Harts At Sea

Pests in Paradise

Yep. Hate to burst your bubble, but flies, gnats, fruit flies, (shudder) cockroaches, and termites all thrive in the Caribbean. We’ve been lucky/diligent and have had no infestation of cockroaches, flour bugs, or termites.

• All fruit and veggies are washed in vinegar water on deck.
• No cardboard comes on board. Ever.
• No paper flour or sugar bags come on board, either.
• Bay leaves are scattered in all dry good storage areas and placed inside of all dry good containers. (EW has to be careful not to end up with a bay leaf in his cereal. He deals.)
• We have heard about termites swarming to boats, shedding their wings, and crawling aboard. (Enough to give EW nightmares.) So far, no worries.

But many kinds of flies can be a problem.

I dealt with fruit flies in Maine. Setting out bowls of vinegar topped with dish soap and crowing with the little suckers drowned .

Last year, we met Carl and Carrie on s/v/ Sanctuary in Guadeloupe, where there were an uncomfortable number of house flies due to low winds. Carrie is a hoot; smart, funny, fast-talking Florida woman, and very knowledgeable. She also has a great sense of humor, so I was skeptical when she and Carl told us their method for reducing the fly inventory.

“Didn’t y’all see those bags hanging in the restaurants in Luperon?”

“No.”

“Every restaurant does it. They hand small baggies up with water in them – and a penny.”

“Yeaaah?”

“Sure!” And she gave us some story about the flies seeing their reflection and the penny and believing that it was a wasp. Really. We didn’t believe her, but we didn’t like the flies, so after they left that evening I hung up water filled bags all over the boat.

Afterward, I told EW, “If Carrie is pranking on us, I’ll never live it down.” I half expected her to laugh uproariously on her next visit to La Luna, saying, “I knew you’d fall for it!”

She didn’t laugh, but commented that I had taken her advice. I think they worked. Or we moved harbors. Or the wind picked up. We left the bags up, and replaced the ones that leaked with new bags every few months. Carrie came aboard in St. Thomas, and was surprised we still had them up. “There aren’t any flies here.”

“Yes,” I said. “Because the bags are up.”

We’re still not sure it really works, but we rarely have an infestation of house flies. So the bags stay up.

We do have a few house flies, and in St. Martin we’ve had small black flies that don’t bite and aren’t attracted to vinegar. They are attracted to sinks. I hate them. I hate any pest, particularly ones that enjoy both the head sinks and the galley sink. This means war.

These little guys are hard to sneak up on with a normal fly swatter, but we’ve found a secret weapon…..a fly swatter that fries those puppies.

Faster than you can say, “Snap, Crackle, Pop!” I only have to tap counter next to one of those little flies, and the fly will jump up to escape a swatting and fly right into my gizmo. “SNAP!” Every kill is accompanied by a rewarding sound track. Each “Snap!” is usually followed by my crow of delight, “HA! Die you little sucker!”

There may be flies in paradise, but I have a weapon and I know how to use it.

Go ahead, sucker. Make my day.

NOTE: For your information, EW was the first one to accidently zap himself on the finger. By the way he jumped and shouted, I believe we have a formidable weapon. I’ve refrained from trying to fry flies that are sitting on EW’

NOTE 2:  He does not usually smile when armed with this zapper. He usually has a ferocious face and is saying something like, “ DIE, you sucker!”

New to Harts at Sea? I've written a book -- The Harts At Sea Sailing to Windward -- about our first year of cruising, from Maine to Grenada. It's available on Kindle (or Kindle for PC or Kindle for Apple) for only $2.99. No Kindle? You can download Kindle for PC or Kindle for Mac at no cost. 

Say “Goodbye” to Popcorn for Dinner (Mostly)

A few weeks ago, I was delighted to have a chance to talk on the phone with Lynnelle in Dallas and Rhoda in Santa Fe at the same time.  It allowed them to share a laugh at my expense, but I still say they were laughing at an uncharacteristic solution I developed to the problem of meal planning. I told them, “I just created an Excel spreadsheet for meal planning and I think it’s going to help a lot.” Instead of a “Good for you!” or at least an interested “Hmmmm”, I heard silence followed by two of my dear friends laughing at me. With her charming Dallas accent Lynnelle hooted, “Did she say spreadsheet?!”  “Yes!” said Rhoda, “Yes! She did! She said Excel spreadsheet!” and they laughed again.

OK, I admit that this act is not how I normally attack meal planning and provisioning – and that’s the problem! Before we left Maine, I took the wonderful SSCA (Seven Seas Cruising Association) provisioning course by Barbara Theisen. Then I declined to take the time to plan meals before provisioning. I still am not up to planning menus for 30 days. That’s just not going to happen. And when anchored in a harbor among cruisers, I have to be very flexible, as parties happen and frequently involve lots of appetizers and tapas that take us all through the dinner hour. Consequently, I stopped planning meals, and then would have no idea what to serve EW for dinner. He likes popcorn. Still.

While we were in St. Thomas, I reflected on my lack as a provisioner and chef. EW has never complained. Not once. But I know that we had popcorn for dinner many times in Grenada and that really isn’t acceptable to me. I also purchased way too many produce items that were subsequently tossed out after going bad. I needed to get better at this, and decided to tackle the problem while we were in St. Thomas. This is a real issue for many cruisers; after all, we can no longer stop by Beale Street Barbeque in South Portland and grab two bowls of their chili du jour to go – with Cole slaw on the side. Mmmmm. None of us are near our favorite take out option from home, and no one has yet delivered pizza while we are on the hook. Popcorn became the option when I didn’t feel like cooking.

