Author Archives: Melissa

Sailors Make it to the Top of Arthur’s Seat

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On our last full day in Edinburgh we wanted to do something that would really allow us to remember our time here; some activity that would leave a lasting, if not permanent, impression on us. It was time to climb to the top of Arthur’s Seat. From that bold face of rock overlooking all of Edinburgh and the sea beyond, with the wind whipping my hair into foam,  I made a startling discovery.

I am shatteringly out of shape.

823 Ft. high. The tiny dots at the top are human people.

The climb to the top of Arthur’s seat is steep and long and rocky. Though I started out with the proverbial spring in the old step, by halfway up, I was seriously questioning my choice of venue for the day.  It’s time like these that I begin to sing little songs in my head. Yes, this is a window into what keeps me going when the going gets tough.

St. Anthony’s Chapel ruin, a nice rest stop before the long slog.

“One day (step) at a time, Sweet Jesus,…that’s all I’m asking from you”.  At times of stress my religious upbringing is likely to rear its head, this time along with a vague memory of an ancient family love of country music. Like many people who have left organized religion well behind them, I am apt to call on the Lord God Almighty when I have questioned my own human willingness to punish myself for having a body. I mean, who else is going to listen to me complain? Also that song has a good rhythm that helps a woman on the downhill side of middle age continue to put one foot up in front of the other.

Looking closely you may be able to see the dun colored Edinburgh Castle in the distance, in the center right area.

Seriously, walking the sidewalks of Tacoma is not the same thing as walking a vertical trail. Who knew? Well, I did, but I forgot. That’s probably best. Had I remembered how hard it is to defy the gravitational pull of earth and rise above it, I would have stayed home.

“I am woman, hear me roar…”. Almost to the top, my legs had their own version of this song called “I am jelly, hear me snore.” I was so very tempted to entitle this post, “Almost-Pensioner Makes it to the Top of Arthur’s Seat and then Takes Nap”, but that was too many words.

Palace of Holyroodhouse, with Holyrood Abbey in the center foreground.

Of course, we made it to the top. Because failure is not an option once begun. Hey, I think that attitude’s pretty much how we find ourselves with a big sailboat, getting ready to set sail.

We got our wish. This hike made a lasting impression on our souls, and even on our hips and knees. Enjoy the spectacular view. We certainly did.

We just need sheep here.

 

They Did a Wedding!

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We have a day of rest today. This is a good thing to have in the middle of a long trip. We need a day when nothing is planned, when we are not in a hurry; a day when we can stay in the flat and drink enough water because we aren’t worried about the location of public facilities. 

So far this Scotland trip has been a resounding success. The first part of our trip was focused on Claire and Dan’s wedding and reception, and with doing ‘tourist’ activities with my sister and her family, Andrew and Jill, and my mom and her husband. We are staying in the Portobello Beach area of Edinburgh, just a quick bus ride down to the old city and its museums, cathedrals, and other sites. It’s a family vacation like no other we’ve ever had before and although many times it seems like getting us all together is a bit like herding recalcitrant cats, it’s all good and seems a fitting way to begin our new life of travel and exploration.

The wedding and reception were stunning and perfect. I had a moment of disbelief at how life’s events unfold as I was sitting in the little taxi with Claire and her best friend, Lesley, on the way to the Lothian Chambers for the ceremony. I had to pause and look around, and just say out loud, “Wow! I am riding in a tiny taxi down cobbled streets of a beautiful ancient city, dressed in wedding finery, with my daughter who is getting married to a Scottish man. How is this my life?”. I tell you I had a moment there.

Claire’s new family of Scots. Dad Andrew, brother Chris and his girlfriend Ciara, Mum Hazel, and there’s new husband Daniel on the end.

As I post this, family celebrations are coming to a close. Claire and Dan are preparing to come back to the states for part of the summer. Sister Amy, mom, and their gang return to Washington on Sunday. Andrew and Jill left yesterday and landed in a flat on Hyde Park in London. They will spend a few days there, then go on to Paris for a few days.

Mike and I are almost on to part two of the Scottish vacation. We will take our rental car on a grand tour and make a big circle going north, then through the Cairngorm montains and across to the west coast. We plan to go across to the Isle of Lewis and then end our trip back at Glasgow where we started. We have no plans, no reservations. We’ll just be doing a road trip the old fashioned way, going wherever the spirit moves us. Will we have to sleep in our car? Who knows? Ok, probably not because we tried setting it up like that and Mercedes does not make their little SUV’s for sleeping. Too bad. 

Right now our boat life seems far away and a little like a completely different life. We might have to go down to a marina to remember who we are.

I Am Not A Monster!

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I knew we had a problem in the aft cabin. Our bed is crazy comfortable, I gave up on ‘special’ sheets cut to fit the mattresses, and never looked back. We figured out where to put the laundry basket. Both of us have barely enough room for our clothing, And by ‘both of us’ I mean me. Mike has plenty of room because he basically has one pair of shorts that I practically forced him to buy. All of these potential issues had been dealt with and were behind us. But still, a major problem was brewing; a problem I thought I had solved earlier in the day, a problem I believed I had successfully avoided. I was wrong.

