October 17, 2013

Sometimes we get so caught up in the chores of preparation we forget that, this too, is the journey. Just the nature of preparation speaks of living in the future. But we need to be here now in order to enjoy the present. Otherwise it escapes us and becomes our past all too quickly. The irony of this is, I must consider my past to remind me of what it is I am experiencing now. (Confused yet?)

Once again, the pressure builds as the days get closer to leaving the Port of San Diego for Mexico. There is still plenty to do, but a lot has been accomplished too. Jay, feeling the ultimate responsibility for our safety and the performance of the boat, wonders, “€œIs this fun?”

Yes, there has been a lot of work. Jay fixed the solenoid on the propane tank, is reviving our dinghy after a visit to the dinghy doctor, replaced the fresh water filter, and continually makes bungee cords to secure the ever-growing amount of items needed to stay on deck. I continue to follow through with paperwork, call banks, make appointments, order boat cards, etc. Today we started on the non-skid project. So, I agree, (what seems like) menial tasks and fixing things does get old and isn’t much fun. But there is so much more.

We spent a day at Sea World with our children and grandchildren. We took a walk on Pacific Beach at sunset. I got lost looking for an ATM and discovered Balboa Park. Jay and I are both swimming daily and relax in the Jacuzzi. We have found some great restaurants; The Brigantine, Point Loma Seafood and the “best barbeque ever,” €Phil’s BBQ. We pick up our grandson from kindergarten on Tuesdays and Thursdays and stay for dinner with Jay’s daughter and son-in-law. We visited Cabrillo National Monument and Coronado Island. Jay and our friend, Bruce, toured the Midway, a retired Navy aircraft carrier. And my daughter, Talia, and I spent some quality mother/daughter time shopping and sipping wine in La Jolla.

Sure, amongst all this there have been trips to Downwind Marine and Ace Hardware, (Both, by the way, are so very helpful to their customers.) looking for parts for this and that, picking up paint and varnish and sitting in on seminars. New things break as old ones get fixed.

But we wake up every morning to a beautiful sunrise and a cup of coffee and go to bed each evening after a glass of wine and a beautiful sunset, both while sitting in the cockpit of our boat overlooking the marina. And even though I look wistfully out at other boats as they head out to sea, yearning to go with them, I know we will be joining them soon.

So this is it. We are here, now, cruising. These are the days.

October 6, 2013

Tubac is 50 miles south of Tucson and just 24 miles north of Nogales and the border of Mexico. Once a Spanish presidio and then a farming community, it is now mostly an artists’ colony. The tiny village hosts a plethora of galleries, trinket shops, and places one can find beautiful Mexican pottery in a variety of bright colors. While still a desert we have left the Saguaro cacti behind. The terrain changes from dull tans and browns to tans and browns spattered with a touch of green. This is due to the fact that it lies in the Santa Cruz River Valley. I am told the Santa Cruz River runs through it but I have yet to see this illusive river. There are train tracks too. Last night, as I heard a train go by, I was reminded once again, of long ago and my first visit to Mexico.

It was the summer of 1968 and I was ten years old. We had recently moved back to the United States from Bangkok, Thailand. Dad was working for Lockheed at the time and they had transferred him to Tucson. As I recall, we drove down to Nogales and took a train from there to Mazatlan. This was my very first train trip and I was excited to be staying overnight in the sleeping car. Like most memories, they cannot be recalled exactly, but fade into images and impressions. I have three very distinct impressions of my time in Mazatlan. First, that it was a dusty town. (Remember, this was over 40 years ago. I hear it is a sprawling metropolis now.) Two, I had a new culinary experience. I tried my first mango and found I didn’t like it. And three, I swam in the ocean with big, powerful waves.

Both my father and grandmother were swimmers. In fact, my Grandma Alice was a high diver. (She dove off the Burlington Bristol Bridge. Crazy! But that is another story.) Ironically, my mom can’t swim at all. Me, I’m a fish and I had been taking swimming lessons all summer.

It was my brother, Jim, who taught me how to swim in the ocean. He would take my hand and lead me into the water where we would scurry fast through the breakers and then we would lift up, over and down the swells and wait for the next one, my head barely above the sea. It was great fun. Soon I was body surfing.

