A salute to sailing and connections

One year ago I wrote a column about the Rendezvous Yacht Club’s annual fall cruise and ended it with “Hurry up Spring 2013 so we can go sailing again.”

Here I am, fresh off the lake from the 2013 fall cruise and dumbfounded by the rushing river of time that has swept another season’s worth of sailing adventures—over a very short summer—into the history books.

On my way to the sailboat on Friday afternoon I had a skip in my step. I whistled a tune from ‘Great Big Sea’ and synced my soon-to-be boat legs to the beat of the music.

And then I caught a glimpse of the white caps boiling on Sand Bay and a strange chill of déjà vu “shivered in me timbers.”

Mother Nature had thrown a cold, windy party for my inaugural fall cruise last year. I had watched the temperature slide into the belly of winter, I had grown an extra layer of hair on my legs and strapped on some brave counsel to ready myself for the trip I expected would rival the Franklin expedition.

Surely the big mama of daily forecasts wasn’t about to repeat that scenario and make me think I was off my rocker for the second time.

It’s amazing what a handsome man can do to my resolve. I took one look at him standing there on the boat smiling at me, and I didn’t care if the seas were rolling.

So there I was sailing away from shore, loving every minute of it, bobbing up and down like a duck, clad in the same pathetic mismatched little rain suit as last year that I’d found hanging in the barn where it had been collecting pigeon feathers since 2006.

By the time we reached the first anchorage of the weekend, the wind had flipped my hair into the upward bouffant of a vintage Russ Troll Doll, and I was cold, but hey, I was in the sea of no cares.

Insert smile here.

Once again, Robert Service came to life around the mighty campfire through the magnificent voice of a fellow sailor. The recital of “The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill” filled us up and laid open the importance of the old traditions of reading really good poetry from books out loud among adults. Awesome.

I did not however kick Mother Nature’s booty this year and go for a late September swim in a cold lake. But I did try the whiskey. Oh Lord. Whose idea was that anyway? My head still hurts.

Insert jolly roving laughter here.

I also got the chance to test my budding helmsman skills when I managed to carry the sailboat along at over 6 knots, heeled over and “Hold on Tight!”

I have a very good nautical teacher. But then again, I do come from the sea-faring stock of the Davis clan from Newfoundland. Insert ancestral pride here.

Thank you sailors for enriching my summer. Thank you for this day and that, and the want to do it all again next year.

Melody Beattie says we should revere our connections. “We are dependant on much around us, not just for our survival, but for our joy. We need food, water and the company of our fellow travelers on this great journey.”

I continue to grow into a better woman through all the friends who are connected to my world, be you a roving tar or not. All, and especially you, sir, make the journey a thankful one.

Life is so very much better when it’s shared. This I know for sure.

Life is a Fiesta

 I own a brand new car and I made that dream come true all on my own.

I wrote the above sentence with some reluctance because I didn’t want to toot my own horn.

But what the heck.

I deserved 110%, the shiny new wheels filled with nitrogen, the new car smell, the voice recognition software, and the lickety split zoom zoom!

Heaven knows I’ve had my share of things in life that I don’t think I deserved. Something tells me I’ll be working on accepting acceptance of those crummy things for a long time to come.

But let’s get back to the car. That little gem is my self-gifting reward for working hard and keeping my accounts payable paid.

I will admit, though, that I played dodge ball umpteen times with the dream-stealing side of my conscious about buying a new vehicle.

That inner dream stealer has been known to shame me into denying myself some of life’s greatest pleasures—most of them much simpler and more affordable than a new car.

I think the dream stealing shadow is up for counseling alongside accepting acceptance of crummy things.

But let’s back to the car. I have affectionately and—yes—somewhat geeky, named her “Lola,” and she is the epitome of what I always imagined my personal entertainment chauffeur would be. I talk; “Lola” listens, and I get hands-free technology. Voila. 

After I bought “Lola” and showed her to my parents, my mother said, “I think that car was made for someone like you.” Yes Mother it was.

I clearly remember as a kid wishing my future would include music that could be triggered by voice commands.

In fact, I’m quite sure I invented the idea long before techno-genius and American business magnate Bill Gates got into the computer business, but I can’t prove it—sort of like that big fish I caught in 1979 that no one saw but me.

   

But let’s get back to the car. “Lola” came into the picture on the heels of a really great gal called “Old Buick,” whose time was limited by crusty rust and body parts that were starting to fall off.

“Old Buick” had had a motor replacement last fall and although she still ran the highway like a charmer, the choking and hesitant cough of her daily turn over was a sure predictor of a functional seizing stroke on an imminently cold and bitter January day.

I was driving “Old Buick” home after I’d given the nod to the car dealer to draw up papers to buy “Lola,” and I was clouded over by a true and genuine sadness at the thought of passing “Old Buick” on to an unknown future as part of my trade-in. I was going to miss the old girl.

“Old Buick” had carried my limping soul through those really crummy times of my life. She had been the “go to” when I just needed to drive and cry. She had seen me through those times and got me safely home again.  

I also was driving “Old Buick” when new visions of better times started to peak through. “Old Buick” drove me down the road to new chapters and a new beginning. 

I felt really sad about letting her go.

It’s a funny thing to get so attached to an inanimate object like that. The wherefore and the why of it is a long case study in what makes me who I am. That education class is never ending.

No word of a lie, before I turned her in at the dealer I told “Old Buick” out loud what she had meant to me and how much influence she had had on me and I thanked her for carrying me through. And then I let her go.

And when I drove “Lola” off the car lot that day, all I could think about was how much possibility lie ahead of me—and then I said out loud—“Play Bruce Springsteen.”

Glory days indeed.