It's a New Year, 2015 to Be Exact

2015 has arrived and as is usual for this time of year, I have a cob stuck in my butt because of something that was said to me.  Last year I wrote about the same kind of incident, and you can read about it here.  

Why this time of year?  Well, maybe it has to do with some unfathomable, unexplored, or undiscovered, physiological flaw in my genome. I was born on the fifth of January and it always seems, at least to me, I get overly sensitive each year around this time.  Perhaps I arrived in this world kicking and screaming to such a degree that I have to deal with the remnants, or fallout from the trauma on an annual cycle, like a form of annual déjà vu. (think Bill Murray in Ground Hog Day) But now it gets translated by my psyche into introspection, rather than physical discomfort.   Whatever the case may be for my rumination; my thoughts cogitate until I find a suitable release. Lucky for me I get to regurgitate my feelings by heaving up my thoughts in text, and you, unfortunate reader, must suffer through, or move on to the next blog.

So what has caused me to bury my conscious mind in thought?  It's not all that heavy; I was simply asked if I had made any "new year's resolutions".  I know right?  That should not translate into a stumbling block of sorts, and it wasn't at the time.  I answered the simple question with a straight forward response and said I was going to drink less, or eat less red meat, or give up some other pleasure that isn't good for me.  (When I told Janet Lee about this incident she called my resolutions dim-witted because: "A.) you can only give up pleasurable vices at Lent, and B.) you don't even follow iconic western religious doctrine because your not Catholic, Lutheran, Methodist, or evangelical".  (She has such a great way with words.)  That should have been the end of the whole shebang, but because it is still January, and not Easter, I am sitting at my desk trying to get my thoughts transcribed before I find myself perpetually stuck in the labyrinth. 

I am not a Buddhist but I find the Buddhist concept of viewing reality as it is, and not as it appears to be, very alluring.  In other words being truly present in life.   To do so one must give up all notions of the past and future.  The past is irrelevant, except as a source of experience, and the future has yet to unfold. Frankly it will never unfold because it is always yet to occur.  The future is for all practical purposes make believe, or as a friend of mine would argue, useful fiction.  The only usefulness of the future (and the past for that matter) comes when we start to measure time.   The very second future becomes reality; it no longer exists, because it can't exist in any other form (other than the future).  Preparation for the future by western standards however, is not necessarily a bad thing as long as one doesn't use the future to escape the present.  The goal is to stay focused on the present.  Here is an example.  

It is winter in Texas.    Although not as cold as some parts of the country, winter still means colder temperatures.    Being focused on the present, in this case, means recognizing the environmental change and living with the change. Wearing clothes suitable for colder temperatures and not pretending we can still wear clothes we wore at other times of the year.  Focus on the present and understand what the present represents.

So what does this prologue have to do with New Years Resolutions?  Simply this: A resolution made at New Years, or for New Years, no longer exists.  It symbolizes an escape from the present because to change that which we wish to change requires future action, and that can't happen.   It's a prescription for disaster unless you do it now.  Right now, this very second now. Now, now, now.  You get the idea.  So dear reader, time to show up and be present, stay in the present, because that is all there is.

Thanks for listening.  Peace out.

It's Been Awhile, By H. Michael

                                                                      Internet Photo

Occasionally time gets all fuddled up and Adventure Us 2 seems to always come out on the short end.  In part, attribution can be ascribed to our complicated lifestyles.  It seems forever a challenge to carve out enough personal time to get it all accomplished.  The month of November alone found us getting re-acquainted with the Twisted Sisters motorcycle ride on hunter's weekend in Bandera, diving in Cozumel for a long weekend, and hosting the mother of all garage sales to liquidate our possessions prior to closing on our house.  Not to mention three (3) birthdays and Thanksgiving thrown in for texture.  By the way, we closed on our house the very next Friday after our garage sale.  (Yea that’s right, we are officially homeless.) We did this all while still feeding the job monster for, what is normally, a forty (40) hour work week.  If truth be told, on average, we actually spend over fifty (50) hours with commute times added.  JL invests closer to sixty hours taking care of her work habit.  Please understand I’m not offering this as an excuse, or even, as Janet Lee believes, a cheap attempt to get some sympathy, and compassion flowing in my direction. 

