(happy?) holidays

If you don't have a perfect Pottery Barn house and a centerpiece Martha Stewart would be proud of then, well, let's be frank: you're a bad wife, a bad mother, a bad woman, a bad American. Spend, spend, spend! Buy, buy, buy! These are the modern carols of the holidays. Our American (Western?) society is founded upon buying cheap plastic crap from (inhumane, animal-testing, slavers) China and then promptly throwing it in US landfills so we can buy more cheap plastic crap from China. Since this is the only way to fuel our economy now, (because American ingenuity and support of local small businesses is effectively dead), this incessant, addiction-riddled, consumerism has somehow become Patriotic. Yes, it makes me want to vomit.

Society puts ridiculous pressure on us all to buy gifts (I haven't in maybe 5 years) and to put on a perfect holiday. I remember being so poor growing up that we had an enormous box under the tree. Elaborabately decorated. And empty. The note said the box wasn't empty; it was filled with love. Most of the gifts under the tree today aren't filled with love. They are filled with guilt, obligation, and fawning attempts to buy affection.

Despite this rant, I actually love Christmastime. The smell of Douglas Firs, the sparkling lights, decorating the tree, drinking cocoa, hoping for a white Christmas. I still watch classic Rudolph, Grinch, and Charlie Brown Christmas shows if I manage to catch them. But as with most things in life now, I am concerned with the substance, not the appearance. I would rather have fewer friends who are top-notch, focus on quality not quantity in my meals, relationships, and how I spend my time. Things break. Things generate clutter, mentally and physically. Experiences and adventures provide a lifetime of memories. 

On the subject of materialism, but colliding with the soap opera of my life, I headed to the pub for my Thursday night chicken tostados the Thursday before Thanksgiving. I noticed "Dimples" was sitting at the bar and tried to stroll past but he'd spotted me and I got roped into sitting there with him. I don't know what I saw in him other than the dimples but there I was getting lectured for two hours. I'm sure you all know just how much I relish unsolicited advice. (Sigh.) He went on and on about how with all my education I should be on a nice, new 60' sailboat. That I need to go back to a real job and make real money, that even if I only made $150,000 I could at least be paying my bills, my student loans, and get rid of my boat. Although a life in the law is not much of a life worth living in my opinion, I explained it isn't exactly easy to find a legal job these days, and that until you're post-menopausal law firms don't want to hire women because they think you'll immediately go on maternity leave. He looked at me and said I obviously don't have to worry about that anymore. Excuse me? I'm still quite fertile and only a hot 35-year-old who wants a lovechild away from being a mom. 

So, the idiot basically tells me I'm lazy, old, and that my boat is a dilapidated wreck. Not exactly the way to my heart, that's for sure. But gee, Prince Charming said he would help me with "exactly two" things: borrowing his diesel mechanic to look at my starter and getting my boat to a marina for a haul-out. Those two things, he repeated, he would help me with and for those two things I could call him. I was puzzled insofar as I never asked for his help and I'm sure not going to take it from some schmuck making me feel like a charity case. I politely smiled and nodded. He kissed me on the cheek and told me he'd see me later. I walked out the door and deleted every last trace of him from my phone and iPad. I didn't even want to risk sending a drunken text rant or anything. He's a rich guy who only cares about and values shiny new things. Me, my life, my boat, we sparkle from within, but he can't see that. His loss. I texted friends in town to smack me upside the head if I start getting all gooey over Dimples again. I deserve so very much better than the likes of him. Gratefully, one of my best friends in town has been at the pub with me the last few times I saw Dimples there and I simply ignored him and he's ignored me (other than feeling my ass when he walked by on Saturday night, ugh). It sucks to have that awkward feeling at my local watering hole, one that he is new to. But I'll just have to suck it up and not make that mistake again. 

What do I need in a guy? One like this! www.twentyeightfeet.com. (Please watch the beautiful documentary; it's only 8 minutes long and a feast for the eyes and soul.) Floppy hair, check. Jim Morrison curls, check. Young and adventurous. While you're blinded by that chiseled bod, don't forget to notice the great smile. Loves his boat from the bottom of his heart. And has the right ideas about life, money, and what it means to be rich. Yep, my dream guy. Unfortunately for me, that guy has a lovely girlfriend and she's one of those rare white girls who can carry off dreadlocks, so no competing against that. But if he's got a doppelganger, I sure need to meet him and sail off into the sunset. (A big thanks to my friend Chuck who sent me the video; I needed to see that there really are guys like that out there somewhere!)