So, if popcorn is the result, what is really the problem? I like to cook (sometimes) and have tons of recipes and cookbooks on board. The challenge is to find a meal I wanted to make for which I had stuff on board. On hot Grenada afternoons,  I would languidly peruse recipe after recipe and think, “No, I don’t have that,” or “This needs to marinate 2hours.” And I would make popcorn.

OK. So, lack of planning is the problem. What was the solution? That Excel spreadsheet. (Laugh if you will, but it’s working for us.) I spent an afternoon going thru my recipes, from cookbooks, cruising cookbooks, my files, and those shared by other cruisers through email. I pulled out twelve recipes that could be considered Quick Meals, and noted what ingredients they needed from my on-board stores and what ingredients were “special’ items, such as fresh veggies, protein, and perhaps a special cheese. On La Luna parmesan cheese is a staple, feta cheese would be a special item. Most of the Twelve Quick Meals only require a salad or some veggies. A few need special fresh veggies, such as broccoli, and chicken. My definition of “Quick” in the Twelve Quick Meals is that I can prepare it in the time it would take for EW to pick up a pizza – about 20-30 minutes.

 

 

My plan is simple, with only two goals:

1. Every day, I will have on board all the ingredients for 3 of the 12 meals.

2. Each recipe must always make at least four servings.

That way, I can participate in a pot luck or have food for unexpected guests – or have left-overs for another meal. By only having three meals, I’m not purchasing too many veggies for the week and there is less waste. We don’t eat out a lot, and try to do so at lunch more than dinner. On days when we eat out at lunch, no dinner meal is required – except a salad, fruit, appetizer or, (OK) popcorn.  I also keep on hand a few items that allow me to make any of my staple five or six appetizers to share at impromptu sundowner parties.

I’ve been using this system for a month or more, and it works. I also added another spreadsheet with 10 not-so-quick meals, such as home made pizza, chicken satay, and fish tacos, and I try to keep stuff on board for two or three of those, as well. When the mood strikes and I’m feeling more creative, I’ll look through my recipes and cookbooks for something else. So far, we aren’t bored with the list and we are eating a lot less popcorn.

As for organizing the recipes, I simply noted on the spreadsheet where I could find each recipe – which page of what cookbook, or which file in the computer, or which of my two three-ring recipe notebooks. (Told you I have a lot of recipes.) I hope to change out the top Quick Twelve Meals every so often as I find other recipes that fit the requirements. in the meantime. We are eating well.

FLASHBACK: EW has never complained about my cooking or popping, although there are meals he would prefer not to eat a second time. Usually we both agree on those. Let me tell you about the first meal I made for him.

We’d been dating for a few weeks and I was already smitten, so I invited him to my tiny apartment for dinner and decided to make Fettuccini Alfredo. I’d never made Fettuccini Alfredo before, but I had a recipe (of course) and figured it would be hard to mess up. Right.

We had wine, I made garlic bread, and salad. The instructions were clear. Once the pasta is done and you pour the cheese on, you must only heat it for a very short while – just until the cheese melts. But the bread wasn’t quite done and I figured I’d better keep the pasta and cheese mixture hot, so it stayed on the burner some minutes after being perfectly done.

Have you ever eaten natural peanut butter – the kind that you have to mix because the oil is separated from the peanut gunk? And have you ever not quite mixed all of the oil in so you have really sticky peanut gunk that refuses to spread? Well, that is roughly the consistency of the Fettuccini Alfredo that I served EW that night. I couldn’t eat it. He kept at it, chewing each mouthful. When I protested that it was inedible, he said, “Hm ----- um ---- n ----“ holding his index finger up for time as he worked on masticating and swallowing the cemented noodle mixture. When he had finally cleared his mouth, he said, “No, it’s fine. It’ wouldn’t taste bad at all if you didn’t have to keep it in your mouth for so long.”

That’s when I knew I wanted to marry this man.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

I am determined to lose weight and get stronger.

Well, on some days I’m determined.

I definitely have to work at being more determined.

Whatev.

When I am determined, I exercise – walk, swim, yoga, or row.

That’s rowing, as in rowing the dinghy, not paddling, as in paddling a kayak. We don’t (yet) have a kayak, so when I want to do some upper body/cardio work, I row our West Marine Inflatable dinghy. Apparently I am the only person in the Caribbean who ever rows an inflatable on purpose. Inflatables are not known for their rowing ability although this West Marine model handles quite well. Except for me, folks row an inflatable only if their motor isn’t working or has been stolen.

There is no negative impact on other cruisers when I walk, swim, or do yoga, but it appears that I cannot row the inflatable without causing angst. So while I like the exercise I get from rowing, it does make me feel guilty.

When we were anchored at Water Island in St. Thomas, I rowed toward Charlotte Amalie some days (orange line), and to the other end of the island on other days (blue line).Usually, I row for about 45 minutes, and I work at rowing faster, and going farther each time. On one ambitious morning I rowed for over 60 minutes, from Water Island to the entrance of Crown Bay Marina. I had to do laundry that morning, and wanted to exercise, so I rowed to shore. (Dashed black line.)