                                     Janet Lees photos of Bandera

The truth of the matter is I have always admired people with the ability to work a full time job, spend time hunting and gathering, work on their boat, play with the kids, tend to the livestock, paint the house, go to the moon, and still find time to write a blog.  I occasionally read a blog and the author does all of the above and has twins under one (1) year old, and another young daughter under four (4).  Jeez. Where does she get the time?  

Previously I mentioned that we sold our house and we are now officially one crucial step closer to living the dream.  Janet Lee and I have been working toward this moment for the last five years, so don’t wake me yet.  I want to bask triumphantly in the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment, oh I don’t know, for at least the next five years.  We still have an eight (8) by eight (8) storage locker and an SUV that is functioning more like a closet than a car, but at least we have cleared the major hurdle.  Now if I can just get JL to realize she doesn't need thirty pairs of shoes; we’ll be on our way.

This is only JL's  boot collection.

Observations After Living On Board for 60 Days

We moved on board Adventure Us 2 almost sixty (60) days ago.  It shouldn't be a big surprise to the folks that know us because we have been methodically working towards the goal for over four (4) years.   Prior to the move, I worried that our lives would change in a way I could not completely wrap my mind around.  I was worried the modification to our lives would amount to a whole lot of trouble in paradise.  Change after all is when something is made different from what it would be if left alone.   We were comfortable, and happy in our surroundings, so why mess it up?  You can change your clothes, change your shoes, change your address, change your mind, and even change a prince into a toad.  But what if the new shoes don't fit?  What if the new clothes are the wrong color? What if my Michael starts ingesting bugs?  Uncertainty was churning in the deep waters inside my bladder soul.  It turns out, at least so far, I fretted for nothing.

I am extremely happy that my Michael hasn't started eating bugs, and as a bonus we don't seem to be bumping into each other more than usual because we have most everything organized, even our morning routine.   We both have showered on the boat, but both of us prefer the bath house about two hundred (200) feet down the covered dock. So far the early morning walk, 5:30 am to be exact, is very pleasant but the weather has not turned cold.  Final judgment will have to wait until I become a member of the polar bear club. 

We usually amble down the dock before the ducks, egrets, and herons are awake.  The first morning I woke up earlier than Michael and headed for my shower.  I discovered a pissed off duck can make a whole lot of noise, scare the crap out of you, and leave behind gobs of poo.  When I told my Michael what happened he said he knew something scared me because he had to dodge the evidence I left behind all the way down the dock.    I'm pretty sure duckzilla lives on our dock.                                             

              

duckzilla 

One adjustment we have had to make has to do with preparing dinner in our galley. Our home had a nice size workable kitchen. Counter space went on for miles, with a large island, a four (4 ) burner gas stove top, microwave, large double sink, and a seventy-two (72) cubic foot side by side refrigerator freezer.  Michael and I worked together in preparing our meals with plenty of room to enjoy each others company and make messes.  

before

                                                                           

      after

Now my Michael won't even let me in the galley to help him.  He keeps telling me to go sit down and look pretty.  That's too easy.  I'm more the hands on type.  My cooking job when we were on terra firma was to cut up all the vegetables.  I can't wait to get my hands on him a sharp knife and fresh veggies, but first I have to find a big cutting board to fit over the sink, or perhaps on the salon table.   The other evening while preparing dinner, I utilized the companion way steps as a work space.  That seemed to work, but I still need a custom made cutting board.  Now if I can only remember where I put my Michael's to do list.

A lot of galleys have top opening refrigeration systems, and the top doubles as counter space so an organized plan is paramount.  If not, you have to keep moving things off the counter to retrieve more stuff from the fridge. We are fortunate to have a front and top loading refrigerator with a shelf dividing the two areas.  When stocking the fridge we try to keep frequently used items in the lower section with the front door, but we keep in mind the coldest section is at the bottom.  Needless to say my vodka likes the bottom section.