This day, I was body surfing when an undercurrent swept me up and tossed me violently about. Fortunately, my father had taught me to never fight the ocean. He told me to relax and just go with it and eventually it would release me. I tucked into a ball and instinctively covered my head with my arms and hands. Good thing, too, because I was thrown head first onto the ocean floor. I can only imagine what might have happened had I not protected my head. I pulled myself up and stumbled out of the ocean and onto the beach. I was, quite literally, shook up. Needless to say, there was no more swimming that day.

Mazatlan is one of our planned stops when we travel down the Gold Coast the winter of 2014/15. It will be interesting to revisit and see if I recognize anything that might awaken a lost memory.

Meanwhile, even here in Tubac, we continue to prepare for our journey. We bought a fold up wagon, extra water containers, and are inquiring about the proper insurance. We have been studying the charts and reading up on the various ports where we plan to stop. And we have been practicing Spanish. The other day, I asked the cashier to tell me in Spanish how much the groceries cost. Today, we had a conversation in Spanish with our waiter. I even felt brave enough to contact a Mexican marina by phone. But when the lady answered with a rapid flow of words, I was flustered and couldn’t even begin to understand her. Except for “Buenas Tardes.” I surrendered. “Hablas Ingles?” I asked.

Poco a poco.

On another note. For those people who want to know, Mom had a much better day today. She woke up bright and clear-eyed. She was much more lucid. We even took her to church. While we were there, one lady was particularly taken with Mom’s presence. As we were leaving, she leaned over and said with emotion, “You are so very lucky to still have your mom in your life.”

Indeed. We are very lucky.

October 3, 2013

I’ve been struggling about what I should include in this blog, and what I shouldn’t. This story isn’t funny. It isn’t light. It isn’t even about sailing. But then there are many aspects to cruising, and to not include something because it is difficult or unpleasant would be wrong. So I have made the decision to share some intimate moments, because life continues despite the choices we make.

I sometimes think many people assume that since we are cruising we are off having the time of our life and that “living the dream” €means it is all “fun and games.”

Not true. It has its sunny days and its rainy days. And as I sit here contemplating the last few days, I am reminded of a saying from the Tao Te Ching that goes something like this, “Sometimes breathing is hard and sometimes breathing comes easily.” Today, breathing has been hard.

Basically, life, while cruising, is like any other life. For instance, weather is a constant issue. One that we have to be aware of and vigilant with regarding our anchorages, as well as our passages. Things break and we have to fix them. There are daily chores. Just provisioning can be a challenge, especially without a car and in foreign ports. Everything, including the language, is unfamiliar. There are disagreements. We still get depressed and get sick, and need to rest. We continue to watch our children grow,albeit from a distance. We share in their accomplishments and lament over their heartaches. And we watch our parent age. Some go quickly, like my father, who died of a heart attack at the young age of 66. And then there are those who, like my mother, take the long walk home.

Mom has Dementia. She lives in a two-bedroom cottage on my brother’s property. He built this home for her when we realized she could no longer take care of herself. This has allowed my mother her privacy and the comfort of her own home while still being watched over by someone who loves her deeply, her son.

Jim does everything for her. He feeds her, cleans her house, monitors her medicine, takes her shopping, keeps her company, etc. Mom depends on him for everything and for that she is truly grateful and says so on a daily basis. (That is, when she is cognizant of her surroundings.)

As the Dementia has progressed, we have hired a woman caretaker who bathes her, washes and curls her hair and gives her a manicure. She is great company for Mom and she enjoys Nichole’s visits.

Jay and I visit three to four times a year, both to help Jim by giving him a break and to spend time with Mom. We miss her.

With each visit there is some sort of noticeable decline. Jim warned me that Mom was “€œfalling into the hole” more often. (This is when she seems lost, not quite sure of her surroundings. It’s almost as if she is half in this world and half way in another.) Jim had to take her phone away as they discovered she had been calling some lady at all times of the day and night for over a year. I am guessing she tried to say something, but not being able to put her words together, in addition to hearing an unfamiliar voice, it threw her, and ultimately she hung up. The lady on the other end, not knowing the source of these calls was, understandably, upset.

