Yikes!

I can hardly tell you all how amazed (appalled, and astonished) I am to see that my last post here was ALMOST A YEAR AGO. And except for some change in the photos, I could probably publish the same blog today, and it would seem timely. No wonder I'm depressed. So no, I'm not here to announce that the boat is finished, or to invite you to the big splash party. I am only here to to tell you that we haven't given up yet. But Lord, it is taking forever, and we are working hard every day and the explanation for why we are not finished yet is beyond me, except to say that one thing is leading to another, almost every day, and not in a good way. For example, I opened up the little floorboard door (Bob isn't around right now, so you're just going to have to settle for my cute, non-nautical names for everything)-- to clean and paint the bilge. And noticed, while prepping this area, a certain amount of rotten wood at the floor joist, under the door jamb opening into the forward head. So I started picking at it, and (one thing leading to another) a week later the entire wood support under the shower in the head had been ripped out, and Bob was happily cutting the 37 (I exaggerate not, see the photo) intricately fitted pieces of wood needed (in his estimation) to replace everything rotting in that area. So now, a month later, after the painstaking reconstruction, that whole area is sound and dry, as opposed to soft and rotten, but sadly, since it was all hidden to begin with, it doesn't look any different than it ever did. It feels better, when you step on the floorboards, but an observation like that takes a certain amount of experience.

So I told you that to tell you this. I am going to copy and paste here something I wrote this morning, in my journal. It's a rant, un-edited. Also, I'll add a few photos to show you that the outside of the boat is pretty much finished, which is saying a lot, considering all we had to do (re-read the explanation of the deck carnage in the last post if you've forgotten). The inside is another story. But here is the journal entry. "Rudy" is what I call Bob, for those of you who don't know. There aren't three of us here. Though maybe that would help.

PS. I know this is going to be a long post and I'm sorry about that. But take your time--if everything continues the way it has been, you have almost a year to read it!