This caused a lot of boaters to veer off course and come to my aid, and that is why I feel guilty when I row. There seems to be no universal sign for “I’m doing this for exercise”, though some women have understood when I put the oars down and move my arms back and forth as if I were running. None of the men get that at all. Still, the women will come alongside and ask, “Are you exercising? So, you’re OK, right?” The men just ask whether I’m OK or offer to help. I will see them catch sight of me and turn abruptly in my direction. Usually I try to stop them and send them on their way, but that has never worked.

If I use the exercise motion, they continue forward. If I move both arms, parallel to the water, crossing them back and forth in front of me, they don’t see that as “no thank you” but as “I need help.” If I wave, they are sure I need help. If I ignore them, they come along side and offer a tow. When I rowed with the laundry, the wind set me close to the main island and away from the anchored boats off of water island. Consequently, every person who stopped to help had to go out of their way to rescue me. I’m so sorry.

I need a kayak. No one every interrupts a kayaker. Kayakers are supposed to paddle. Inflatables are supposed to be powered by outboard motors. Whenever I row, the outboard is attached, prop hoisted out of the water, ready to take over if I get tired or if the wind picks up. Every time I row the dinghy, at least one boat veers off course to offer aid. I’m sorry.

Most recently, I went for a row in Falmouth Harbor Antigua. It had been one of those days. I had plans to write and couldn’t create even one interesting paragraph. I decided to sew, and couldn’t find one necessary book. Once I found it, the article wasn’t as helpful as I had thought it would be. This all seems very trivial, because it is, but it was a windy and stormy day and I wanted to get something done. Anything. So, deep breath. I’ll do a round of yoga. Before leaving Grenada, Gabi had thoughtfully provided us with a 45-minute session on video. That’s just what I needed. Inner peace. I got out my mat and took the laptop on deck and couldn’t hear a word over the wind and Gramps, our rather quiet wind generator.

EW was cheerfully undertaking a myriad of little tasks and listening to music. He was having a productive morning. I had succeeded only at making breakfast and washing the dishes. I hadn’t even been able to complete a Sudoku puzzle. “I’m going for a row,” I declared. EW looked at me with interest. “Now that’s ambitious,” he said.  OK, so it was blowing 20 with gusts to 25. Big whoop. I needed a time out. I needed to find inner peace. I needed to give EW some peace.

He helped me launch the dinghy. I rowed. At first I didn’t get anywhere. In fact, I was immediately reminded of the advertisements for those tiny lap pools with current that keeps you in one place as you swim “laps”. Rowing up wind was like that. But I persevered. Can you see how the wind is blowing my hair forward? It was blowing 20 – 25 knots. The chop doesn’t look as bad here. It sure felt choppy. Our friends Jackie and Chris are anchored nearby and were both on deck to watch my progress. Later, Chris said, “I couldn’t believe you actually made headway in that chop. I wouldn’t want to arm wrestle you!”

I rowed. And sure, enough one of our neighbors jumped into his dinghy and motored over to help me. I tried all of my hand signals, but of course they didn’t help. He was cheerful about it. “Are you really rowing for exercise?” “Well,” I replied, “today I’m rowing for inner peace.” He smiled – sort of – and quickly drove back to his boat. I’m sorry.

I don’t think I rowed for 45 minutes (of course I forgot the watch, that time) but I did set a goal to circle a particular boat before returning to La Luna. As I did, could see a few people on their decks, watching me. Just before reaching La Luna I passed close by a British couple. She smiled, “You don’t need help, right?” Clearly she had been on deck long enough to see me refuse help from the guy in the dinghy. “No, thanks,” I said. I’m fine. Just working seeking inner peace and giving my husband some peace and quiet.” She laughed. At least I made her day.

Boy, are my arms tired.

There’s a joke there. Somewhere.

By the way - please check out my book: Harts at Sea Sailing to Windward, Kindle version available at Amazon for $2.99  

Jaime Likes Chocolate Cake. Good Thing.

One of our cruising friends celebrated her birthday last night.

A few days prior, her husband had dinghied over to a number of boats and invited us to a birthday cocktail party aboard their catamaran, Kookaburra. Inevitably, each invitee asked, “What can we bring?”  It’s a given that we’ll take our own drinks and an app to share. (In the cruising world, “app” is short for appetizer, not application.)

“Do you want me to make a cake?” I asked.

“No thanks,” he said. “Carrie has offered to make the cake.”

Secretly, I heaved a sigh of relief. Birthday cakes aren’t my best thing. I can make an excellent carrot cake, and fortunately that is EW’s absolute favorite. I also can follow Fabio’s instructions for his amazing white cake with fruit. But as for birthday cakes, ask Favorite sometime about the soccer ball cake I tried to make my first year as a stepmom. He was a gracious and kind child.

A day before the birthday, Keith laughingly told us that everyone had offered to make a cake and he almost took them up on it. “Jaime’s favorite breakfast is chocolate cake and Mountain Dew. I bet she’d love having a bunch of chocolate birthday cakes!”

Be careful what you wish for.

On Friday, I called Carrie about something and got her husband Carl on the phone instead. “Are you near Carrie?” I asked. Most of us here in St. Thomas only have one cell phone per couple. You never know who will answer and whether your intended party will be available near the phone. Sort of an “Is this the party to whom I am speaking? <snort>” scenario. (If you don’t get that reference, find someone old enough to have watched Laugh In. Lily Tomlin is a comic genius.)