That is another problem for Mom. She can’t collect her thoughts and present them verbally, making communication difficult. We often wonder – how much does she understand what is happening to her? One time, recently, she told Jim, “Something is wrong with me. I lost my memory.” It surprised him, first, that she could actually say these two sentences in sequence, and second, it saddened him that, on some level, she might actually know what was happening to her mind. It turns out, he took comfort in the idea that she was aging in a child-like way, innocent and unaware. That she was seemingly in a happy state, despite her condition. I agreed.

But now, I question whether or not she continues to reside in that “€œhappy state.” She is incredibly frail. Her bones are weak and have trouble holding her upright. She complains she doesn’t feel well. And not unlike a child, she is unable to communicate what, exactly, is the cause of her discomfort. We guess and give her medicine and lie her down to rest.

A few hours later, she seems bright again. She says she feels better and that is hopeful. Not long after, she complains again she isn’t feeling well and that her body, well, she tells me,”I am dying.”

What does one say to that?

I am witnessing her body shutting down. Do we take her to the doctor and subject her to a battery of tests and procedures to keep her alive when her quality of life is so diminished? Or do we allow her the grace to accept her destiny and let nature take it’s course? Can we find peace in the inevitable and finally surrender, letting God hold her hand on this long walk home?

I don’t have the answer. I just sit with Mom and comb her hair. I talk to her and let her know she is loved and not alone.

So, yes, sometimes breathing is hard and sometimes it comes easily.

Today it was difficult to breathe.

September 23, 2013

All I wanted was to get our Mexican fishing licenses. I went on the internet and found Conapesca, the Oficina de Pesca, here in San Diego. I gave Siri (on the Iphone) the address, and off I went.

Sounds simple enough. Only I didn’t listen to that little voice. The one that said I should call and check what I needed to bring before I left. But I had a file of any and all possible paperwork I might need and surely they take credit cards, I thought.

But, no. They didn’t take credit cards. This was, after all, “The Government of Mexico- Department of Fishing,” and they accepted only money orders and cash. (Let’s just call this my first lesson in dealing with the Mexican government.)

“Siri, where is the nearest Bank of America?”€

“There are five Bank of America’s in your area and two look close to you.”

I chose the closest one, which was just less than a mile and decided to get some exercise and walk. I put money in the meter and off I went. Now, mind you, it was noon, 85 degrees and I was wearing flat sandals with absolutely no support. Still, it was a nice walk in which I discovered Balboa Park.

What a wonderland! Acres and acres of parkland with countless museums, theaters, music halls, water fountains and gardens. Not to mention the infamous San Diego Zoo. Much of the architecture is Spanish Renaissance and so, even though I didn’t get to enjoy the culture, the sightseeing was spectacular. (Note to self – I must come back here.)

So mesmerized I was with the enormity and style of Balboa Park that I slowed down my steps trying to take in the scenery. Soon I realized that I had only put an hour’s worth of coins in the meter and so, if I didn’t want a parking ticket, I had better pick up the pace.

I usually ask Siri for driving directions, but these were walking directions and after I got close to where she claimed the ATM to be, I began to wonder if I had made a mistake, or maybe, she had made amistake.

I checked the time. I had been gone almost a half hour already and had only a half hour left. I was so close, according to Siri, but… She seemed to be directing me to a place that looked beautifully landscaped but with no buildings. I checked the time again.

Darn it! I think I’m close, but I have to head back or I might get a ticket. I turned around and walked quickly back to my car with only minutes to spare.

Not one to give up, I decided to take the car to this illusive ATM. Once again, I asked Siri for directions and I was off.

“You have arrived at your destination.” € Siri told me. I pulled over and parked still wondering where it was she was taking me. I got out of the car and began, again, on foot. (By this time, my feet were really hurting.) I never did find the ATM, but I did find a beautiful rose garden.

Back in the car, I asked, “Siri, where is the nearest Bank of America?” This time I ignored the closest suggestion and went with the next closest one.

“You have arrived at your destination.”€ she told me again.
“€œYeah, we’ll see about that”€ I muttered under my breath. I was in a parking lot of an Albertsons. Sure enough, inside was an ATM and I withdrew the dire-needed cash.

So, two miles of walking, ten miles of driving and two hours later, I walked out of Conapesca with our fishing licenses. (Did I mention there was a Wells Fargo ATM right outside the Conapesca, but I wanted to save the $2 fee?)

Oh my, if this is how I get around in our country, one can only imagine what it will be like for me to navigate through Mexico.