Oh, the Noise

Things seem  very, very loud to me these days.
Watching television the other night I caught an episode, well actually about a half of an episode of “The Ex’s”. I thought it might be good since all the actors are seasoned sitcom performers with a track record of good comedy. Every gag, every statement, every movement was so exaggerated and over the top. It was like if there was not a moment of burlesque hilarity, the viewer would fall asleep immediately or worse yet, change the channel. I feel like everything I watch is like that. Everything from the sound, to the visual, to the writing and wardrobe must be so grossly exaggerated and if every single second is not packed with action of some kind, I might not get it. Loud, screaming, “SEE ME!!! SEE ME!!!” stuff.
If it’s not shouting white men talking politics always interrupting each other, its clowns from the Jersey Shore – Housewives from Outer Mongolia out assing, boobing, hair bleaching, collagen injecting, face lifting, dissing each other. Let’s not leave out extreme tools like Swamp People, southern alligator catfish catchers, redneck weddings, gypsy Christmas and searching for antique crap pickers. Even pawn has become glamorous. Really? In fact, Pawn Stars is the number one show on The History Channel…the HISTORY Channel?
Then there is the “what we can get away before they tell us to shut up TV”…Tosh.O, a very funny and likeable guy who once was quite clever but now does only junior high fart humor or Kathy Lee seeing how much wine she can down prior to noon. I am completely baffled as to why “How I Met Your Mother” and “The Big Bang Theory” are running 24/7. These shows must be so goddamn good that we don’t want anyone, ever, to miss even one episode. Just too, too much.
Every show is broken up with advertisements for only 4 products – 1.  Lawyers ready to “be on your side” and sue someone’s ass on your behalf, 2.   food made of non food ingredients that are enhanced with non food nutrients making super non-foods, 3.   cars that guarantee you will get laid either because the cars are so fast and sexy or because they are environmentally perfect (the new sexy) and 4.  beauty products – designed solely to make you feel totally old even if you are only 21, inadequate, imperfect and in desperate need to improve and be much more beautiful than you are. Or maybe that is just Toddler’s and Tiara’s (have you ever noticed that every toddler Mom is in sweats, fat and with bad hair?).
Movies, hmmm. There have been many good ones out recently but that is clearly not reflective of the entire year. I didn’t realize that the only people going to movies are 17 year old guys because clearly the previews (complete with volume going to “11”) are geared towards them. It seems the only movies “coming soon” feature monsters/aliens, much blood created by shooting, gashing, biting or spurting, crashing vehicles (not just cars anymore), computer generated bigger, louder and more ridiculous effects, high powered semi automatic guns, angry men, bionic women and bad dialogue. I guess this is the only kind of entertainment we want to see. In fact, I think the Academy Award winner last year; Avatar met all the above criteria. I know I am treading on sacred Avatar ground here but I HATED it.
Fashion, has clearly turned into an exercise in excess and ugly. It’s like everything is from Rodeo Drive – where you can spend lots o’ money to look really cheap. Shoes are ridiculous – glitter covered cement blocks balanced with 7” stiletto heels or “shoeties” – perfect with all your skirts. AGH! Skimpy looks – how much tit can we show shopping at the mall, visiting mother or going to work? How short can those skirts and shorts go or better yet wearing no pants and can we layer 16 shirts on at the same time and let’s not forget to top it off with a cute short little glittery shrug with feather and fur trim in neon green?

And if I see one more of those high/low cardigans with the stupid ruffle fronts, I will scream. No, it does not cover up your hips, big caboose or tummy. In fact I bought a top with that drapey side stuff thinking I would be “in” and then saw a photo of myself wearing it. MY GOD, I looked like a beached whale in a caftan….threw it out. Did not even give it away for fear that some easily fashion influenced women would make the same gross error I did in thinking she would look sensational in that top. It’s as if a panel of 21 year old gay guys with a terrific sense of humor was created to design clothes with the sole purpose of making women look absolutely ridiculous. Has anyone looked at the American public? We are older, fatter and more out of shape than ever and that goes for the “youths” too. Spanx can only do so much.
I do not want to see another “celebrity” with this stupid long wavy hair trying to look like Simonetta posed on her shell. She was not around in 2012 and her lifestyle was not filled with endless and unrelenting bytes of life. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simonetta_Vespucci

And what is with hair color of black ends, blonde middles and brown roots…great. Nails are for hand protection and enhancement, not for painting a replica of the Sistine Chapel ceiling on. For God’s sake black and gray nails are not hand flattering colors. They are the color your nail turns when you slam it in the car door. And what is with the eye makeup? Black lids and black eyeliner so thick everyone looks like a 7th grader experimenting with their first Wet n’ Wild makeup kit.