September 26, 2011

Okay. It was hard to get up this morning, and even harder once my brain cleared and I realized how depressed I actually am. Gotta just live through this, I guess. Follow David's advice and “keep working.” Yesterday I managed to glue together with contact cement two layers of 1/4" foam and one of vinyl, to approximate 1/2” foam-backed vinyl, which we do not have. I am going to attach this concoction via white caulking glue (maybe liquid nails? not sure) to the ceiling of what we have decided will be Rudy's closet (the big one in the master berth), which was not even going to have foam on the ceiling, but through my mistakes (which I attribute to the small working space I have carved out for myself in the master berth, on the bed, where I could not unfold enough of the vinyl and lay it flat, so I cut it folded, which turns out to not always work so well, when you're cutting long thin pieces of stuff-- it tends to take on a new trajectory at the fold line, but I really don't understand why, still) so I pick up the sentence here and say that since I have ruined enough of the vinyl that we had inherited with the boat so that we can no longer do the larger area we had intended to cover with this stuff, now, there will be vinyl on the ceiling of Rudy's closet (a smaller space), which he is happy about, because he says it will cut down on condensation. But there will only be vinyl IF, and it's a big IF, I can manage to get this newly-created contraption (of two layers of foam and one of vinyl) to defy gravity and stick to his ceiling and look decent, something I have not managed yet, in four separate attempts, three in the forward head, and one in Kai's berth. I have ripped crappy-looking crap down from these ceilings three times so far (we have decided to leave the blue stretch in the forward head intact, since it is something nobody will ever see, anyway, unless they're really really looking, in which case, screw 'em) but no wonder, really, because in each case I have been working with either inferior materials that I have to jury-rig, or something experimental that we've bought in a failed attempt to simulate actual foam-backed vinyl, which we didn't have. No wonder I'm depressed. Also, though, while I'm complaining, I would like to lynch the old man that made the video for Sailrite, in which he blithely sprays a section of a boat which is ON A WALL, NOT AN INTERIOR CEILING OF A STORAGE AREA, THEREFORE EASY TO GET TO, EASY TO MEASURE, EASY TO SPRAY, and applies a piece of vinyl, which of course sticks, and shows no wrinkles. I could do that too. I'd like to see him contort himself about 50 times total, in only two directions (more would be yoga, and therefore could be construed as good), measuring repeatedly, and here is the big problem on a boat: the section I worked with yesterday was approximately 19 inches wide by 25 long, BUT IT WAS NOT A RECTANGLE. OH NO, IT WAS SOME SORT OF DISTORTED MARINE PARALLELOGRAM, OR RHOMBUS OR SOMETHING. NOT A SQUARE CORNER TO BE HAD, IN THIS CLOSET OR ANYWHERE ELSE ON THIS BOAT, IN MY EXPERIENCE. Okay, I'll take the caps off. But caps on IS kind of good therapy. So yeah, the measuring is, how you say, “impossible.”  Rudy makes CARDBOARD patterns for everything he does. I doubt you know how hard it is to make cardboard patterns, especially beginning with the fact that every pair of scissors we have on this boat is crapped up in some way, starting out, initially, with the fact that they're cheap and poorly made (if they cost over $2, I don't buy them) and then going on to the fact that they are called on to cut fiberglass (while they're still new and sort of sharp) and small bits of epoxy, both of which quickly render them useless for cutting anything as tough as cardboard by anyone BUT my patient, persevering husband. So no, I don't make cardboard patterns. I mostly try to hold the vinyl upside down and get a ball park idea of whether it's going to fit or not, and hack bits off here and there if it's too big, and then, when I get worried that I might be hacking off too much, seeing that I'm only able to hold it up in two spots, and there are an infinite number of spots, I call Rudy and make him come and help me, wherein we will hold it up in four spots and he will get cranky, because he hates these kind of what-the-hell, let's-just-hack-it-off-here kind of measurements, and believes I should have made a cardboard pattern, which I didn't even finish telling you how hard THAT is to do, because I didn't get past the scissors. Oh Lord, my brain does this sometimes, and it's really cruel: it just flipped to a scene that I have lived in the past, this time one where I am following a waiter to our table in a restaurant. But also this time, the memory takes place, inexplicably, in a Red Lobster, a chain which I view with a jaundiced eye. I mean, they DO have carpeting, which I think is essential for a really nice feel in a good restaurant, but I think maybe the carpeting is often red?-- is that possible?? -- and I KNOW that in my experience it has almost always been dirty. So that little brain-vacation, a term I've never used before, but which I like, is a weird one. Maybe it's saying that even dinner in a Red Lobster would be better than what I've been living through these days, and with that, I would, without any hesitation, agree. (All apologies to people all over the world who are in truly dire circumstances, the nature of which I will not enumerate, since it will only make me more depressed and will not help them one bit.)

I just killed a tiny ant on my arm, which journeyed there from the floor, I'm sure. Well, of course it did, ants don't fly. But I saw a batch of them yesterday, ALL OVER a plastic sour cream container that I had sitting by the (trailer) door, ready to go to the boat and be used as a mixing container, and the funny thing is I THOUGHT THE DAMN THING WAS CLEAN. I MEAN, I WASHED IT IN THE SINK WITH THE REST OF THE DISHES, EVEN HAD THE HOT WATER HEATER TURNED ON, SO IT WAS EVEN WASHED WITH HOT WATER, RIGHT?? Apparently, though, it was not clean. Thus the hundred or so tiny ants all over it, feasting on whatever invisible substance had been left there. Allowing for the possibility that we pick up one of these containers, at the boat now, weeks later, and blithely wipe out a little dust on the inside with a paper towel, and think we're being extra-special careful by doing that, and then we pour in $25 worth of epoxy, parts one and two, and mix them together (with a NEW stir stick, not one of the ten million old ones that are hanging around, waiting to get used a second or even a third time), and we WONDER WHY THE EPOXY IS NOT MIXING RIGHT, OR HARDENING UP, OR WHATEVER. OR WORSE, WHY THIS PIECE OF WOOD WE GLUED ON WITH EPOXY A MONTH AGO IS CURLING UP AND USELESS AND WILL HAVE TO BE BLASTED OUT WITH FOUR HOURS OF DRILLING. And it's all because (here come the caps again) SUZY DID NOT GET THE SOUR CREAM CONTAINER REALLY, REALLY, (LIKE THE NEW MIXING CONTAINERS OTHER PEOPLE BUY AND USE EXPRESSLY FOR THE PURPOSE OF MIXING EPOXY) CLEAN!