One of our new paper charts of the Sea of Cortex.

I was in the head doing my evening ablutions, a routine that has actually grown more complex with moving onto the boat while simultaneouly discovering (because of our Claire)  Korean skin care products.  So many steps to smooth, younger looking skin. Interesting aside, my hair routine has decreased well past what I used to accomplish in grade school. I have no excuse. Anyway, I  finished up the final greasing and stepped into the cabin. Mike was cozy on his side of the bed already.

In the dusky cabin light he looked up at me, love (I thought) in his eyes, and took my hand, pulling me over. I thought to my self, ‘OH, he knows how hard this day was, being my last day of work and all. He’s going to be extra lovey tonight. Such a sweet man. He turned his dear face up to mine, pulled me down, and whispered in my ear,

“You are a terrible, horrible person.”.  Whatt???? Startled I pull back. I was alarmed!  We don’t do that kind of stuff in the bedroom. We’re middle aged, for god’s sake!

Confused, I look around, feeling guilty for absolutely no reason at all! I mean it! I had done nothing!  “What? Why? Why am I a terrible, horrible person? Uh uh… I’m not!”

“Nine pairs!  You have NINE PAIRS OF SHOES!”

UH. OH. I was afraid he’d notice that. This stupid living on the sailboat thing. There is just NO privacy! Whose idea was this, anyway?

“Well, let me explain. Yes, it’s true there are nine pair of SANDALs in my new shoe rack. But technically, those are ‘sandals’, not ‘shoes’. My actual shoes are stored somewhere else.  I’m just getting USED to the idea of getting rid of more of them and I’ve had most of them for a long, long time, and you know how I feel about special shoes, and, well, I’m always worried that my feet will hurt and that I will not have enough arch support. Plus the shoes I’m wearing lately I won’t even be able to take with me because I’ve worn them so much they actually have a HOLE in the toe! A HOLE! In the TOE! I will have to throw out my lovely Coach black calf skin driving moccasins with the grippy soles that I can actually wear comfortably with no socks. ”

No response. He just looked at me, limpid blue steel peering up from the depths of his pillow. I had not reached his cold, closed heart and he was still clutching my hand most willfully. My distraction had fallen on the ice of his resolve. Hateful man. Wicked. Had he no pity left? I tried again.

Sigh. “Yes, I know. Just give me a couple of days to figure out which ones need to be executed. The J-41s with the Jeep Tough soles and the strappy velcro straps? One of the TWO pair of identical Teva sandals that I’ve walked miles in already? They know my feet so well! The slide on Sketchers, which, while not even a brand I particularly like, are comfortable and look decent with a sundress? The Nike flip flops with the cushy sole so soft you don’t even know you’re wearing them? Finally a pair of flip flops that don’t hurt between my toes! You see, I know them all personally and they’ve cared for my feet so well. It’s hard. I’m sure I can find some to kill, I mean, throw into the trash to be compacted and wasted and add to the growing problem with garbage in this country. ”

His eyes narrowed to slits. He gripped my hand painfully.

I knew what the real problem was. It was jealously. You see, I had created these cool little niches in which to stack sandals upright, using the spaces created by the ladder against the bulkhead in the aft cabin. (It’s impossible to use that ladder. It is narrow and goes straight up. You need the adrenaline of an actual emergency to use it. For that purpose, it will continue to serve.) He wanted one of those spaces, and I willingly, out of the generousness of my heart, gave it to him for his shoes.

There were only two problems with this. First, he has only 4 pair of footwear, two of which he will absolutely never, ever wear in Mexico. They are leather, and they are hot. These are Pacific Northwest shoes.

So that leaves one pair of sandals, which I remember I almost forced him to buy by constantly bringing up the fact that he had no sandals and pointing out to him how hot his feet will be. Obviously! And he has one pair of canvas boat shoes. Again, these will not only be hot, I predict they will begin to smell, meaning no way will they see storage in the aft cabin.

 

There’s room for a third pocket below. I may find shoes I love in Mexico. You never know.

I’ve been stockpiling Mexico sandals for years in ANTICIPATION of needing them.  I call that good planning. Other people can use whatever words they want to. Sure people in Mexico wear sandals and I could buy some there. But WHAT KIND? Hmmm? Do they have the kind I like? Yeah! I don’t know! And you don’t know either, mister. There are some things we just don’t leave to chance, and those things are shoes!

Second, Mike’s shoes are too big for the space. They do not fit! Is it my fault that he has long, thin man feet, not short, small little cute feet whose shoes fit perfectly into a small niche created with fabric? I mean, this clears out the shoe cubby under the drawers,  mostly for him. You’d think he’d be grateful!

Would you call your wife a terrible, horrible human being because of shoes? Well, if you would, you guys can just get together and cry into your beer together. I’ll get rid of more shoes when I’m danged ready. I’ll be ready on Sunday. That’s right. I will get rid of more on Sunday if I feel like it. I’ll let you know.