backing all the way down the fairway and into the slip. I really need someone very experienced to come help me spend three hours going in and out of the slip over and over until it's in my muscle memory and my crocodile brain. But all in, a great trip, a huge relief to get out on the water, and some much needed waves of joy and relaxation.

Here's a nugget of truth to remember: bad tippers are bad lovers (and bad bosses, friends, ...). People who are stingy and selfish in one area of life, like money, are often also stingy in other areas of life--in bed, with their affection, and with their time. The same goes for people who cut in line, cut people off in traffic, and generally seem to have missed the message about the Golden Rule.

I've been running a fair amount, though not back up to my desired 30 miles per week. But I am trimming down, building muscle, and getting faster. Running is my meditation, my church. I listen to Matisyahu, take in nature, feel the connection of my body, mind, and spirit. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by grief and have a panic attack and hyperventilate. But it happens less and less now. So many days I just want to stay in bed, don't want to head out on that run. But I always feel better that I did it, even if it was slower or shorter than my goal. I need to focus on taking better care of myself physically, emotionally, and financially. In a sense, my body is all I have and I have to make taking care of it, making it the best it can be, my priority. 

I started school this past Monday. It seems crazy to be going back to school yet again, but at least this path (massage therapy) feels like it has potential both as something I can do while traveling and that is actually in demand (which is not the case with law). And after many years of lawyering and hating it, it will be nice to do something that reduces the level of stress in the world rather than increases it. Law is just a soul-sucking endeavor and I feel like I need to do something with a far better karmic balance. And it turns out that colleges are full of cute, young guys...so that's not so bad, either. I am juggling only being able to get in 30 hours a week of legal work in DC, so that's a $1,000 a month less income when I need it most. So, I need to make a better push to find something local and lucrative that will accommodate the school schedule for this next year.

But more seriously, I am nervous about whether I will be any good at massage, because if I'm not great at it I won't succeed. But I am also nervous about getting through Anatomy and Physiology, which will be the toughest course in the program and I am taking right now along with Swedish Massage. I've been a professional student, had an amazing memory, was a test-taking machine. That's how I got through law school, an MBA, three bar exams, and into a couple Ph.D programs I abandoned along the way. But since all that I've had two serious concussions. My memory has never been the same. The effects of a traumatic brain injury are so cruel and unpredictable. There are times I look at close friends and for the life of me, I have no idea what their names are. So, more waves. Waves of sadness at the loss of a skill I was very good at, at the loss of memory, at the effects I may never shake, but waves of joy at the potential for a new life, at some new chance to find a purpose, meaning, bliss.

pulling teeth

The holidays are almost over now. Then comes a big sigh of relief. Followed by panic over "what next?"

Life has been pulling teeth of late, literally and figuratively. Pup dog had fractured a major crushing molar that should have been pulled a year ago and it had become rotten. The vet said it really needed to come out. Once she got in there it turned out the same tooth on the other side was also fractured and infected. So, poor girl had her two biggest teeth pulled two weeks ago. The vet left me a very nice voicemail saying she was such a sweet and brave dog and with all the aftercare instructions. Before I had had a chance to listen to the voicemail I was at the vet's office with Hunter, whom I thought had a bad ear infection. A vet tech came out with a box and told the girl at the front desk "Here; she still needs to take care of the balance." I half-joked, "Um, the doctor left me a message but I haven't listened to it yet. That isn't Buttercup in that box is it?" and broke into somewhat hysterical laughter.

Being cat furniture on the settee.