Okay, I'm done with that. Here come the photos:

Trio, circa 2007

Trio recently, all striped and painted and tied down for the hurricane.

Starboard deck, before.

Starboard deck now, all closed up and Awl-gripped and Kiwi-gripped.

Now the bad stuff: the electrical control panel, BEFORE

The control panel, a few days ago. Bob is rewiring the boat. Can you tell?

 

My galley, before.

My galley, a few days ago. Bob is building in several appliances. Also, re-wiring the boat. Did I mention that? He is, as one friend said, "not afraid of work."

So that's it for now. I will let you all know when the splash party is. Should be in a year or two, right? Save the date, and all that. xoxo Suzy

Press Conference October 28, 2010

Following is a transcript of my recent press conference. In the interests of time, I thought I might let it stand in for a blog entry.

Susan: Welcome. I guess we all know why we’re here. Interest in our life, Bob’s and mine, has swelled to unmanageable proportions, lately, and I felt the need to address some questions and perhaps clarify some misconceptions. Let’s get right to it. Yes-- (she points at the cutest male reporter in the room).
(Cute reporter): Do you think you’ll ever get that boat done?
Susan: This is the question we’re asked nearly every day, by folks at the grocery store, people touring the boatyard, even strangers on the street. We get bags full of mail weekly, and every one of them is full of letters and postcards with nothing on them but this question.
(Cute reporter): Well…?
Susan: The assumption under which we operate is that we will get the boat done. We do not know when. My latest personal assessment is that it will be finished in the Spring. Bob thinks we can finish it sooner, but between you and me, he is not known for his ability to estimate how long stuff is going to take. Yes. (she points to another reporter)
He: You say the boat will be finished “in the Spring.” Would that be this coming Spring, or the Spring of 2012?
Susan: I’m going to ignore that.
Female Reporter: Didn’t you say, at your last press conference, that the boat would be finished by Christmas? (Simultaneous shouted question) Is it true that you told your neighbor, who lives in the trailer nearest you, to shoot you if you were still there in November?
Susan: One at a time, please! I may have said something to the effect that we would be finished by Christmas. As far as the neighbor thing, I was reminded of that a couple of weeks ago. But he’s out of town right now, and anyway, it’s still October.
Reporter: Is this the hardest thing you've ever done?
Susan: No.
Reporter: Is it the hardest thing you’ve ever done that you don’t feel you can complain about?
Susan: Absolutely. Our life today is in many ways the result of our choices. Therefore complaining about it is awkward, at best.
Reporter: Is the condition of the boat your choice?
Susan: No, as a matter of fact, it’s not. When we bought the boat, we had no idea that there was ANY wet wood or delamination (fiberglass separated from its wood core). We paid a lot of money for an expert to examine the boat very carefully. He photographed the boat with something called infra-ray thermography, which turns out to be a great tool for discovering rot on boats if you know how to use it. He apparently didn’t know how to use it. We discovered a soft spot in the deck, which is the first indication of wet wood, about 6 months after we bought the boat. It’s pretty much been downhill since then.
Reporter: Can you describe the process you go through to fix the boat?
Susan: Yes, I can. Simply put, the decks of the boat are like a fiberglass sandwich, with fiberglass being the bread. We remove the top layer of fiberglass, take out the rotten wood that is in there, replace it with new wood and close it back up again.
Reporter: That sounds like a pretty simple process. How come it’s taking you so long?
Susan: What if I tell you that it involves about 25 different tools and 7 different
materials to do what I made sound so simple? Also, we cut the decks in about 2-foot
sections, and there are approximately 88 feet of decks. Plus cabin-top. Plus some interior walls that have had to be replaced, one of which included a corner that was the intersection of about 8 different angles. In a way, we are completely rebuilding this boat, in the midst of its own continuing deterioration. It feels like ¾ of a step forward, ½ a step backwards every day.