Back to our story. Carrie was not near Carl. In fact, Carrie was at work. “It’s her day off.” I said. “Usually,” said Carl, “but her schedule got messed up, so she’s working on Friday and Saturday this week.” Hmm. So, being the nice person I am, when we went ashore I intended to ask Carrie whether she wanted me to make Jaime’s birthday cake. I saw Carl first and broached the subject with him. “Bless you!” he said, before I had actually finished making the offer. “I was supposed to make the cake. I hate that.” No worries. I was delighted to help. Carl offered to get me the mix and frosting to me but I said we were going shopping and would pick it up. Chocolate cake, and canned chocolate frosting. Who could mess that up?

Evidently Carl could, before he started. After talking with Carl, I visited for a minute with Carrie at work. When I told her I had offered to make the cake, she tilted her head and said, “Are you sure?” just as I knew she’d do. but she was delighted that I was making the cake. “Bless you.” she said. (Carrie is from the south.) She knew Carl hadn’t made many (any?) cakes and did want a nice one for Jaime’s birthday. She paused, then asked,  “Did Carl tell you what he did?” her Florida accent, making di-id into two indignant syllables.

“No.”

“He ate the frosting!”

I laughed and later that evening when I saw Carl, I asked him how he had planned to provide me with mix and frosting after his crime spree. “I already replaced it,” he said a bit sheepishly. Carl had just finished a week in which he had messed up regarding a dinghy key and had arrived home one night with chocolate candy and an apology for Carrie. It’s not been his week.

So, on Saturday, I baked a cake. I thought long and hard and decided to bravely make it a layered cake, even though it’s hot here and we had to transport it by dinghy. We’d be careful and round layer cakes have such a homey feel, doesn’t don’t they? Sheet cakes are for crowds and boaters. Layer cakes just say “home made” to me – even if they’re from a mix.  I got out my 8” pans, prepared them, mixed up the cake, baked it, cooled the layers, frosted the bottom layer, and broke the top layer in half. Bet you didn’t see that coming. Neither did I.

Damn it!

For some reason (I think EW bought them) we have little tiny wooden skewers, so I tried to use them to hold the top layer together.

No dice.

Then, I tried frosting the whole thing and putting a huge amount of frosting into the crack. Warm frosting, which had actually been sitting in the sun on deck. (Don’t ask.) After that, I watched as the broken half started to slide slowly but inexorably off of the cake. This was not celebration material. Three deep breaths and  I called Carl. “Do you still have that mix and frosting?” He said he did, and without asking for details (smart man) offered to meet me in his dinghy for the hand-off. I made a sheet cake as I should have done the first time. Sheet cakes stay in the pan in which they are baked. No sliding around. It’s a great invention for boaters.

In the meantime, I had this two layer of frosted chocolate mess, so I dumped it into a wooden salad bowl. Figured I take it to Jaime for her post birthday breakfast cake. EW saw it and wanted chocolate. “Go ahead, I said, “spoon up a bowl of it. Just don’t mess it up; I want to give the rest to Jaime.”

He looked at the cake. He looked at me. “How could I mess this up?”

Good point.

So eight of us had cake and ice cream -- some of us had two helpings of cake and ice cream -- and Jaime sent cake home with all who would accept it. She kept the bowl of cake for breakfast this week.

Good thing Jaime really likes chocolate cake. 

 

Here she is at left, licking the candles.

 

At right, she is cleaning out the pan after Keith parceled out left-over cake to the guests.

 

Jaime is my kind of woman.

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday, Jaime! 

 

Have you heard? I’ve written a book, currently available on Amazon as a Kindle ebook, for only $2.99.

In Harts at Sea Sailing to Windward I tell the story of our first year as cruisers. It wasn’t all cake, but it’s still a great lifestyle.

The Dance Classes in My Youth Have Not Paid Off

Step. Together. Slide. Step. Step. Together. Slide. Step.

Miss Marilyn would not be proud.

Neither would my mother. “It’s just a cha-cha rhythm, Barb. Surely, you can do that.”

“Friends don’t let friends clap on One and Three,” Peter Bonta has told me. It seems that I Zumba on One and Three, while everyone else kicks and shakes, and slides and shimmies on Two and Four. I Zumba. Therefore I sweat. Since exercise is the point, then I guess my Saturday mornings have been successful. Wish I didn’t feel like such a dork, though.

Evidently Zumba is big in St. Thomas. We learned from a fellow cruiser that most gyms offer classes, and she attends a class on Tuesdays and Thursdays held in the air-conditioned gym at the University of the Virgin Islands. She also joined me and at least 40 others at the free outdoor class held on Saturdays at Yacht Haven Grand.

It’s a work out in the sun, and in public. Folks walking to work, to shop, or to have coffee, pause and watch this massive group of women (and one man who aborted his jog to join us part way through the class) moving to a Latin or Latin-ish beat. Today, two instructors took turns leading the routines. My favorite song had a western feel – that’s the Wild West – complete with lasso twirling hand motions. I could do that. Back in my youth, square dancing was an option for physical education. Really. But our dances were never led by a slender woman, with bare midriff and jangles tied around her hips (the better to encourage us to shake our boo-tay. Both instructors wore the jangly scarves, the second instructor is to my left in this photo. 