How did I sell myself so short in life and love? It's hard to explain how demoralizing it is to have literally applied for thousands upon thousands of jobs in the past decade and have had interviews I can count on my fingers and toes. Probably just my fingers. It really tells me I don't have anything to offer that this society wants or values. Admittedly, I don't really like, respect, or value this society. So I guess the feeling is mutual. But I am so underutilized and we all want to feel useful, purposeful. And we all have to eat. I don't need a fancy life. But my pets, who have kept me going through it all, get a fraction of the medical care they should. And their medical care exceeds mine by at least double. I haven't seen a dentist since 2008. It just wears me down sometimes. But I keep on keeping on, because that's what one has to do. If I am anything, it's resilient. But when people ask "How are you?" I want to stop saying "hanging in there," and instead wholeheartedly say "the world is my oyster!"

So, in other news, my engine won't start. I was all ready to head out for a little day cruise, but the starter just buzzes and the engine doesn't even try to cough or strain or anything. My diesel guy came and listened to it and said it's likely the battery is kaput and just not enough juice getting to the starter to even spin it. I protested that my battery monitor says 13.2 volts. He said that is probably only because I'm on the battery charger, hooked to shore power, and if I disconnected the shore power I'd likely see the voltage plummet. Now that I think about it, the voltage has stayed constantly at 13.2 for a while, whereas it used to drain down to 12.4 and then recharge up to 13.4. I still need him to come back and help finish the diagnosis so I can plan accordingly. I have been planning to pull out the two 4Ds (200 pounds each) and replace them with as many (75 pound) golf cart batteries as I can fit, and also replace the starter battery. One problem I won't repeat: prior owners connected the house and start banks, which should be separate. Naturally, I don't have several hundred dollars laying around to buy the new batteries, or the solar panels I wanted to install at the same time so it would all be in sync and happy. OK, I know I just ranted about not wanting things, but I admit batteries are the kind of things I need cluttering up my life. They are things that will help me move forward rather than things that hold me down. There, see how I rationalized that and made it sound very beautiful and philosophical? 

In other boat news, I had a diver out. Sean from Open Water Diving called me back within two hours of my initial call, made it out in less than a week, was very professional, and fairly priced. He also does search and recovery so if you lose a phone overboard in Annapolis, now you know who to call. I will admit that I got his card back when I was working on the fishing charter. He had been cleaning a boat in that marina and was changing out of his wetsuit into street clothes. I walked by and said "whoa, no need to rush putting on that t-shirt." What can I say, we all like youth and beauty. Most guys take their shirt off and you'd beg them to put it back on, so when a guy has a nice physique, it's nice to enjoy the view. I got his card and of course I waited until winter to call him, so alas, no show for me. But trust me, he's more than a pretty face. Very professional and did a great job. In the cold and rain he came out the day before Thanksgiving and cleaned the hull and installed a new zinc. The hull was very dirty, but he said the bottom paint is in good shape and I should be good until July for another cleaning. Bad news was the old zinc was totally gone. But a new one is there now so I'll sleep a little easier. 

Someone on one of the boating forums has a signature line that says "rust never sleeps" and it sure is true. The corrosion is a battle I feel I just can't get ahead of. It just gets overwhelming. All the projects. Not having the money to repair things I know need attention. I love my boat so much and I frequently tell her I'm sorry I haven't done more, done better. She saved my life and I have to return the favor.

home sweet home

Relieved to be back home. The week-long trip to Florida took its toll in excess stress and expense, and especially lack of sleep. My home may be small and cluttered, but it is my little kingdom. Leaving the pets aboard while I was gone was entirely too stressful, so the next time I have to make a trip I think they will have to be boarded somewhere, as much as I hate to move them around.

Here are some photos and notes from the Florida Keys trip.

Relay Team Van 1 members in Key West

Here I am at Mile Marker 0

I did very little shopping on the trip because the budget has crashed and burned. But I did buy these little mementos, as well as a Conch Republic deck of cards. I couldn't pass up the 7 Mile Bridge shotglass since that was my last, hardest, but fastest leg of the race.

The one thing I wanted to do in the Keys was snorkel. During my years in Miami I snorkeled often, whether in a swimming pool, Elliot Key, Key Largo, Marathon and Duck Key, Looe Key, the Bahamas, or Barbados. I wanted to head out to Looe Key but the dive shop I booked with did not get enough people for a morning snorkel trip. I prefer morning to afternoon for snorkeling and knew the weather would be getting rougher, so I scrambled to find an alternative. I ended up rushing to downtown Key West by cab to make a catamaran snorkel cruise. It only offered an hour of snorkeling, but I figured that would be better than nothing.