Reporter: Do you find it embarrassing that you’re still working on the boat?
Susan: Yes, in a way, I do. We never thought it would take this long, and it’s very hard to explain it or justify it. On the other hand, the boatyard is full of boats that people planned to “fix up”. For the most part, those boats end up abandoned. Even if we give up one day, I’m proud of us for persevering this long.
Another Reporter: Do you see "the light at the end of the tunnel"?
Susan: We thought we saw it a few times, but it turns out it was just the reflection of our worklight on the little mirror we use to dig out wet wood from places you can’t see straight on.
Reporter: Do you ever feel like quitting?
Susan: Just about every day.
Reporter: If you had known how long it was going to take, would you still have started this process?
Susan: The answer to that question isn’t easy. Of course if we’d known the condition of the boat, originally, we would not have bought it. But owning the boat as we do, we would have had to put up with leaking portholes, ceilings, trim, and the decks getting more and more unsafe—not for simply walking on, but for taking the stress of sailing. As time went on, the condition and value of the boat would have continued to deteriorate. But still, I think there’s a chance we would have been able to learn to live with all that. It’s hard to say. We’ve had to learn to look at this huge delay in our plans as part of life—by that I mean be happy, despite the fact that we’re living in this nasty old trailer, and working our butts off every day purely as the result of some negligent actions on the part of the surveyor and the original owner, and some mistakes of our own as well. Such is life, right? The trick has been to not look at it like “the adventure begins the day we put the boat in the water,” but more like “the adventure begins today.”
Reporter: Does every day feel like an adventure then?
Susan: No. But most days do. We’ve walked off the edge of a cliff. Even the falling is an adventure. (There is silence in the room)
Reporter: Care to finish that metaphor?
Susan: Just a little cliff. Just sliding down a short slope. A nice green lawn at the bottom. Hopefully we won’t have to mow it.
Reporter: Have you ever thought of mailing a bag of wet wood to the guy who surveyed your boat?
Susan: Why yes, as a matter of fact, I have. I haven’t done it yet, but I might. I would mail a similar bag to the previous owner, who did some very clever painting and staining on the interior of the boat, or we would have been able to see there were water intrusion problems. It’s too bad we aren’t all playing by the same rules. Bob and I would not be able to hide or lie about the condition of something we were going to sell. We’re in line for tickets to the world where nobody does that kind of thing.
Reporter: Can you update us on your friend who needed a kidney transplant?
Susan: Yes. She still needs one. Call me or e-mail me if you’re even the smallest bit interested in donating, and I can give you a contact name at The University of Pennsylvania. Or go online yourself at www.pennmedicine.org/transplant, for info, then email stephanie.neal@uphs.upenn.edu.
Reporter: Is it true that you don’t actually like sailing?
Susan: I’m sorry, I see that we’re out of time! Thank you all for coming, and be sure to pick up copies of the photos I’ve supplied.

 Above: "Before": One little cupboard, with stainless steel pieces that support the mast.

And the same cupboard, today. What doesn't show in the photo, and is clearly not yet "finished," is the stuff in the lower corner, pictured below. I have no idea what it is. Ach.

May 25, 2010

Well, I’ve been sick all week, which has been a real pain in the ass, but if sickness ever comes at a good time, then this past week, for me, was that. A time to stay in bed, re-read Salinger, drink tea-- I recommend Lemon Zinger, with plenty of fresh lemon and some sorghum syrup from Elroy, if you can get your hands on it. Here is our life to date, in bullet points:

• My kidney-needing friend has had to switch doctors, and institutions, in an effort to find her new kidney. Both her brother and I were rejected by the original doctor, for reasons that nine out of ten doctors agree are bogus. Her brother, being the first choice, is now up at bat again (the lineup having been run through once already). So if you’re one of the people worrying about me and this donation, hold on to that thought for awhile. Or better yet, put it aside. Meanwhile, send your best thoughts and/or prayers (or both!) my friend’s way.

•  Kai graduated May 14, from NC State. Yippee! Not that we ever had any doubts, but the reality is nice all the same. As is the reality of an actual job, which awaits him at Duke Energy in Charlotte. He’s planning to work a few years, pay off debts, save up some money, then go back to school (not necessarily NC State) for his Master’s. For the occasion of my child’s college graduation, I treated myself to a manicure, a pedicure, and some new clothes. I was happy until I saw the photo the waitress took of us at the lunch after graduation—somehow I don’t show up as the beauty queen I thought I was at the time. Or even the handsome matron. As a matter of fact, I think I looked better last winter in my pink Snugli, or Shruggie, or whatever that thing was called. So I include, instead, a very sweet photo of Kai.