Unlike my dance class days with Miss Marilyn in Dexter Maine – over 40 years ago – Zumba instructors don’t call out steps. They dance and we follow. I can shimmy (a bit), I can Slide. Together. Slide Step – with a little Latin flavor (some), and I can move my arms up, down and to the side. What I can’t do, is put it all together. I looked like a dork. I went left when the rest of the class went right. I got off on the wrong foot. A lot.

But I had a great workout, and a lot of fun. I zumbad. (What is the past tense of zumba?) And I kept hearing all of these voices in my mind:

• Miss Marilyn. “Slide. Together. Slide. Step.” and “Step ball change.”
• My mom – who was a great dancer. She sent me to dance class to help me be more coordinated. It didn’t work. After a couple of years, I switched to the flute. I was able to march in the band and play flute at the same time. Left. Right. Left. Right.
• My band director – "No, Barb, the other left." Oh. That.

(In case you missed it, in the photo above right, I am one of two people facing right. Seriously. The other left!)

At least I was better at zumba than I was in that interpretive dance class in college. “Float across the floor like a leaf. Be the leaf.” Yeah. Right. Evidently leaves don’t giggle. Who knew? Forever Friend Kathy took that class with me, and we can still crack each other up with, “Float across the floor like a leaf”, followed by an eye roll. I wonder if she’s tried zumba. I am sure we shouldn’t be allowed in the same class, as it would be really embarrassing to be separated by the teacher at our age.

I don’t plan to attend Zumba three times a week, but I’ll go to the Saturday classes while we’re here as a way to add some spice and a lot of sweat to my daily exercise. It was fun. Really. Don’t I look as if I were having a good time?

Thanks to Ben from s/v Cricket, who took these photos, and to his wife Pam, who knew she’d end up in the shots and danced next to me anyway. Cruisers are like that.

Songs of Love

In a post on October 17, 2010 "Where did We Go Right?" I introduced you to three of our favorite songs. Here's a recap, with the addition of our fourth favorite song (which is actually our first).

We've enjoyed two Valentine's Day celebrations "at sea" and a lot of water has passed under the hull. Currently, we are at 18.19.054 North and 64.57.563 West, anchored off of Water Island in St. Thomas.

Music has always been a part of our lives together. In fact, our first official date was a B.B. King concert. EW got me to commit to that date when we first met, then wooed me for the three weeks leading up to the concert. During that time, we saw each other every day except for two days when I had business engagements in Augusta.During the second day, I arrived home to change for a reception to find a hand written note from EW. He hadn't the words to convey his feelings, so he wrote out the lyrics of a Martin, Bogan, and Armstrong song, Honey, I'd Do Most Anything For You. Prophetically, one of the lines is "I'd cross that ocean wide." At the time I didn't know he meant with me instead of for me.

Much later, after we moved aboard La Luna, EW picked up a Guy Clark CD and Boats to Build became an instant favorite. I played that CD over and over the year we bought La Luna while I made a new dodger. (A task known as the "Project from Hell".) Still like the song, though. EW sang it with David Jacquet at our public farewell party shortly before we left Maine. David kindly sent him the music for the song, and EW has continued to practice it and played it during many of the Sunday jam sessions in Grenada. 

Here's Guy with Verlon Thompson performing Boats to Build:    

Love that song.  "It's time for a change ..."

Our new song is one written for us by David Jacquet AKA MoJoCaster on Twitter and Mojo Twanger on YouTube. David is a singer, songwriter, and guitar teacher who ran the open mic night after our part at J. P. Thornton's. The next day, David sent us this song:   

Gonna sail around the world, just me and my girl, we'll team up with the winds and the tides and the seas. Don't wait for me. Don't wait for me. When the sun goes down just know that we are smiling.... We're living the life. Me and my wife. 

Wonderful. David isn't a sailor and has no first hand knowledge of our dream, but he got it right in this song -- except for the "we'll fish when we're hungry part", and I can't hold that against him.

Two years before we left Maine, one more song found a place in my heart, Where Did We Go Right? as performed by Jonathan Edwards. Jon hadn't performed this song for a while but I heard it on a CD of his and asked him to sing it for us when he played at Jonathan's in Ogunquit. He has since performed it again when we are in the audience and graciously dedicated it to us. Here he is. 

 

"And what we have is what everybody's trying to find

Peace of mind

In a world turned upside down

Our love keeps spinning around.

And you know it makes me wonder

As the rest run for their lives

Where did we go right?

Where did we go right?"

        Song written by David Loggins and Don Schultz

Somewhere we took a right turn found ourselves heading in a new and adventurous direction. Thank you for following along with us.

 

 

Neighbors and Friends

Still in St. Thomas:  18.20.257 North and 64.55.817 West

New Year’s Day, we were on the hook in Fajardo, and still had things to store from the three days of shopping and provisioning. We also spent a lot of time calling folks back home. Our first call set the tone for the day when we discovered that our former neighbor had passed away that morning. We’d been informed that he was terminally ill and had called to chat with him and his wife. My call was answered by their eldest son who seemed stunned that I called and immediately gave the phone to his mom, who broke the news that “The Boss” had died just a few hours before. We all cried.