This is the American life folks. I know times are tough, I know we are looking for direction, I know we are running on empty trying to fill ourselves up with quick fixes and glimpses of glee. I consider myself somewhat hip, and I know that I am not a shy conservative player but one who has often been accused of being a little over the top, pop culture obsessed and in search of a quick fix but “they” have even hit my buttons and forced me to scream “STOP ALREAY!”. The extremes are wearing me down in entertainment, politics, have and have-nots, media, technology, over communication and spirituality. I find myself pulling out my most classic clothes, turning off the tube, wearing less and less make-up, not shopping and being anti-fashion just to get some peace. This, my friends has not been my nature. But enough is enough. It is too hard to keep up and to what end…ah yes to be just like the Kardashian’s. And isn’t that the American Dream?

The Official Christmas Letter – 2011

Happy Holidays 2011.
Our first year in Florida has been interesting, surprising, educational and another adventure in the lives of Ray and me.
We spent January and February remodeling my folks 1977 “harvest gold” house. Since Dad had been gone some 6 years it was hard for Mom to keep it up so there was lots o’ work to be done. We pulled up all the carpet, put in new and tiled the living areas. Pulled off the storm shutters, replaced all the window coverings with venetian blinds, painted every inch of the place, cut down the rainforest that had taken over the house, added new closet systems (because of course there is never enough closet room), built lots of IKEA furniture, replaced all the lighting, added a pantry, put up shelves in the garage, repaired the pool, power washed the lanai. Then there was the kitchen – pulled out the collector’s edition harvest gold kitchen counter tops, stove etc and replaced with new counter tops & stainless appliances which seemed like a good idea keeping re-sale in mind, however could render me with a full time job polishing off fingerprints, doggy noses and misc. drips.
Kitchen and bath cabinets along with new toilets and sinks for the bathrooms are on the waiting list since our credit cards are full up. Trying to work around the harvest gold bath areas…challenging. We or shall I say Ray did all the work himself and the place looks bright, eclectically modern and pretty damn fashionable. We are pleased and despite the much less sq. footage – we feel most comfortable. And we only have on television – yes, you can live with just one.
March – May we traveled back from Virginia on the boat. Polaris was left there at the end of our sailing adventure and needed to move it to Florida. We ocean sailed most of the way – much better than the slow going intracoastal waterway. In the interest of time and tight budget, this was not a leisurely trip and we sailed 12 hours daily, showered off the back of the boat which could prove pretty chilly in March at sea and anchored out every night. It was a good trip but we were pretty beat when we got back. Living on a boat that way is tough stuff only for the stout hearted. Now have her docked at Clearwater Marina.
The job market has been enormously tough especially in Florida but finally a turn around.
Ray has started his own company. Ray Fixed It! (www.rayfixedit.com) and is regularly busy in the handyman business. The widows love big Ray-Ray (me too.) The hope is that he can grow this and hire minions to do the heavy lifting.
And, as I write this, I just accepted a position as head of marketing for a non-profit group called ISPE. I’m excited and relieved. Have learned to be much more frugal this year. Can’t say we haven’t had more than a few restless nights thinking about the finances, health insurance and our remodeling bills, but things work out. Whew. Little apprehensive about wiggling back into grown-up clothes and high heels. Wonder if flip-flops are considered snappy casual biz attire in Florida.
We have learned that life as we know it pretty much stops in the summer in Florida. Snow birds and their money are gone and everyone stays inside like a Minnesota winter. It is simply too damn hot, humid and rainy. While we knew this in theory reality was a monumental shock. Not much boating, not much outside exercise and lots and lots of sweating and complaining. But when October rolled around it was clear why one lives here. Spectacular weather, good sailing, activities every weekend, incredible farmer’s markets and no humidity. Wonderful having morning coffee on the lanai in mid December!
Mom (92) has declined substantially this year. The Alzheimer’s has taken a toll and while she has good days and always knows me and makes commentary on my fashion (a family legacy passed down through the generations), the disease is progressing. She is aware to what’s going on, but is often confused, confined to a wheelchair and needs complete help in doing everything. A time in the hospital and now in rehab created setbacks and we are hoping she will rally and we can get her back to her assisted living apartment soon.
Mercedes (25) remains in Madison, loving her job as Director of after-school programs in an under-privileged area and enjoying the college town lifestyle. She’s visited a couple of times (YEAH!!) and “did” Las Vegas for the 1st time this year. She and Rachel are coming for after-Christmas visit – I am thrilled. Pandyman, aka – cutest puppy-lamb in the world, keeps us entertained, loves beer and is a regular at the dog beach, dog park and local art fairs where he garnishes plenty of attention.
Ray’s kids, Bradley and Hilary remain in Indianapolis, both growing up fast and getting tenure and great success at their jobs in retail. Bradley made it down last year – our hope is both kids will make a visit soon.
We miss the kids, our friends and some of the shopping and eating haunts but are settling in nicely. Interesting how people are much more likely to visit Florida than Indiana. Hmmmm?
While a white Christmas is a very pretty and romantic thought, driving in that stuff is a stress and frankly not near as nice as crossing Tampa Bay over the causeway to and from work.
We wish you a most merry season and hope the New Year brings everyone good times, good news and good health.
Fondly, Ray, Marny and Pandyman