• Kalliope (Boat #2) is sold, and gone, as of this past weekend. We actually signed a contract with her new owners two months ago, but the process has dragged out some (okay, a lot, or as a friend called it the other night, “torturously”). The new owners wanted a heating/AC system installed, which Bob did for them, beautifully, carefully, s-l-o-w-l-y, over a period of many months, it seemed at the time, though it turned out to be just the two. Here she leaves the slip at Holden Beach for the last time, under her new name, Alethea.

Here’s what owning Kalliope taught us: We like living on a sailboat, though some of us are still not completely sold on the idea of “sailing.” We prefer the layout of Trio (Boat #1) to that of Kalliope. And we enjoyed, on Kalliope, the solidity, the cleanliness, the feeling that there were no unknowns—no places you just didn’t want to think about. Trio has many of these places. Trio needs a lot of work. Her decks are, to put it nicely, rotten. Replacing them is, for the most part, how we’ve been occupying our time for the past several months, before, after and in between working on Kalliope.

Working on Trio is like remodeling an old house. The window is leaking, so you check the sill. It’s rotten. You try to remove it to replace it, but in the process you break a window pane. The window was old anyway, and not very energy-efficient, so why not go ahead and put in a new one? But when you finally get the frame pried out from the wall, you smell a funny smell. You dig around a little in the wall and discover that a family of flying squirrels has been living there, together with a snake, three turtles and seventeen ducks, because the wall actually opens, without a barrier of any kind, you now realize, into what appears to be a huge sinkhole in your back yard-- (where did that come from??)-- one with black, mucky edges on all sides except the side where someone has started a trash dump, and set some old tires on fire, and chained up some really scary-looking dogs….

But it’s okay. We like working together, for the most part, though there are days when the blend could be better. When you have a work force of two, half of which is looking at every aspect of every job in peaceful contemplation of how to make it better, and the other half is sighing, rolling its eyes and asking questions like “Can we just get on with it??” you’re bound to have some rough moments.

So the goal is to get the boat in good shape (all decks replaced, all hitherto unexplored spaces explored, all equipment installed and functioning well) and in the water by the end of October, or maybe November. Christmas at the latest. Really. At the very latest.

Have a great summer. I’ll keep you posted!

January 24, 2010

I hate to leave you all hanging so long that you forget the story line here, or worse, cease to care. But I will nevertheless try to keep this one short. We’re still living in the trailer from hell, but, two days ago, the old rusted don’t-even-think-about-what-microbes-are-living-in-it window heat-a/c unit died, in a loud and violent way, and instead of saying “Tough nuggies, isn’t it obvious we’re never putting a dime into that place?” the owners kindly allowed us to purchase and install a new unit, in return for which we will not pay rent for a few months. Now we have nice clean air to breathe, we can hear each other talk when the heat is turned on, and it doesn’t cost us a small fortune to keep the place hovering around 60 degrees. I’ve been wearing an average of 5 layers of clothing, top and bottom, and I want you to take that into consideration when you view the photo of me in the newest fashion rage—pink Snuggie, avec scarf at neck and waist. I have a pink tam too, which matches the Snuggie as though they were designed by the same French Fashion House, but I rarely have to wear that any more, inside.

I still have two kidneys. My friend is recovering right now from surgery to remove the cadaver kidney that has been kindly keeping her blood clean for the past 15 years. It had gotten exhausted and stopped working about 6 months ago, having lasted about 3 years longer than the usual donated cadaver kidney but, in its death throes, had begun putting out chemicals that were making my friend very sick. So it had to come out. She’s on anti-rejection drugs now, in preparation for my kidney which, as soon as I get finished with the last two of the seven thousand tests I’ve had done, I’ll be happy to give her. Here’s a picture of us as little girls. When this photo was taken, we’d already been friends for about 4 years.