During the second year of our married life, EW and I purchased a real “fixer upper” in South Portland. We shared our back border with these neighbors. A chain link fence, with a chain and padlock on the gate, separated our yards. After meeting us, Billy, our next door neighbor told us that he’d grown up playing with the kids who grew up behind us and that their parents still lived in that home. Billy said that the people who had owned our house had put the chain on the gate to keep Billy and our neighbor’s sister and her family from cutting through the yard. EW immediately unpacked the bolt cutters and cut the chain.

It was the best use of bolt cutters I’ve seen. We were welcomed to the neighborhood by those who had lived there for twenty, forty, and sixty years. Our back neighbor’s wife taught me how to be a “Neighbor Lady”, and her husband, The Boss,a retired arborist, taught EW how to fell a limb without getting killed. He was something. For a year or so after we had moved in, EW thought that The Boss didn’t like him. He liked to tweak a person, and was more quick to tease than to praise. He was a worker, with a good sense of humor, who loved dogs, horses, gardening, and his family. He was a good neighbor.

If we needed something, we could ask The Boss. If he thought we needed to know something, The Boss would tell us before we asked. I was painting our new shed one day while EW was upstairs installing new electrical outlets. (I told you this was a fixer upper.) The Boss came by as I was happily putting the paint away. He noted that I had painted only the outside of the shed double doors but he didn’t say a word to me about it. Instead, he walked into the house, calling for EW. Once he found him, he said, “So, Barbara’s done painting the shed.” “That’s good,” said EW. Then The Boss tattled and said, “She only painted the outside of the doors, you know.” EW said, “Well that isn’t good. They’ll warp.”

“Yep,” said The Boss.

So EW left his job and walked with The Boss down the stairs to the yard, where EW informed me that I had to paint the interior of the doors, while The Boss laughed. I laughed, too.

One spring I had bought a gardening book and read an article about how to kill grass when you want to create a flower garden in place of a section of lawn. The article talked about using a sheet of plastic, cut in the shape of the new garden, weighting it down with stones, and leaving it for “a couple of weeks”. The grass will die and something good called nematodes will grow/appear/be created. Since this was a home in Maine, I had a blue poly tarp not being used, so I cut that into the desired shape and held it down with bricks. EW had to mow around it. For weeks. The grass wouldn’t die. Finally, The Boss came over and called me out to the front yard. “What in hell do you think you’re doing here?’ I told him. “You dammed fool! You have to use clear plastic so the sun burns the grass and the grass can’t breathe! This tarp has air holes and you have created a grass greenhouse.” He was right. Under the blue poly tarp, that section of lawn had a thick, green carpet of eight-inch tall grass. EW was not happy. That area was mowed and remained lawn.

The Boss loved both of our dogs, and his dog, Nan, was always welcome on our side of the fence. His wife and I both are snake phobic, so when she was home alone and discovered a snake in the basement, EW disposed of it. When EW was gone and I had a snake in the way of the lawnmower, I called The Boss. He took care of it. We had a row of tall pines between the two houses. The Boss and I hated them, but for years, both his wife and EW didn’t want to cut them down. Finally, one Friday afternoon we all came to agreement: EW would attach the  board to our shed to hold the end of their clothes line, which was currently on one of the trees. And then,the trees could come down. The Boss put the call out, and on Saturday morning, he arrived with three of his sons, who all had climbing gear and chain saws. By evening eight thirty-foot pine trees were down. His sons and daughters are workers, too.

We attended their birthday parties, and they came to our Christmas Eve parties. We shared recipes, stories, horse radish, sour dough starter, sugar, plant cuttings, tomatoes, dog toys, mulch, and work. We laughed a lot. We cried when their nephew died and made baked beans for the wake. They hugged me when my folks died, met EW’s mom, and kept an eye on Favorite when he was home alone.

They were the best of neighbors. In 2002, we sold the house and bought a boat and they sold their house and had one built in the country where The Boss could have some animals. When we visited, we met the chickens and walked the horse pasture, admiring his “stock”.

The Boss was the finest kind of Maine man, quiet, sometimes caustic, who showed his caring by his deeds, not by his words. EW’s favorite story happened a year or so after we had moved into the neighborhood, when EW still thought The Boss didn’t like him. A freak wind storm had broken a huge branch that had fallen onto our kitchen roof. EW was going to stay home from work to dispose of the branch; I was sure he’d be injured in the process. We were standing in the yard, discussing the project, when The Boss strode through the gate. “What in hell are you going to do about that?” he said to EW. “I’m just trying to figure it out now,” EW replied. “Well, I can’t climb anymore, but I’ve got the stuff and I know how to use the ropes. I’ll tell you how to do it,” The Boss stated. And he did. He worked with EW all day, until both tree and EW were safely on the ground. He directed EW every step of the way, and EW began to call him “The Boss.”

On New Year’s Day, we cried, then called Billy to talk with him and to catch up on his life. Then we called other friends and family, because it was that kind of day.

Good-by, Neighbor.

What the Wife Says and What the Husband Hears

There’s an old Gary Larson cartoon that tickled EW and me.  In the first panel, under the title, “What We Say to Dogs”,  the dog owner says, “OK, Ginger, I’ve had it!  You stay out of the garbage. Understand, Ginger? Stay out of the garbage or else!” In the second panel titled, “What They Hear”, we see, “Blah, blah, Ginger, blah, blah, blah, Ginger, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

On a recent evening, I decided that sometimes communication between wife and husband is similar to communication between owner and dog. Yes, I just compared EW to a dog, but I love dogs. They are cuddly, and loyal, fun to have around, and they keep the bed warm. (Not that a warm bed is important to me in the tropics and semi-tropics.) EW is also cuddly, loyal, fun to have around, and he too, (unfortunately down here) keeps the bed warm. But I digress.