9/11 – Am I the Only One?

In light of the 10th anniversary of 9/11 I have very mixed emotions about the commemorations. My first impression is that a lot of it is schmaltzy commercialism. You know, how can we get ratings and viewers to watch OUR programs – how can we sell more American stuff probably made in China – how can we jump on the election bandwagon and use the 9/11 card to gain votes?
I read about all these monuments that are going up all over the country in cities that have nothing directly to do with the events themselves , commemorating 9/11. Of course everyone in those small government meetings ooh’s and ahh’s – how can one say “No” to something honoring the American bravery, lost lives and affected families? Yes, of course, let’s spend tax payer money on a local monument to that horrible day instead of repairing roads, building the new library or having arts programs in schools.
Then the constant barrage of footage we need to see over and over again. “And now new footage of the destruction never before aired”….we all saw it, we all sat glued to our TV’s all day long watching in disbelief as those planes crashed into NYC and Washington DC.
It was horrible, it was a life changing event, it should never be forgotten nor should the heroism and loss be erased from our memories. But why do we celebrate loss and destruction? If these yearly honoring are for the families that lost – is that what they want in their memories to see that footage, to remember that particular day in their loved ones life or do they want forget and try to move on. If these endless tributes are not for them than for who?
I realize I am going out on a limb saying this stuff. That I risk the wrath of those who say I don’t understand, I had friends in that tower, or those who simply line up any time there is some flag waving celebration – that flag waving justifies any bad behavior. I understand terrorism is real and one cannot reason with unreasonable people. But have we triumphed or have the “evil doers”? And at what cost?
The obvious – how many lives lost in the 10 year war we are never going to win? How many billions spent? How many damaged lives? How many hurt and broken families on both sides? At what cost to our economy, our political system, our reputation, our own view of ourselves?
We now have a country based on fear and lack. It is a system of controlling us through fear based advertising (lawyers, drugs, aging, your kids, your family, your money). Fear based politics – vote for me and stop those who will attack you – your income, your healthcare, your future, your job and your savings. Fear based intrusion – we have to pat you down so you don’t blow up the plane, 95 year old lady in a wheelchair, we have to spend lots and lots of money on security and checking everything to insure you are really safe. Fear allows us to justify torturing our prisoners, and wire tapping of our citizens for our “own good”. Fear based prejudice and discrimination against those that don’t think like us or look like us because they must be a threat if they ain’t like me. Fear based salvation (ok what else is new on that front?). If you are gay or wear a head scarf or don’t embrace Jesus – you are not like me and must be bad, dangerous, and wrong.
It is all about FEAR.
And lack….fear begets lack. If I am afraid, I take no risk, I have no faith, and I feel lack. There is abundance and enough to go around. But instilling the feeling of lack brings on the sense of there is only so much and if I don’t get it before you, I will lose out. Look at those “haves” right now – corporations holding on to ginormous profits not putting it back into the economy so there could abundance. Rich finding more and more loop holes and methods to hold on to their money – there is no sharing – no “giving back”. There is only I gotta keep mine to make sure I am in better shape than you.
Isn’t it interesting when you look at most Americans and ask them what they really want. They want to work and earn a decent wage, have a safe and pleasant place to live, take care of their families, have a fall back if something bad happens – health, job, an accident – be healthy and feel safe. Ok, and maybe take a vacation once in a while. Am I naive? Is that really a lot to ask? Why the hell is it this battle, this standoff, this power play in Washington? Why is it “Them and Us”?
Why do we celebrate the sad and bad things that happen to us? Monuments to wars, monuments to assassinations, monuments to terrorism? Why not monuments to triumphs and celebrations of life and acts of kindness? Are these things only in the disguise of tragedy? I think not.
My heart aches when I think of 9/11 or when Kennedy and King and Kennedy were shot, or when I think of the victims of Katrina and all the other tragedies of Mother Nature. But my heart aches when I think of families losing their homes, or not getting medical help for a sick family member because they cannot afford insurance or of children left behind because of poverty and discrimination or the 36% of new college grads looking to their future and unable to get any work or people with skills and years of dedicated service callously dumped by their companies and unable to get new jobs.
The tragedy to look at, to think about is not reliving that horrible day in 2001, it is looking at what we are sitting in right now. The American dream so eroded we are not the golden shores of opportunity and hope. The loss of pride and trust in our businesses, our politicians or our economic system. And the sense of helplessness because we do not feel our voices are heard or our efforts and work appreciated.
In the words of Pogo “I see the enemy and the enemy is me.”
God Bless those of 9/11 and the rebuilding of One World Trade Center (aka; Freedom Tower) and the hope it brings