What else? Kai is enjoying his last semester of school at NC State-- designing electrical-type projects in lab, and training for road races with the Cycling Club. Bob is still working on our friends’ boat—here’s a photo of the railing he built on their deck. I help him when he needs it, otherwise I write, bake cookies or bread, my new (renewed) fun thing to do to keep me awake at night and make this trailer feel like home. I walk on the beach nearly every day, sun or rain, cool or cold. It’s free, it’s different every day, and it's always, to me anyway, astoundingly beautiful.Trio still awaits our attention, and we still need to sell Kalliope. If you have any sailing friends, give them this link! www.kalliopechallenger40.webs.com

We’re fine, we’re happy, we hope you all are as well. We'd love to hear from you! Suzy

Okay, we went to the wedding. The bride was truly beautiful; her Dad (our friend) was, to us, a shockingly insignificant part of the goings-on, though in fact he had a very normal part, as far as normal weddings go; and—drum roll, please—there was no dancing. Well, I take that back. There was one song while the bride and groom danced in a little space in front of the cake. Then there was a snippet of a song while the groom danced with his grandmother, and another snippet while the bride danced with her Dad. That was pretty much it, and like most aspects of most weddings these days, all of it was done for the benefit of the photographer. As Bob said, weddings any more feel like you’ve happened by the set of a TV show, not invited or anything, just kind of peeking in around the edges. I suppose it all looks great in the album afterwards.

The really funny/unfortunate part of this particular wedding was that there were two rooms at the reception, separated by French doors in the corners of both. The end result was that, in one room, there was a wedding reception going on, and in the other (ours) there was something like a church social, with a few random strangers (Bob and I) thrown in. Nothing wedding-like ever happened in our room; the bride never set foot in it, nor did the groom. The only saving grace to our room was that the bar was located in one corner, and every once in a while an emissary from the wedding party would be sent through to get drinks. Then you could gawk at them. The funniest moment came mid-evening, when the wedding coordinator came to the French doors, clapped her hands for attention in our room and then admonished us, as though we were a group of unruly children: “Be quiet! The bride is cutting the cake! Then you can all have some dessert!” And maybe even funnier than that, to me anyway, is the fact that we never got any cake. The cake was abandoned as soon as the first symbolic cuts were photographed, and sat there, inert, for a half hour or so, at which time we finally gave up and left. It occurred to us, as we drove home, that there had possibly been a master plan all along: wait out the B-Room people until they all get bored and go home, then fold up the tables, roll up the rugs and…dance!

I have a dilemma today

Saturday November 14

I have three more tests to “pass,” before the kidney donation can become a reality. One is a chest X-ray, about which I am, perhaps naively, not worried. The second is a CT scan, to make sure I actually have two kidneys (See? You can pass all these tests with only one kidney!) and also exactly how they are situated in my body, prior to “harvesting” the smaller one. Creepy, I know. So far I’ve passed, in addition to the blood and tissue matching, a battery of psychological questions (I am not crazy), and legal questions (I am not selling my kidney), a stress test, a glucose tolerance test, a very complex blood pressure test (16 readings in all, over a period of 4 days), and at least 20 blood tests, the sum of which would reveal any adverse physical condition known to man or woman, ever. My doctor sent records of clear sigmoidoscopy, mammogram, pap smear, EKG’s and other stuff I can’t remember. I’ve also had a 24-hour urine test, in which you get to save all your pee for one day in a bottle in your frig., and no, I have not been living in squalor so long that I don’t recognize how gross this is.
Now I have to do it again.

The last time, I didn’t study for this test, and it showed. I flunked. But I’ve been told that it's a tricky test, old and touchy, and often needing to be repeated in the course of pre-donation testing. But, unlike most of the tests I’ve had done, this is one that can be prepared for, by not eating too much protein, by drinking lots of water (but not too much), and, most importantly, I am now given to understand, by not exercising too much.

About this last thing, there is, in my mind, a little confusion. I have been told, literally, “don’t, like, carry a bureau for two miles.” I have no problem with this. I rarely carry bureaus for more than, say, three miles. I can cut back. On the other end of the spectrum, and in the same conversation, came the admonition that I should “veg out” for several days before the test. “You know. Hang out on the couch, watch TV.” This is a problem. Our couch came with this place, and it’s not the kind of couch you’d want to “hang out” on, during waking hours. And we don’t have a TV. Don’t feel sorry for us; this is our choice. (Though you can feel sorry for me, on the nights when I absolutely cannot imagine anything that I can manage the goodwill or the energy to do other than watching TV or going to bed.)