The hysteria was in part because Hunter did not have an ear infection. A tumor I found in his ear back in June had ruptured and the tumor was just a disgusting, rotting, infected mess in his ear. I'm feeling terribly guilty because when I dropped the dog off in the morning for surgery and mentioned the cat's ear looked and smelled very bad, the vet had suggested that perhaps the dog should wait and the cat should come in for surgery that day. That is absolutely what should have happened. But with no car, turning around and running home to get the cat seemed unrealistic. And that sloppy decision may have cut my sweet Hunter's life short. The tumor has a broad base rather than a stalk. That increases the likelihood it is malignant. That it ruptured, full of blood, also tends to indicate it is malignant. We will have to take his entire right ear off to increase the chances of getting it all and giving him more time. They will send the whole thing for biopsy, and then I will know more, but his odds are better if we are aggressive right away. The wait-and-see approach we took in June didn't turn out well. As you can see from the photo above, Hunter has licked off his fur on a big patch of his back. The vet said it is all stress-related, likely because he is so sick.

I guess I just heard so many people talk about their cats making it to 20, and in my eyes my guys are forever kittens, that I hadn't processed that they might leave me earlier. Tomorrow, New Year's Eve, will be their 13th birthday. So, I guess they are elder-cats. But I'm not ready to let them go. And Hunter and I have a special bond; no one else understands him like I do. He and the dog are also very close. I will be devastated to lose him and I am already grieving. Despite my pinning him down and shooting antibiotics down his throat for several days, he is being especially affectionate lately, as if he knows his time to snuggle his pack is limited. In case this Christmas was his last with us, the cats got plenty of shrimp for dinner. I will try to do something special for them for their birthday tomorrow. But, of course, humans are uniquely plagued with a fixation on dates and anniversaries, a most unhealthy trait from which it is so hard to break free.

Holiday garland with ornaments.

The pet medical situation has been, naturally, particularly stressful due to financial circumstances. My last project ended a couple weeks ago and there is never any telling when another one might come up. The dog's tooth extraction (about $800) and the cat's ear removal (estimated to be about $700) will be just about what I've got and mean that the new batteries and solar panels I need to be able to get the boat running and leave have to be put off. With any luck, the next $1200 I have "laying around" (as if that ever happens) will fund that project.

Mast a/k/a Festivus pole all decorated.

I should have been running the 50K the weekend before Christmas, but I didn't. I could have suffered through it, but simply didn't have the money for hotel, rental car, or gas to even get there. And with two sick/recovering pets needing medication daily, I couldn't leave town. Before my trip to the South Pacific, I was in great shape, training well, enjoying my running and getting very fit. And then instead of running for me, for my strength, for my mental health, to be thinner and sexier and fit, I had to run for a date on a calendar. That took the joy and fulfillment out of it somehow. I just don't like races. I only want to run for me, not for a date on a calendar. So, while I am disappointed not to have been in great shape, beat my prior time, and enjoying a weekend getaway, I am glad that I was honest with myself about why I run and what makes it a pleasure instead of a chore.

One thing I know for sure is that I need to leave. There is nothing holding me here in Annapolis. A few good friends, but I know I will see them again. But I have nothing to go to either. But just the act of going somewhere is better than staying, treading water, going no where.

the world is my oyster

I'm not really sure what that means: the world is my oyster. I mean, oysters are kind of ugly and slimy. They are pretty stuck where they are, not big world travelers. But they do take an annoyance, e.g., sand, and turn in into a beautiful pearl. I can crack open the oyster and who knows what I may find. But I feel like the saying is more akin to being on top of the world, and I haven't noodled out the analogy yet. I guess I could just check wikipedia. Or not. But I think, perhaps, the world is my oyster. I'm still broke. No car. No "real" or "steady" job. No fancy digs. No savings or back-up plan. But the world has thrown all kinds of shit at me and still hasn't taken me down. I'm gonna carpe the hell out of the diem and enjoy all the adventures that lie ahead.

My friend dropped back by Saturday morning and we managed to get the steering and engine controls reassembled. I think the tachometer is on the fritz. It was stuck on 700 rpm and now on 1600. But we got her started up and let her idle in the slip a bit. Unfortunately, there is some piece attached to the engine that is badly corroded and should be replaced before I take her out. C'est la vie; that's boat life. Always another project or repair around the bend. We had initially set the housing with the controls on the binnacle upside down and I kept sort of looking at it askance. I knew the shifter was on the left and the throttle on the right, but the range of motion and where the levers were placed seemed off. My friend didn't believe me at first but I convinced him to give it a try and indeed we had them upside down! Everything about reassembling parts at the binnacle was a puzzle, which can be both fun and frustrating, like any game I guess.