Red, White & Blue

I love July 4th. Old fashioned, red/white and blue, summer food and fireworks. Gee who doesn’t like fireworks? Well, maybe babies and dogs?
Ray and I had our first 4th in Florida last night. It was terrifically hot and humid all day and after debating if we should go to the boat for the afternoon or simply wait until evening, we opted for evening. Putting on appropriate red, white and blue attire and wearing my USA flag dog tag necklace (donned once a year for this very occasion) we headed off to Clearwater marina for the festivities.
When living in Carmel, IN, the quintessential American family community, we would attend Carmelfest. In the morning we all put on ourmatching $5, Old Navy USA, 4th tee shirts, gathered the fold up chairs, a cold beverage and headed towards Main Street to watch the parade. Finding the perfect spot is an art – in the shade, enough room for the family, good viewing placement and always with a thought towards strategic parking so getting “out” and home doesn’t become a tiresome and lengthy journey.
The parade is perfectly hokey and corny and not much different from the one I watched in Patchogue, NY as a little girl. Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts, decorated church floats, the Fire Department, local news celebrities in vintage cars, a horse patrol, uniformed Veterans, clowns tossing candy to the crowd, a decorated John Deere of some sort (it was Indiana), the Kiwanis very long bicycle carrying 12 people and of course the Mayor and his family waving at all like he personally just won the Super Bowl. The crowd sits on the side in national colors, kids waving flags, smiles towards the local group of little gymnasts or uniformed soccer players as they “march” by.
Today we are all Americans relishing our gifts of opportunity and family and freedom and choice and the “good” things.
We spend the rest of the day lazily having picnics, taking boat rides, gathering family, eating corn on the cob and hamburgers and some red/white and blue desert concocted by Kraft. Then it is time for the fireworks.
In Carmel, we would stake out our spot around the town Gazebo, chairs and blankets positioned for the best view of the Fireworks and listen to the symphony playing our all-American favorites – Stars and Stripes Forever, the Navy, Army, Air Force and Marine theme songs, Proud to Be an American and of course, God Bless America and we people watch and wait.
Amazing how much stuff one family needs for 2 hours on a lawn. Folding chairs, blankets, coolers, bug spray, wet wipes, drinks and snacks, little flags, and glow in the dark bands. Bikes required streamers, dogs need flag bandannas and tee shirts, and babies wear little hats and patriotic onesies. On the blankets we often see 3 generations of families together – each generation has done the same thing since their childhood.
So like every year we headed to the celebration but now on the water. Fireworks started at 9pm and we left the house around 8:15. I was most concerned about parking and traffic but….. It had rained and the evening turned out to be perfect. Humidity subsided along with the temperature, the first time in ages. What a gift. We headed towards Clearwater to watch the firework display for the first time off the deck of the boat. The marina sits in downtown Clearwater, a pretty town on the water that has unfortunately been tattered by the economy and the influx of Scientology folks, who have taken over much of the city and as a religious group, pay no taxes on the buildings they have bought, reducing city revenue. The marina is quite new and state of the art – hurricane precautions, beautiful park adjacent, view of the bridge and Clearwater Beach with is just across the way.