We do have books. We are allowed to take an unlimited number of inferior ones from the library, without even having a library card. They don’t take your name or anything. You just tell them how many books you have, and they carelessly jot the number down on a sloppy list they keep on a clipboard at the front desk. It’s a social experiment, as far as I can tell. The list is simply so that they can tell if the general number of inferior books in the library is staying somewhat stable, or decreasing. It could even be increasing, since it appears that all the inferior books donated to the library join these ranks as well.

But back to vegging out. I like to walk, or ride my bike to the boatyard every day. I feel better when I do these things. And my usual day, once I get to the boatyard, involves doing something physical, as long and as hard as I can. So in preparation for this test, which I planned to do tomorrow, I have stayed away from the boatyard for two days. I have scrubbed not the hulls or decks of any boats, nor have I sanded or scraped or struggled with any tools, power or otherwise. I have not walked, or ridden my bike. I have carried no bureaus. This may seem like a lot of trouble to you, but my friend and I have come very far in this process. We have already envisioned our two hospital beds together in the same room, full of friends and family that we both know and love, in happy celebration. Yes, I know they probably won’t let us be in the same room, pre-or post-op. I know we’ll be lucky if we’re on the same floor. But we’ll be lucky if this transplant can take place, and she can be healthy and off dialysis again. We can dream. And if this dream doesn’t come true, I don’t want it to be because of something that (as opposed to almost everything else in this long odyssey) I can actually control. So I want to do everything I can. And I’ve done it. So far. I have put together two days of vegging out, hydrating, and not drinking my protein shake in the morning. None of this has been easy for me. And that makes the tragedy looming on the horizon even more heartbreaking. Are you ready?

We’re going to a wedding this afternoon. Not just any wedding, but the best kind, if you ask me. A wedding of people we hardly know. A wedding where, in exchange for a sugar bowl from Belk’s, we get to dress up, sit in a church and observe human behavior for an hour or so. As if that weren’t cool enough, after that we get to go to the reception, which is being held at a posh country club, so I’m assuming half-decent food and a glass of champagne at the very least. And more people-watching! You may be thinking, at this moment, “these people don’t get out much” and you would be right. For us, this is high drama. So how could I forget?

I didn’t forget, really. I have this strange brain where, on one side, I can be wondering what outfit I can come up with to wear to this wedding that will be fun to dance in, while, simultaneously, in another part of my brain (presumably one with impenetrable walls), I am carefully mapping out three days of minimal physical activity. What is wrong with me?? I am going to a wedding on a day when I can’t dance!! I love to dance!! I cannot be around music and dancing without joining the fray, even if it’s the chicken dance. And this, dare I say it, is the wedding of two black people. They will probably not even do the chicken dance! They’ll probably do something much cooler! And I will want to do it, too!

So that’s the dilemma I’m faced with today. Do I go to this wedding and make myself sit at an empty table with Bob and scrape bread crumbs into little piles, while I die of envy watching other people dance, or do I scuttle the two long days of preparatory vegging out, and hydrating, and modified protein intake, and did I mention no wine?? and start all over again next week? It’s a soap opera, isn’t it? I’ll let you know…

Snailing Along...

It’s a rainy day. The after-effects of Hurricane Ida have pushed up the coast, and the trailer was a crazy din of pounding all last night. The only thing louder than rain on the roof of this trailer is the noise made by a local squirrel who regularly drops off a nearby tree and races around there for a minute or two—that sounds like a small child has been dropped out of the sky from his father’s home-made balloon and is desperately trying to find a way down before Wolf Blitzer shows up…

Bob has been working a lot on other peoples’ boats, lately. This is good, in that it brings in money, which turns out to be important, but bad, because it slows up work on Trio. But we’re getting there, slowly but surely, and we both still believe that some day, some very hazy far-off day within the next year we hope, we will get Trio in the water and be on our way to further amusing adventures.

