Tag Archives: Mid-life

Stay the Course!

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A sunny day at the boat today.

January sucks. I had to get that out of my system. I just hate this month with its long darkness. The sense of urgency I feel to get out of here and into someplace with more sunlight can be simply overwhelming at times, causing sleepless nights, irritability, and thoughts of simply walking out the door, getting on the boat we have, and sailing away. So I frequently have to smack myself into thinking more clearly about The Plan. The smacking happens more easily on days like this: filled with sunshine and being on the boat. It’s cold, but at least down here at the marina we can get the benefit of whatever sun is available this time of year.

We’ve been spending a lot of time looking at boats lately and this has led me down the garden path into thinking that we’re closer to leaving than we actually are. Fantasy is really so much more enjoyable than physical reality.  What we really need to be doing is selling Moonrise. So we’ve begun preparing her for sale. This is kindred to a grieving process since boats, as everyone knows, have consciousness and personality. Moonrise is a steady, supportive boat filled with kindness and a sense of adventure. She is upbeat and sincere, and like a good and faithful dog, always wants to please. We have had many years of good times in this worthy boat and being down here at the marina, working on her to get her ready for sale, gives me time to reflect on these times and to be glad I’ve had them. If it were not for Moonrise, I would not even be considering long distance cruising, and she knows it. Moonrise has shown me that it is completely possible to feel safe and secure while on the water, even in nasty weather.

So first, get Moonrise on the market. Concurrently, we need to prepare to rent out our house. This causes yet more of those feelings of grief. It’s hard for me to leave houses. I left houses all the time as I was growing up, a brat with a military father. So I tend to get rather attached to them, and at the same time I resent this attachment. Probably no one except another kid with an upbringing like mine can understand this pathetic and delicate rapprochement. Our house is filled with sweat equity. Every room bears witness to the countless hours we spent making our house the home it is today.

And I cannot even begin to express my dismay at leaving my garden. I have begun to withdraw from the emotion of it in order to continue to move forward with the plan. The huge pond and waterfall I built with my own hands, my koi, raised from tiny babies and protected lovingly from herons and their ilk. The greenhouse Mike insisted I needed and built for me. The garden walls I built, using my own red cement mixer. The berm in the back, built with the cooperation and help of my many gardening friends. My hundreds of lily bulbs. My thousands of dollars worth of rare plants that no one but me can identify. My 30 or so different types of hydrangeas, many of which cannot replaced.  Who will protect my emerging hostas from slugs? Who will know to go up to the witch hazel and sniff the flowers in the dead of winter? Who will know, when the Himalayan lilies bloom again in about 4 years, that this is a rare and wonderful thing?  How will anyone else appreciate these things, much less care for them? If I think too much about it, I will get a little crazy.

So I prepare to walk away from this, because it’s the only way we can move on to the next part of our lives and not get stuck in the same old rut forever, until we die, old and unfulfilled. My worst nightmare. I’d really like to skip over all of this part and just move on to the boat shopping. I tried that and it worked for awhile. But then I remembered that we already have a boat, and a house, and that I’m supposed to be getting these things ready to be released into the universe. So that I, too, can be released.

View of the S/V Annabelle, an old ferry that someone lives on. It's just so cute!

 

Things We Lose. Things We Keep.

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Franny in the Daffodil Rhodie

Tonight we said goodbye to our beautiful Australian Shepherd, Francesca.

At almost sixteen years old, we have been trying to prepare ourselves for this day for the better part of a year with middling success. As other milestones in our lives passed, we all wondered if this would be the last time we would enjoy them with Franny. We marked as small triumphs the days that Francesca saw; Andrew’s return from Europe, Coming home from vacation, this year’s Thanksgiving dinner. Amazingly, Franny slowed but never gave up enjoying her life until this past week, when she could no longer walk under her own power.

Franny and Michael play Tug O War

Franny and Michael play Tug O War

We are grateful that all of us could be with her as our veterinarian gently helped Francesca to die. Andrew, Claire, Melissa and myself were able to stay with Franny for her last breaths; petting her and crying until she was gone. It was as good a death as any of us could hope for; surrounded by those we love and those that love us.