Of course parking was a challenge and we parked in one of those “just for me” spaces that isn’t really a space but we created one, wedged half on the grass, half on the municipal driveway near the dumpster. Everyone was working their way towards the water, laden down with firework watching gear (see above).
We, feeling very special, marched down to the docks and disappeared on the other side of the locked gate to the marina and joined the boat folks for the best viewing of the show. As we found our way to our boat slip we saluted all the families along the dock with “Happy 4th”. Everyone in R, W & B attire, many boats waving every American flag they could dig up from the garage and boat storage bins.
We climb aboard and got to the business of settling in – Padded lounge seats positioned on the bow, cheese and crackers on the serving platter, gin & tonics in the glasses. We plop down and wait for the show. Everyone is having small talk with their boat neighbor and we all watch the lit “Pirate Ship” shoot off its cannon, the Mississippi Paddle boat looking like the set of Showboat and the “Screamer” a giant yellow go-fast skiff, shuffle around on the water in front of the marina so passengers can get the best view of the fireworks. The first bright blast goes up.
The fireworks were shot off from the base of the bridge and practically right of the bow of our boat. Talk about great seats. The first of “the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air” gets everyone’s attention. As the show goes on the variety and intricacy of the displays become bigger and louder and more spectacular. At first we watch in silence then without forethought you start to hear the group ohh’s and ahh’s. We are all looking up at the same thing, singly focused on the streams of sparkles, crackles, booms and whirligigs. I love the weeping willow ones that pour over the sky and then sparkle brightly just before they extinguish. As the show nears its grand finale the effects are bigger, louder, better, brighter more deluxe and astonishing and then the finale. Loud as bombs, lighting up the sky with the brightest lights making sure no one is disappointed. The final streams dies in the night sky and instantaneously the crowd cheers the car horns honk and everyone feels somehow satisfied and happy. No worries at this moment just satisfaction and a swell of American pride.
Every year when I watch those fireworks I think to myself how most every American in my time zone is doing the same. They are wearing their patriotic colors, sharing traditions, looking up at the sky and in the moment. Not worrying about bills, or work or getting a job or etc., etc. We are all Americans – rich, poor, white or of color, gay, straight, republican, democrat, old, young, on this side of the tracks or that. I can feel the energy of all of us in that moment. Everyone feeling some personal pride about being in the USA. And then I wonder – why can’t we harness that? Why when the dawn to the next day comes around, we put away our sense of “American Family” and go back to our little boxes of black or white , rich or poor, boss or worker?
It is so disappointing to read the news each day and hear of so many struggling, watches our elected officials being self interested, power hungry and acting stupid. That our airways are filled with stories of small mindedness, our businesses are in other countries, our outlooks are scared and narrow and our workers are being punished for building our country and money is God.
Those that know me know I am no goody two shoes. Politics and its trappings hold little interest and like many of us am just as self interested as the other guy. But when I looked up in the sky last night along with millions of other Americans, I felt the human energy of a great people in a great land and was saddend that all we show the world anymore are the Kardashian’s, Weiner’s pants, Tea Party politics, greedy wall street and prejudice against those who aren’t “like us”. We are better than this.