Right now, though, Bob is happily cutting (with his new pipe cutter) 20’ aluminum pipes into smaller sections, in order to build a bow railing (goes around the front and sides of the boat—keeps the people unexpectedly out of the water) on an old Navy launch, which is the smaller boat that zips the important people to and from the big warship so that they can avoid unnecessary contact with the enlisted people.

Bob also spent a couple of months this fall resurrecting the twin engines
(1968 327 Chevys) on an Elco, a wooden fishing-cruising boat built in 1938. From what I understand, if this old boat could still handle it, structurally, these engines could put it up on plane at around 30 knots, which is fast for any boat. Sailboats, for instance, like Trio and Kalliope, go 8-10 knots at the fastest. Notice I didn’t say “if you’re lucky.” If you’re lucky, in my opinion, the anchor is down and the boat is lying perfectly still in a pretty little harbor on a warm, sunny day.

I finished another book, and sent it off two months ago to three publishers. Have met so far with a resounding silence, so just today came to the conclusion that it is not what they want. It was a formula novel, an experiment in art for money’s sake, so I’m not taking it too personally. Not that I would have spent three months of my precious life writing it if I’d thought it wouldn’t sell, but as I said, I’m not taking it personally.

On a happier note, I have come to nearly the end of so-far successful testing in order to donate a kidney to a friend. Which I say not so you’ll think I’m wonderful or cool, but because it’s a big part of my life, these days. I also say it because, if you’re healthy, kidney donation enables you to give to someone in a way that substantially changes their life, for the better, and, since the human body functions pretty much the same whether it has one kidney or two, will not substantially change yours. If mine changes, I’ll let you know.

Kalliope has not sold yet, though she’s had
lots of interest. The trouble is that the people who are interested in her are from, literally, all over the world, and it takes time for them to arrange to get here. We listed her for sale in August, and it was three months later until anyone actually in the market for a sailboat got to see her, and two sets of them came within a day of each other. The first people were from some southern Gulf state which shall remain nameless; they were dumb and bigoted and the woman kept trying to lecture me into being dumb and bigoted too, while I tried to show her how nice the galley is on Kalliope. Maybe the only thing that saved us both was that shortly before I met them, I’d taken a huge swig of a drink that I thought was a cola, but turned out to be a Manhattan left over from the night before.

The next day a German trio came to see her—30-something son, Dad, and Dad’s girlfriend (think Ingrid Bergman- slim, lovely, and very European). They were very impressed with Kalliope, and I think if she had two separate berths, they would have bought her on the spot. But after a while, the sale of the boat (what boat?) faded in importance, and we simply enjoyed each other’s company for the next few days, as they had repairs they wanted made to their motor home and Bob was happy to make them. We got to practice our German, they got to practice their English, and we all agreed that the $3 wine from Wal-Mart is not bad at all. Heide (Ingrid) and I walked on the beach, and drew pictures in the sand for each other when language and charades failed us. One late afternoon at the boatyard, Heide brought out a little folding table, covered it with a pretty batik cloth, and she and I sat and drank coffee and ate pie, while we observed the amusing antics of the three men running around working on the motor home in the waning daylight, speaking to each other in their quick weird mix of German, English, professional Mechanic and amateur Mechanic.

What else? The days are shorter, working outside is chillier. I can’t escape to the beach to swim and luxuriate in the sun once a week, like I did all summer, but I do walk there almost every day. It’s a good thing to do, and if you live by the beach, and love the ocean as much as I do, it’s the only thing to do. Go be there. It’s free, it’s wonderful, and every day is different. 

It’s not an easy time for us, but it’s not a bad time either. It’s a time when we don’t let ourselves be still for even an hour, during daylight. Things take long enough as it is, and if you don’t keep plugging away at them, you’ll start to go backwards. At least that’s the feeling.

It occurred to me yesterday that, in the past when I was unhappy I would mentally squirm around, thinking what is wrong? what can I change? Now when I am unhappy, I just keep working. I live with it. Even co-exist with it peacefully. Whether that’s because we’ve painted ourselves into this corner, and there is no way out other than to work it out, or because I am older and wiser, or because (and I do think this is the reason) we’re actually, (given the circumstances!) doing what we want to do. And in that, we’re lucky.