Portrait of an Aussie as a Young Dog

Portrait of an Aussie as a Young Dog

Many of our posts center on our efforts to simplify our lives; to reduce the hold our busy, shore based world has on us as we strive to become full time cruisers. Tonight, our lives are indeed less complicated but we are poorer for what we have lost.

But this is what we keep. Memories of nearly sixteen years, marveling at Francesca’s intelligence, beauty and grace. She has been at the center of our family’s collective life for so long that it is impossible to recount Claire and Andrew’s childhood without her. She was there for Melissa and me when those same children grew up, went to college and had lives of their own.

That is what we keep.

Francesca did what all great dogs do; she made us better people.

Franny and Andrew on Moonrise

Franny and Andrew on Moonrise

Ho Ho……Holy Crap!

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Tis the season, as they say. Sleighbells ring, jingle bells, deck the halls, Santa Claus, and all of that stuff. And the long, dark nights of the year. I’m excited because soon the winter solstice will be upon us and we can celebrate the return of the sun. I’m slighly pagan at this time of year, in spite of my traditional Christian upbringing.

The downside to all this festivity is the decorating. Yes, I certainly DO enjoy beautiful holiday decor, and I enjoy all the pretty lights this time of year. I even smile at the pitiful rooftop santas. But it’s hard to bring a smile to my lips as I’m faced with the sheer number of boxes of Christmas crap that are stored in my attic. I took down 15 boxes of Christmas stuff, collected over the 30 or so years of marriage and two children who loved crafts. I felt like the beast of burden who carried Mary, heavy with child, as I carried each heavy box down the attic stairs and deposited it on the family room floor. At least the donkey could deposit Mary and then rest. At least Mary had Jesus to look forward to after her labors. All I had at the end of my labor was a big mess. And a determination to get rid of half of this stuff.

“Are you getting rid of all your cute little Christmas Village houses?” my neighbor asked. “I don’t know.”, I said. I say this when I am afraid to commit myself to dumping things that I can still visualize being ‘cute’ when set up a certain way. But the ancient and frightening stuffed vintage Santa? Out! The victorian house cookie jar? Gone. I’ve never used a cookie jar in my life. Cookies don’t last long enough in my house to warrant a jar. Any cookie that is going to last that long has to be stuffed into the back of the freezer in a ziploc bag.  Also gone is an entire box of ornaments that I’ve always kept because I bought them when the kids were small, along with a box of ornaments I used when Andrew was too little to be trusted close to a tree with breakable ornaments. I haven’t used them in years, but I always felt like I had to keep them. I’ve decided that rule is silly.

Instead I’ve created a small box for each child to store the precious things they made over the years. Claire’s box will have her little stuffed santa, and the pinecone wise men and wizards. Andrew’s box will have his little clay candle holder, his styrofoam heart with smelly potpourri glued to the outside, and his salt dough dinosaurs in fancy colors.

Those boxes will also contain all of the ornaments I’ve bought the kids over the years so that they would have a box to take with them when they have their own homes. We’ve had a tradition in our family that on Christmas eve each child receives an ornament and a new pair of pajamas. We allowed them to open these two gifts by way of bribing them to sleep late on Christmas morning. Now that they are 19 and 26, I feel sure I can forgo the buying of more ornaments that will mean more to me than to them. I might still consider pajamas, though.

Among the things I’m keeping is my collection of miniature ornaments. I always look forward to these each year. They are made by Hallmark, and I used to buy them every year. I think I can find a place on a sailboat for these little ornaments so that we can have an actual Christmas tree, no matter where we are in the world. I didn’t even consider getting rid of any of them.

The results of my labors are such that I will have maybe 3 or 4 boxes of actual ornaments to go into the attic at the end of the season. Half of my Victorian village made the cut, so I get to have my cake and eat it, too, on that subject. If it’s too much of a pain to set them up and pack them away this year, then they’ll go after the holidays. In all, a fairly rewarding purge, and almost painless.

Update on the furniture situation: thank God for sisters! Between my two sisters, over the Thanksgiving weekend I parted with two chairs, a cabinet, a rug, a desk, a set of china, a silver tea service, and various other bits and pieces, enabling me to move even more stuff into the garage staging area. The great purge continues!