When EW talks, I listen, and I respond. Communication is a two-way street and I travel it at warp speed. I can’t tune him out, even if I want to. If EW talks, I listen, and I respond—not always in the way EW expected or in a way that is conducive to effective communication—but I do communicate, dammit!

EW tunes me out. Or, if he is listening to something and decides it doesn’t need a response, he doesn’t respond. On one memorable moment, I said, “Just because I talk a lot doesn’t mean I have nothing to say.” That caused us both to pause and laugh.

Sometimes I want to stand in front of him and wave my hand and say, “Anyone home? Hello?” That isn’t conducive to effective communication, either. That happened on the recent evening in question, and I immediately thought of the Larson cartoon. Fortunately, I didn’t share that thought with him, nor did I get ticked off – because, really, what I was saying may not have been effective communication to begin with. (OK, it was a mini rant that began with “After this, I’m done with (whatever we were talking about) and ended shortly after the sentence that began with “You should…”) Yep. Can we all agree that isn’t effective communication? (And it is sort of reminiscent of the owner’s rant to Ginger.)

EW didn’t call me on it, and he couldn’t argue with me because I was right – in a be-witchy way. (You know what I mean.)  He just went about his business and didn’t respond at all, as if I hadn’t spoken. Since I was doing the dishes and he was shutting the boat for the night we weren’t having a face-to-face, look-into-my-eyes kind of conversation, so I was easy to ignore. Me. Easy to ignore. Go figure.

Two thoughts came to me simultaneously:

One was the Gary Larson cartoon. We’ve had two wonderful dogs and I know they heard “blah, blah, blah, COOKIE”. This felt exactly the same.

The second was, “Oh my gosh. What if ignoring me sometimes is the best thing to do?

That can’t be right. Can it?

If it is right, what if I just ignore some things that he says? Instead of taking umbrage and getting on my high horse, as my mom used to say, what would happen if I just let some things roll off my back with no response? No response and no repercussions or left-over gotcha anger.

If he can do it, I can do it.

What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.

Turn about is fair play.

None of these phrases effectively communicate my real intention here. In fact, they all contain that “gotcha” feeling.  What if I choose to ignore meaningless stuff rather than get defensive and sling back a sharp retort?

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, Barb.”

I’m all over it.

 

NOTE: Both photos above are of Jake and Me. Jake was our second lab. Coffee also enjoyed boats and human beds.

Balance is Good

I admire people who lead a “balanced life”--whatever that may be. I tend to tip the teeter-totter in one direction or another. This past summer, I wrote and played, and wrote about playing. No boat projects were completed. Since we’ve been in St. Thomas I’ve socialized and cleaned. After two weeks of nearly nighty dinners out with friends and family, I’ve focused this week on cleaning the boat. So far I’ve cleaned out the pilot berth area and two shelf-lockers, skewer cleaned the galley, washed and stored clothing items (more on that later), washed the teak walls and the sole (floor) of the boat, cleaned out a number of the galley cupboards, and defrosted the freezer.

This is all good, but not balanced. I’m sure too much cleaning and organizing is bad for a person.  A few months ago I wrote a list for balanced boat maintenance. The idea was to remind me which things needed to be tackled daily, weekly, and monthly. At fifty-five years of age, you’d think I’d know. I do know, but I don’t do and to know and not to do is not to know. I hate that.

So in that wonderful list of accomplished “boathold” tasks, did you see writing anywhere? Neither did I. For a number of days ( A week? Really?)  I haven’t written a thing except lists. This is a pattern for me. When we moved out of the house nearly ten years ago, I went through some boxes of memorabilia from college and from the first few years after graduation. Know what I found? Lists. Lists of things to do, to make, to renovate, to fix, to try, to tour, to purchase, to learn. I found multiple lists, all created a couple of years apart, and none of them had a relationship to any other of them. Some things remained the same, other items appeared, still others were contradictory. Though I never read Shakespeare, or achieved my high school weight, I did accomplish something on each list – but many other things remained a challenge. I think “balance the checkbook” appeared every time.

That isn’t balanced, either.

Know what I purchased last week? A book for lists. I wanted to find filler paper for my small Rollo binders, but that didn’t happen. So I bought a small notebook and used small post-it notes to divide it into categories. (Aren’t your lists categorized?) I currently have five categories:

1. Short-term To Do (This includes weekly groceries.)
2. Long-term To Do (Featuring stuff on the Grenada To-Do list, which I didn’t accomplish because I just wrote and played.)
3. Destination Info
4. Boat Project Blog (Now there’s something that’s long overdue.)
5. Master Shopping/Provision list (We are heading to Puerto Rico after Christmas and I want to make sure I get everything we need that can’t be purchased in the Eastern Caribbean, like short pants for me.)

This is kind of balanced – if I keep it up and include writing 1000 words a day as part of my plan. And if I can hold that writing goal to 1000 words a day. Once I get started, I sometimes don’t stop. Why write one blog post when five are dancing around in my head? Who needs to eat dinner anyway? Can you say “popcorn for suppah”?