A few weeks ago I finally admitted that after almost two years I was in fact never going to make little marlinspike-sailor-y mats for the steps. I looked at getting the Treadmaster nonskid pieces for steps but ended up with a much more economical (about $1.00 per foot) nonskid adhesive tape from 3M. I cleaned off the steps, then wiped them down with alcohol. I cut the tape into three pieces per step and then took something round and drew rounded corners. I honestly don't remember if it was a cup or what now. I trimmed the corners and then carefully tried to get all the pieces lined up nicely. I actually think it came out well. It feels secure but not abrasive on my bare feet and the pup dog seems to like it. She can definitely go up the stairs by herself but doesn't yet realize it. She still makes me boost her up the first step but I am letting go of her earlier and earlier to try to convince her she can do it on her own. She is still jumping down from the top step which I think is really bad for her shoulders. I need to get someone really good with dogs to help me teach her how to walk down the stairs. I've seen other dogs go up and down them with no problem, so it is all in her head. But that doesn't make it any easier.

I am in the weeds on getting ready to leave. The boat is still a disaster zone but has to be spic and span before my friend staying aboard arrives. I still have gear I need but am nervous about buying anything and being short on funds. I'm hoping I'll have three solid days of work in DC this week, but it does seem like the end is near on the project. I need to upload documents to the cloud, print tickets, just get all the loose ends wrapped up. Still need to nail down my pet back-up people and write a good tome on the care and feeding of my beloved furry crew. But everything is coming together. There is still some work to be completed on my friend's boat when I arrive, but I don't mind the hard work and enjoy the hands-on chance to learn whatever I can on repairs and installations.

My hair has gotten insanely long and the ends are rather dry and frazzled, so with making a little money and working in DC I've been really excited to go get a cut from my fav guy in Georgetown. I haven't had my hair cut since last November in Miami and before that it had been a little over a year. That was the last time I went to my usual guy, Thomas, in DC. I first went to Thomas six or more years ago when I still lived in Miami and came up for a job interview. I wanted a good blow-out and landed in his chair. He's the only hair stylist I've had whom I trusted completely. He knew that I came less and less frequently because I simply didn't have the money to keep my hair up anymore. The last time I saw him he asked if I needed some help with the cut or color but I insisted he needs to make his money, too. But when I got to the counter he'd already comped my whole session (north of $150). I'd bring him butterscotch brownies since he couldn't have anything with nuts or chocolate. He was there with me through a divorce, several silly boys, and a few heartbreaks, including the death of my father. I remember sitting in that chair and joking that the one good thing about being so depressed over losing my father was that I'd lost a ton of weight! Even though I hadn't made it out for a cut, we had messaged on Facebook now and then. I thought about briefly popping back on Facebook to shoot him a note but just went ahead and called the salon to book an appointment for next week so my hair would be refreshed before my big trip. The usual guy at the reception desk answered and I told him I'd like to make an appointment for a cut with Thomas. He paused a second and then "I'm sorry, but..." Oh, great, he moved to some other salon, I thought. Or back to St. Louis. "I'm sorry, but Thomas passed away three months ago. He had advanced pancreatic and liver cancer. He only had a month." Why do the poisonous people have to live so long and the really wonderful people go too soon? The world shined a little brighter because Thomas was in it, and I just hope he knows he's truly missed.

So, I'm still here, they haven't gotten me down yet, and one of these days I'm going to figure out what it means, but the world is my oyster.

go on with your bad selves

Wednesday was tough. I'm not sure why that day decided to be hard on me. Even a year-and-a-half after his death, I have days that it's hard to believe I can't pick up the phone and call my dad. Grief is sneaky that way. Just when you think you're alright, it sneaks up and punches you in the gut. Maybe it's that my birthday is around the corner. Several years back my dad orchestrated having everyone in my family give me a bunny of some kind for my birthday. I had belly-ached to him that everyone sent my mother frog-themed gifts and sent my sister-in-law pig-themed gifts, but despite everyone knowing my fondness of rabbits, no one ever gifted me any. So that birthday was a deluge of bunnies. Those are the things fathers do for their daughters.