Cleanup after dinner is easy.  Since there is no where to put dirty dishes, everything gets cleaned and put away as we go.

Our house has just recently been placed on the market, so we still have the best of both worlds.   We have access to our  washer and dryer, a walk in closet , (we both still have jobs) and a garage for one of our cars, motorcycle, and tools.  In just 60 days, we have made numerous trips to the boat with "stuff" and within a few days, we take  the same "stuff" back, because we can't find a place on the boat to stash it.  It's been a back and forth journey, but we are getting closer.  Once we have all our necessary items on the boat, if something new comes aboard; something will have to leave.  We are very thankful that only three (3) miles separate the house and the boat.

Views between the house and the boat.            

                                                                                

                         Galveston Bay                        

In the evenings I was accustomed to throwing in a load of wash, taking care of the garden and plants, mixing a cocktail and preparing dinner.  After dinner we would sit and enjoy our favorite sitcom,  Animal Planet, or Nat Geo.   Now that we are on Adventure US 2, we don't have a TV, but we have more time.   After dinner we retire to the cockpit with sundowners to watch the sunset and spend time talking, and planning our future sailing off into the sunrise.
                                                                            

 Michael chillaxing 

Storage, or lack there of, has probably been my most difficult adjustment so far.  I keep hearing, "Your Morgan has so much storage space".  I'm either missing something, or I just don't get it yet.   Michael had some cabinets built in the salon, v birth, and under the companion way steps to supplement our existing storage.  That seems to help, but it is a big transition from a twenty-four hundred (2400) square foot house with two (2) car garage.
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Janet Lee's Photos   

After a few weeks on board, we decided to utilize the v-berth for short term storage and make the forward head my clothes closet. (Remember, we still have our day jobs so clothing and shoes are very important.)   We removed the Nature's Head (we really don't need it until we cut the dock lines)  and purchased a shower curtain rod and placed it where the toilet was.   We located the rod above the towel rack and toilet paper holder for support so the rod would not come crashing to the floor.   I have hooks on the inside of two doors, one for the dirty laundry bag and the other for my bags.  The floor is for my shoes.  Michael added a few shelves to the existing storage for his clothes, but keeps saying he is giving up clothes when he retires.  I can't wait for his retirement.      

I am still at a loss when it comes to the stuff I carry with me back and forth to work.    With all the kitchen counter space we had at the house, I would just put my stuff at the end of the counter and I was good till morning.  Now I don't have counter space, and don't like the cluttered feeling with it laying around.

Thank God we still have the house for our laundry.   The thought of sitting in a laundry room in the heat of the summer is not in the least bit tantalizing to me.  I don't know how this has happened but since we have lived on the boat, it seems we don't have quite as much laundry so lugging dirty clothes back to the house is not a big deal.  Once the house is sold, we, and I do mean WE, will be going on field trips to the laundry facility in our marina.    
                                                             
So far our hearts appear to be in sync as we reach for the final chapter in our five year quest. Once the house sells; we will set in motion the final push through the last transitional phase to become full time live aboards.  It is the phase where we get rid of the remnants of our old land locked lives.   No more extra closet space, no more garage, no more laundry facility, and no more cable TV.  Someone said you can't teach an old dog new tricks?  I think I have taught my Michael a lot about my needs in just a short period, and as long as the blender makes it to the boat, all is good.       
                                                      

Internet Photo

My next challenge...How to convince Michael we need a TV on board.

                                                                 

WHAT? NO GARAGE? by Janet Lee

Contract signed.  CHECK
Climate controlled storage secured.   CHECK
Bubble wrap, packing tape, and boxes purchased.   CHECK
Run ad for estate sale.   CHECK

                             
After almost 5 years of dreaming, and planning our future, we are finally moving aboard the boat we purchased two and a half years ago.  The closing of our house on terra firma is still several weeks away, but we have started packing up items that will either make the transition onto the boat, or end up in our eight foot, by eight foot storage space.  Every thing else is for sale.  

