Alternatives

I'm still in Charlotte-- my return to the beach has been delayed for one day. I talked with Bob on the phone last night, and learned that he had not used yesterday, which was originally the last day before I got back, to clean his tools, etc. off the boat. From what I understand, he hasn't even BEGUN this process. When he told me this, I flipped out. Of course. I told him I was going to come back to the boat and I was going to take one look inside and and if it was still knee-deep in crap I was going to get back in the car, drive to the nicest hotel I could find and start ordering room service. There was a small moment of silence, and then he asked “Are you going to order Eggs Benedict?” 

“What?” I asked, completely derailed. 

And he said, “Well, you like Eggs Benedict, so I figured you'd order that.” And he said it so sincerely and it was such a silly thing to say, my heart melted. This man loves me, I thought, and I miss him very much. So I told him he could come with me if he wanted, that we could both get Eggs Benedict, and we could watch TV and jump on the bed, and after we got tired of that we could go to the bar and sing karaoke. I'm pretty sure it won't come to this, and if it does, I'm pretty sure he won't sing. But it's nice to have alternatives.

Envy Me Not (yet)

Okay, here in am in Charlotte, getting all these email congratulations for Bob and I finishing the boat. Most of them contain references to us sitting on the stern, sipping cocktails and watching the sun go down. I fell compelled to tear a big hole in your happiness by telling you, in plain English: We are not doing this. We are not, in fact, even together. We are miles and lifestyles apart, right now. I am in Charlotte, doing Condo meetings and staying with Mom on occasion and lunching with friends and watching movies from the library and even TV (though only the three major channels, and only when the weather is right) and taking regular showers and washing my clothes one load at a time. BOB, on the other hand, is still at the boat, working his ass off, installing water tanks (he's going for two, and prepping the space for a future third), not taking showers (no water, no showers), eating out of cans and the frozen section of the local Food Lion. Trio is, we can all assume, filled to the gunwales with the chaotic tangle of tools, dirty rags, pipes, odds and ends of wood, metal, and wire that are ALWAYS part of Bob doing any work. I was told that a friend ducked his head into the boat the other day and said “Oh, Susan won't like this.” Bob told him that was exactly why I wasn't there.

So I will go back when he is done making messes and when my meetings are over, and eventually we'll get around to that sitting on the stern thing, watching the sun go down. Meanwhile, as a result of living this nearly conventional lifestyle, which is so different from how we normally live, I would like to make an observation:

I know the reason so many Americans struggle with their weight. TV. Too much sitting on our asses and watching it, AND-- and this is the part that just blows me away-- too many food commercials while we do! Good Grief! I have never in my life seen so much hot dripping butter, so many sizzling steaks, juicy hamburgers, twirls of whipped cream, yummy-looking pizzas. It's a wonder people don't jump in their cars and mob these restaurants, every time one of their commercials comes on. BUT THEY HAVE TO KEEP WATCHING TV, RIGHT????? So they do the next best thing. They raid their fridge or their cupboards for a substitute. But no way is it going to be as tasty as what they just saw in that commercial (which they THINK they've forgotten about, if they even realized it was motivating them in the first place), so they eat an extra amount of the inferior substitute, in an effort to feel the way they would have felt if they'd just finished off that steamed lobster and those crab-stuffed mushrooms, and the breadsticks, and the salad, and don't forget coffee and dessert. All I'm thinking is, if cigarette and liquor ads threaten the health of Americans, what is it that food ads are doing? Boosting the economy? I'm gonna go have a Scotch, a Twinkie and a smoke.

Elvis has left the building and

Trio is in the water. For real. Let us all bow our heads for a moment of silence.
*********

Okay. Here are some pics.

Suzy applying the name to the stern.

Trio in slings, ready to roll.

Trio rolling

A scary moment-- Bob notices that the new (old) zinc at the propeller is cracked. Evan (left) quips "Don't worry, Miss Susan, we'll just put her back up on the hill, and in two or three years, Mr. Bob'll have her ready to go in the water again."

A few of the well-wishers who came for the big event. We had so many people to catch lines when we came into the slip, it was silly. And gratifying.

Our back yard.

Now, to answer your questions:

Yes, we have moved out of the trailer. Hallelujah. And I say again, brothers and sisters, Hallelujah.

Yes, I  will post pictures of the interior of the boat. But it is not quite finished. A divorce was narrowly avoided last week, when I boarded Trio on her first full day in the water, only to discover my hard-working husband removing (by cutting them up) the old rusted stainless-steel water tanks from the bilge. He had not noticed, until it was too late, that the grinding of so much metal was coating EVERY SQUARE CENTIMETER of the boat with grey metallic dust. Everything. All the new paint, all the clean wood, all the vinyl, all the cushions. The interior of every newly cleaned, newly painted storage area. This was not a good day, nor were the several days that followed. But the tanks are out now, and Bob has promised me that this is the last ripping and tearing he's going to do on this boat. I have no choice but to believe him, which let me tell you, is not a very comfortable position to be in. But when I get back there (I'm in Charlotte now, for Easter and to spend some time with my Mom), I will be on the scene daily, and I will have my whip and my tazer with me at all times. Just kidding. I don't have a tazer. 

No, we are not heading off immediately to exotic locales. For one thing, we have to CLEAN THE DAMN BOAT, remember?? For another, there are lots of little and big things yet to be done, including installing the new water tanks, figuring out how many actual "things" like clothes, cooking utensils, tools, books etc., we can fit on the boat, getting that royal blue sail cover off the mainsail, and getting the rigging "tuned" for sailing. That last part can wait forever, as far as I'm concerned, except that I think Kai is going to do it, and I would be happy to have him and Merry (they are engaged now!) come for a weekend. I'm most excited about ditching the blue sail cover. But I digress. What I have requested is that we stay right where we are, in this slip at the boatyard, get settled on the boat, learn some new routines, relax, breathe, watch dolphins, go to the beach, catch crabs, entertain friends and family-- have a home for the first time in five years. Also, and this is not showcasing my most generous tendencies, I want to stroll through that boatyard and watch other people sweat for a change, and I want to look at the blisters on the bottom of their boat and the blisters on their hands and feel bad for them, but not nearly as bad as I'd feel if they were my blisters. I might even put on my work clothes and pitch in and help them for an afternoon. But all the while I will know that our CLEAN, ORDERLY, beautiful boat is safely and finally in the water, where she belongs, and that we can go back there in the evening and take showers and make drinks and sit on the stern and watch the sun set and the tide rise and fall. I'll keep you posted.

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