Wednesday evening a friend and I went out to see Josh Krajcik. This song hit me harder than usual. (I wish he'd have stuck to originals like this throughout the show; he's so talented he should leave the covers behind).

And although I want to think I am over the floppy-haired sailor guy, I dread running into him. Some friends say I'm not really over him yet. But I think I am, or at least have to believe I am. It is hard feeling that the connection I had thought we had was nothing; feeling we were melting into each other but realizing I was nothing. But do I want back someone who only cut me down and never lifted me up? Absolutely not. I deserve far better.

What I'm definitely not over is wanting a real connection. To be with someone with whom time stands still. To sit down for dinner in the evening and suddenly look at my watch and it's dawn, the whole night slipping by in conversation and lovemaking. Finding that connection won't be easy and may not come along soon. I don't think it's even something you can look for. Those connections are just something you stumble into. Friendship may grow over time, but passionate, romantic love is a spark that is either there or it's not. In a perfect world, friendship will grow, too, and help sustain a relationship when passions are challenged. Am I too uptight because I want sex and intimacy to be aligned? I certainly do not think so. Why would I want to be so vulnerable with someone I don't know or care about (and who doesn't care about me)? I think those who settle for meaningless sex are selling themselves (and the ones they are with) short.

Jenna Marbles' episode on sluts hits the nail on the head. Animals in general may have an imperative to fuck all the time, but humans have the luxury of logic and reasoning that lets us choose monogamy. Sluts can go on with their bad selves, but they shouldn't call me uptight because I value myself and my body more than they value themselves.

Although I am holding out for something meaningful, I still try to be a good wing man and help out my friends who are looking to hook up. While a friend of mine was trying to find sluts to slut around with, I took the hit and distracted a guy who had been interrupting my friend and the girl he was chatting up. It seemed like one of the longest beers of my life and then I excused myself and slipped outside. While having to listen to this schmuck, he endlessly talked about himself, how he's having a 25-year retrospective of his art, how shocking it was that I didn't know who he was, how he goes by "Hitch" but his last name is Hitchcock, "and, yes, I'm related to Alfred." (Not that I had asked or cared.) Wow. Just a tip for the men: don't be that guy. And to top it off, he actually said this: "You live on your sailboat? That is so sexy."

miss you, dad

One year ago today was the last time I spoke with my father. He didn't speak much (unusual for him) and sounded so tired. He didn't sound at all excited for his birthday, two days later. He had the big heart attack the following night. I did not find out until I was about to call him for his birthday and received the call with the news.

Every year has been worse than the last, but this past year, losing my father, has been the worst by far. He was the singular person in my life who was always there for me, always supported me. Beyond childhood lessons about things like gun safety and friendship, he never gave me advice; he just listened--and probably bit his tongue a lot. I got my dad's hazel eyes and amazing ability to be cat furniture.

I didn't think of my dad as a boater; but he was a kayaker, built a beautiful wooden ocean-going kayak, he scubaed, and was involved with his local Power Squadron. But I know he had dreams of being on the water. It is bittersweet that I only have my beloved boat, my first home of my own, because of a little money left behind in his wake. I know he'd be sad to see me heartbroken, but proud of me for undertaking my adventure aboard. A river knife of his has already been put to work aboard and his binoculars will serve me well as I cruise.

I thought of him on my run today in crisp sunshine; he was a jock, a high school and college football and track star, and very supportive of my marathoning. I will have to get back to the rink in the next days for a skate; my favorite picture of me with my dad has always been when he was teaching me to skate in Montana.

He was a great father, deeply loved, and sorely missed.

http://ourwarheroes.org/VietnamWar//wheeler.htm