We are certainly not pioneers when it comes to downsizing and moving onto a boat.  Many before us have given up their lives on land to pursue dreams of sailing the world in search of new experiences and adventures.  When we are I am having trouble imagining our current lives reduced to roughly five hundred and seventy cubic feet of storage and four hundred square feet of living space; we I turn to the experts.  I read their sailing blogs and sometimes I communicate directly with boats that are already out there living the lifestyle. Their stories are inspirational, and their opinions and advise help to reinforce our endeavors.  Knowing others have made a successful transition makes us me more comfortable with the concept.  We are I am actually beginning to feel the experience of downsizing may even prove to be liberating. 

I know that once Seabrook Marina becomes our home address, uncertainty will dissipate and confusion will give way to a new and different mind set.  However, I am anticipating the first weeks living aboard will be outright chaos.   One example is our morning routine.  It will need to be changed to minimize the lack of space and to take advantage of the space we do have.  We are used to showering in shifts, and using various accouterments in shifts, in the same bathroom.  That will no longer be possible.  Fortunately we have two heads, and very comfortable bathrooms, complete with shower facilities, at the end of the dock.  I can use the forward head for my makeup counter, and H. Michael claims he will streak the dock each morning, but where do I hang towels to dry?  Where will we keep our dirty clothes? There isn't a dishwasher on board to put our dirty coffee mugs.  Yikes!

As we I work through the next few months weeks I will keep the sound of distant steel drums, the warmth of the sun on our tanned bodies, powder-soft sand under our feet, clear turquoise water, and the gentle breeze blowing through our dreads hair in my mind.   Oh, and let's not forget  the rum!

                                                     

Time Passes On

There is nothing we can do about the passing of time.  The clock just keeps ticking no matter how desperate we become trying to slow it's pace.  Recently I told a young adolescent kid an acquaintance I was about to attend my 45th class reunion.  He looked at me with that 'deer-in-the-headlight' look and said, "I wasn't even a twinkle in my parents eyes when you graduated from high school!"  

internet photo

Gee thanks for the reminder.  Once the initial shock passed; I thought "Did that little smart ass actually just say that to me?"  But he wasn't finished.  His brain cells continued to fire in rapid succession and he realized that I was alive 18 years before graduating from high school... "so that makes you even older than rope!"  he said.  WHACK!  I hope the bruise heals soon.  Needless to say he learned the hard way not to talk about a women's age while she has a big ass umbrella in her possession.  

My Michael and I graduated from high school in the same year.  We went to Dallas for his 45th reunion last month.  I did not know a soul other than my Michael, his best friend John, and a friend Michael introduced me to on Facebook, Lynne.  I actually had a great time.  People would walk up to me; read my name tag and look at me with a perplexed look on their face. "Do I know you?"  they would inquire.  After several honest answers, I decided to be a bit creative and have a little fun! 

   

internet photo

I told  one dude that I remembered him but he probably wouldn't remember me because my name in high school was Jack, but 20 years ago I changed my name to Janet Lee after my sex change operation.   Upon inquiry from another guy I told him I weighed 300 pounds in high school, but ten years ago I lost 175 pounds after having gastric by pass surgery.  Being the honest person that I am, and feeling uncomfortable setting them into a downhill spiral towards shock, I would fess up and inform them I was just kidding.   

Last week it was my turn.  I  travelled  back to Greensburg, Pa. to attend my 45th reunion.  Why do we go to these reunions?  Do we go to brag about our accomplishments?  Do we go to re-connect with friends and 'share secrets' from our past?  Or is it to re-experience the feelings of youth, immortality, and to remember the dreams and confidence that we once had? In high school the world was our oyster.  We had our whole life in front of us, and we felt as though we could truly accomplish most anything in life! 

We really shouldn't get all weird about growing older.  After all, the alternative is not so great!  Our age is merely the number of years the world has been enjoying us!

In the big picture, it's all good.  We are all here on this side of the dirt looking at each other saying, "Who are all these old people?"

internet photo

Greensburg Salem Class of '69

Photo by Janet Lee

And a great time was had by all!

It's All About Vanity, by Janet Lee

I know that trying to decide which items we should have on Adventure US 2 will be trial and error.  Not having the convenience of items we are used to in our every day lives will be an adjustment for the both of us, and just might cause me to have a mini-meltdown. 