I've never been a strong swimmer, but got generally comfortable snorkeling and always preferred to be without a flotation vest, but they are often required on commercial snorkel trips. I never dive below the surface, content to float along above all the action below. While the 70-degree water temperature may sound warm to northerners, I couldn't really imagine comfortably swimming in less than 75-degree water, and 80 is much better. I knew I would need several minutes adjusting to the cold water before attempting to snorkel, and just getting used to it again since I hadn't snorkeled in several years. I had mostly been spoiled going out on days the sea was glassy, but I remembered a couple of trips with little waves and how sore one gets from having to swim in those conditions. It was pretty choppy on this trip and I had a feeling I wouldn't want to be in the water long. I made the mistake of turning my back to the breaking waves and one broke over my snorkel--so I got a mouth full of seawater when I was expecting air. I choked and panicked. As would be my luck, it was the one hot guy on the cruise that was nearby to save me. So humiliating. I never want guys to see me as a damsel in distress; I want them to see me for the strong, independent girl I usually am. He and a girl with him tried to calm me down and helped me get back to the catamaran. I put air in my flotation vest and was going to try using a noodle float, but getting continually bounced around by the waves just wasn't fun. I opted to enjoy taking sun on the deck and getting a little cruise. At least I am comfortable aboard; several folks around me were complaining about being seasick.

My view taking sun on deck

I am loathe to swim in the murky Chesapeake, but will have to force myself to get in the water and get comfortable with my snorkel and fins again. I also need to practice holding my breath and swimming under water. If I get caught up in crab pots and foul my propeller, I don't have anyone else to come save me, so I'll have to learn to do it for myself. But I'll still be looking forward to someday being back in the clear Bahamian waters for a pleasant snorkel watching colorful fishes--hopefully sans sharks and barracuda.

The night before the snorkel cruise our group went out and about in Key West. One of my friends had had enough to drink that we could convince her to get a henna tattoo, and we were waiting there for her to get it done. Rather than stand on the crowded sidewalk I wandered into the little t-shirt shop to kill time. I was quickly confronted by a store employee asking if I needed help. I explained I wasn't really shopping and just waiting on my friend getting tattooed. As we stood there chatting, (okay, I'll admit here he was really cute, and I don't usually go for blondes), somewhere in the conversation my being from Annapolis came up and he mentioned stopping in Annapolis recently when sailing his boat down from New York. Naturally, my eyes lit up and I told him I'm a liveaboard. He looked so familiar that I wouldn't be at all surprised if he stopped into Davis' Pub in Eastport and I had been checking him out there. I belly-ached a bit about the travails of winter aboard and he encouraged me to sail down to Key West right now. I balked that the weather window is long past, but he brushed off that notion. Even if the weather cooperated, I don't have the resources to sail away yet. But I said I'd likely be down there in the fall and listened intently as he described the costs and amenities for living aboard in Key West. He had moved ashore, but advised that many liveaboards in Key West do not sail and are only aboard because they cannot afford an apartment there. Apparently, actively sailing liveaboards are more likely to be found up in Marathon. When I needed to get going with my group I introduced myself and got his name, but he said he wouldn't be there anymore by the time I arrive if I wait until fall. He's heading off to meet his brother in Nicaragua and make a circumnavigation. I should have told him that although the oceans are big, it's a very small world; you never know when you'll meet again in some nearby or far-off anchorage.

Seeing that there are other floppy-haired sailor guys out there was good for me. "The" floppy-haired sailor guy has utterly blown me off after knowingly, recklessly, and purposefully making me fall in love with him. But he cut me down more than he ever lifted me up. I am so thankful I did not cave in to some of his requests since all those sweet nothings were apparently...nothing. He occasionally proclaimed that he cared about me, but actions speak louder than words. I would never treat someone I cared about the way he treated me, and even someone I lacked or lost interest in would have been treated with respect. I can count on one hand the men, (well, perhaps all were and are boys...), whom I have loved romantically. My love is a rare thing the floppy-haired sailor was a fool to squander. But such is life. The heart wants what it wants, often without rhyme or reason. Although I am heartbroken, I know I deserve better and someday I will find my partner to raft up with. The challenge is that I don't think I could be with someone land-locked but the sailors may always sail away.

Key West was in our rearview and the last three of our running group headed for Miami. Along the way we stopped at Bahia Honda beach where I attempted to rescue a Portguese-Man-O-War left stranded on the beach. I had photos of it, but the lens on my phone's camera had some schmutz on it that left all those photos blurred. We then stopped at Robbie's in Islamorada. We browsed the little stands with art, clothes, and knick-knacks. Had a drink at the waterside bar. Fed the tarpon.

Great egret

My new flip-flops

Rachel fed the tarpon

Great egret

The pelicans were very pushy

Great egret; gracefully perched

Me and Rachel at Robbie's