One of my recent excuses/challenges is that a part on my Wi-Fi antenna had to be replaced and took two weeks to get here. We have to take the laptop in to Internet cafes for Wi-Fi, and that means we have to transport the laptop in an inflatable-floor dinghy with a floor that doesn’t’ stay inflated. It’s a bit on the damp side. We have a dry bag that accommodates the camera, but not one to fit the laptop. (That item is on the Master Shopping List.) So, I don’t like to take the laptop in, and have been waiting – and not writing.  Not only is that not balanced, it’s just defeatist.

Speaking of not balanced – I’ve been wondering why I have a full clothes locker and nothing to wear. This is why. It seems that I never stored the cold weather clothing after leaving Hampton, Virginia last year. If there ever is a cold (40 degree) day in St. Thomas and south, I’m ready. That’s ridiculous. Our one hanging locker was also full of heavy vests and EW’s favorite L.L. Bean parka. (He would not let it go.) This explains why EW joined me in doing three double loads of laundry today. Now that the winter clothes are clean and dry, we’re compacting them in to vacuum bags and EW is going to find room for them under our bed.

Guess you can take the girl out of Maine, but not without her L.L. Bean sweaters and vests.

I can categorically state that my cleaning frenzy is over. There are still things that need doing, but I’m going to tackle them over a few weeks, write, socialize, do boat projects, and enjoy the islands. I have a plan and I’ve put it on the list. Yeah. That’ll work.

Wishing you balance. If you find the secret, please let me know. It’s time I got the hang of it.

Final Note:  Talking with Carrie, an experienced cruiser, I told her of my cleaning frenzy and about cleaning out my clothes locker. “Guess what I found?” I said. “A heavy sweater?” she replied.

A heavy sweater? One of them? Obviously she’s not from Maine—she’s from Florida. Wait ‘til she sees these photos.

Dingbat in a Dinghy (Blond Jokes Allowed)

We have ordered a new dinghy from West Marine. It’s not likely to be in stock in time for us to get to Puerto Rico, shop, and be back for Christmas, so it will be a New Year’s dinghy. In the meantime, EW has tried twice to repair the new leak in the inflatable floor.

Yesterday, I was not the image of Patience as I waited for the repair to cure so I could go ashore to take photos. In truth, it was time to be off the boat by myself for a bit. EW and I had begun to fall into the old anti-communication habits and we needed a break. He was a bit short with me, I was a bit impatient and short with him, and neither of us was fully listening to the other. That means it’s time for a solo excursion ashore. I was ready.

Well, I thought I was ready.

EW decided that the floor needed more time, and agreed that I could take the dinghy in without the floor. He did ask me to use two area rugs and the yoga mat to protect the bottom of the dinghy (and help to keep me out of the water). So I loaded those into the dinghy, strapped on my camera and jumped aboard. Now that we attach the dinghy safety key to the key for the security locks, I never forget the safety key--without which the motor won’t start—so I jumped in and started her up. EW obligingly untied the dinghy and handed off the line and I headed for shore.

Tum, dee, dum. I’m going to shore. And the motor died. It sputtered, I looked back at it as it stopped and …..  I discovered I’d forgotten to load the gas tank into the dinghy.  Of course it was out because EW had to take everything out in order to remove the floor. I knew that. So, there I was drifting toward sea with no gas, no gas tank, and no oars. The seat is broken and we only have one oar, so why take oars?

Dumb and dumber. I let myself drift (like I had a choice) until the dinghy neared a mooring ball, and then I secured the camera, leaned over the bow, and paddled like hell for the mooring. Having tied on, I waited. A short while later a sailboat came into the mooring field, and I thought they were heading for “my” mooring. I called to them, and they pointed beyond me. The woman called back, “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, please. My motor died and I’d like a tow to our boat.”

Pointing to her companion, she said, "He’ll be over as soon as we tie on.”

They nosed up to a small sailboat on a mooring and the man jumped into the dinghy to attach their boat to that one, leaving two on the mooring. Then he came over to me. Now, it’s telling that I have few photos of this debacle. I know I take a plethora of photos for any of EW’s “adventures”, but the bottom of the dinghy is wet, and it’s bouncy, and I didn’t want to get the new camera out of its safe bag. Imagine an older gentleman in white shirt and white shorts, driving a large, older inflatable. He deftly secures my dinghy painter to the stern of his boat and asks me to point out La Luna. I did and he turned toward my home. No other words passed between us.

As we neared our boat, I called out to EW who appeared in the cockpit. One glance and his face fell. I knew he believed that he’d have to tackle “Another” Project, but I had no intention of easing his mind in the presence of the kind stranger. “What happened?” called EW. The stranger was facing forward , and I was still behind him, so I put my finger to my lips in the “shhh” sign and EW (amazingly) stopped talking. He took my line and we both thanked the nice stranger, who immediately went back to the two boats.

There I was, sitting in a bouncy, damp, bottomless dinghy, and I looked up to EW who was standing on La Luna’s deck. “I forgot the gas tank.”

Once he stopped laughing and could form words, EW said, “You better blog this!”

So I did.

 

If the situation had been reversed, I wouldn’t have let EW out of the dinghy until I’d snapped his photo. Unfortunately for him – but fortunately for me—he doesn’t think like that. (Poor EW.)

 

Here’s a photo of the dinghy taken after I finally made it to shore. Imagine the red gas tank gone, and you’ll see how I set off the first time.