                                                   internet photo

Lately, I have been asking myself:  'do I need, or do I want' to have a particular item on board?  It doesn't matter, at this point, which item.  It could be any item.

In Michael's case, he will have difficult decisions regarding which tools should make the cut.   Obviously, commonly used tools will need to be on the boat, and probably more than one or two of them, incase one is dropped over board, or one breaks.  Presently, he has many, yes many,  small, blue zippered bags that hold an assortment of useful tools.   The problem for me is all the little, bags look alike!   I suggested we I purchase a silver sharpie and mark each bag with it's contents so if I am sent to retrieve an item, as his gopher, I won't waste 15 minutes on a search and find mission just for a simple flat head.  I'm not sure he appreciates how pretty I can make his tool bags look by adding some real nice frilly calligraphy.

 internet photo

Now, my case is a little different because I am woman and I want need a few items that will aid in keeping what I call my 'vanity sanity'.  A flat iron and a hair dryer will be two of my most important items, along with the obvious; mascara and lip gloss.  I don't have curly thick hair to deal with so a powerful hair dryer is not necessary.   I was blessed with fine, straight hair, and I think I could get by with a 12 volt hair dryer and 12 volt curling iron.  (Is there such a thing as a 12 volt curling iron, or hair dryer?)   My hair can dry in the sun and breeze in less than 5 minutes, but it will dry flat and straight.  A hair dryer will help give my hair height and fluff, and the flat iron will help add bounce.   Yes, I know it will probably be hot and humid, but there is something to be said about trying to look better.  Even if the results of the attempt do not last, I will feel prettier.  And remember, I am woman and when I feel prettier; H Michael everyone is happier!  

                                                 internet clip art              

 Of course maybe I could just buy another hat or two!

photo by H. Michael

Thanks Mom, by H. Michael

When I was a young boy of eleven or twelve growing up in a suburb of Salt Lake City, I decided I wanted to make some money while school was out on break for the summer.  Utah is very popular with fisherman and it was easy for a young kid to make some cash catering to those using earthworms, or as we referred to them: night crawlers, for bait.   I suppose worms were called night crawlers because one had to hunt them at night when it was cool, and the grass was damp from watering or rain. 
I embarked on my scheme to sell worms by first making a place to put them once I caught them.  I recall building a box, open on the top and bottom, about six inches deep, from scrap lumber.  There wasn’t a need for a bottom because I put the box on concrete in the breeze way of our carport.  I filled the four foot, by four foot box with dirt and peat moss from the flower beds around the house and I was set to begin hunting for worms.

On most nights that summer my mom would take me to Riverside Park after the sun had set to hunt down, and take into custody, the creepy crawlers.  We would find an area in the park that had the right amount of moisture in the soil and begin our hunt.  We both would crawl on our hands and knees with a flashlight and tin can, sweeping our flashlights back and forth, until a night crawler was spotted stretched out on the grass.  Concentration was necessary in order to sneak up on the worm because it seemed like they could sense they were being stalked, and if we weren't careful, dart back down their hole.   Cautiously we would reach out and try to grab the dirty buggers.  With practice we learned if we could get our fingers on it, before it completely disappeared; we could usually get it out of the hole in one piece.  But, oh what a mighty battle it was. 

 

We would labor on our hands and knees on the wet grass well into the night.   My mother would crawl in her preferred direction, and I would crawl in mine.  Occasionally, I would look up from my single minded task and just watch my mother.  She would be at least fifty yards away, in the pitch dark night, with her flashlight casting a glow on the ground in front of her, pinching night crawlers off the grass, and depositing them in her can.   Only a mother would help a young boy on summer nights catch fish bait.

 

I have seen more than fifty summers come and go since I sold worms to fisherman.  Becoming wealthy was never part of the equation because that summer night crawlers sold for about 25 to 35 cents a dozen.  I have come to realize the real wealth I made that summer is the deposit in my memory of my mother, with dirt caked on her palms, and muddy knees, whooping and hollering with joy because she won another battle with a worm.

Thanks mom!