SAILING MYTHS

I was finally ready to do a boat weekend. After the whirlwind journey down here from the Chesapeake, both Ray and I were pretty worn out. When we went up the coast we really took our time. Sailing about 5 hours a day, staying a marinas a couple of days, exploring the area and then moving on. This trip we pushed hard to get back, sailing 10-12 hours/day (about 60miles), anchoring out and then up in the morning and to do it again. Not getting off the boat much. And it was HOT!!! That heat wears you out and while there may be some wind as you sail, it is not 72 degree AC wind. We did however “go out” into the ocean much more and pretty much stayed out the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway) which is fine by me. The ICW is slow, with dark water and often narrow passages not to mention all the draw bridges which you have to wait for to open. I like being out in the ocean where generally all you see is sky and water and occasionally another boat. The ocean while often rockin’ and rollin’ is most beautiful color of teal I have ever seen. We often would see dolphins that would run right next to the boat and occasionally we’d see giant sea turtle poke his head up or a stingray go flying by.
We sailed up from the Keys with a couple of stops where we might try to get a beer or sandwich and were met most times with “No Dogs” even on the open patios. This is a change since our last trip where it seemed everyone welcomed our little pup. Even in Key West. And this is not a state law. Bummer.
On our last leg and we came into Clearwater area around 10 pm. Decided we’d tie up at the Clearwater Marina just for the night. Figured no one would be there and Ray decided to sleep on the boat. Pandy and I would get a cab home and then in the morning he’d sail over to Honeymoon Harbor and keep the boat the boat there permanently. Well weren’t we surprised….Clearwater was a buzz, people came out to help us tie up, (which frankly we saw little of in many Florida ports I am sorry to say). And were so friendly and helpful. Got the harbormaster down to get us signed up got us into a permanent slip and all three of us took a cab home that night to sleep in clean sheets, AC and with no rocking. It always takes me about 3 days to stop rocking back & forth when I am back on land. What a lovely end to a long trip. Beautiful new marina, 7 miles from our front door with good boat neighbors and just a hop into the Gulf. What a find. Ray has already established himself as the “GO TO GUY” on any boat question.
It took us a week to recuperate and do laundry. And while Ray went back to the boat to clean her up and do some repairs (there are always repairs). I needed a little break.
My friend Karen made a comment once that she thought she enjoyed reading about sailing more than actually sailing and wondered if we were ever comfortable. You know I thought about that a lot and she is exactly right. There is nothing more beautiful and peaceful looking than seeing a sailboat in full sail cruising along the blue water with the sun gleaming off her. It looks perfectly idyllic. But the scene on board is much different and mostly uncomfortable. The sails are flapping and someone is using all their might to hoist those sails up with lines and the lines are either being curled or uncurled around a winch at record speed. If she’s moving fast, there is rocking and rolling and she’s heeled over (tipped to one side) something I still get jittery about every time this happens.
“Hey Ray, she is really far over”
“Yeah that’s fine”
“Really, feels like it’s going to tip over” (holding on for dear life, perpendicular to the water)
“Nah don’t worry BUT you might want to put your life jacket on.”
All this shouted at the top of one’s lungs
All the stuff in the cabin, despite the 30 minute of pre-sail tying down is bouncing all over the place. Everything is attached to a bungee and hooked to something somewhere so after this “peaceful” time on the water, you have to un-bungee the cushions, the doors, the cabinets, the food, the lights, the magazines, the phone etc, etc. to use them. And if you need to go to the bathroom (God forbid)while sailing – getting down the stairs, unbungeeing the door, getting into the head, lifting the lid, getting your pants down, holding on while you go, retrieving TP out of its little enclosed house and getting it back before you hit a wave drop the roll and have it unfurling all over the bathroom and then getting put back together is equivalent to being on the tilt-o-whirl at the carnival with your pants down. If wearing a one piece swimsuit, this exercise is far more challenging especially if you are sweating from the heat and all that spandex is sticks to you.
As Ray puts it “if you’re in port the head it too small but when you are out to sea it is way too big”
Everything on a sailboat is miniature. It is much like living in a Little Tikes playhouse on the water, so you have to try to make yourself small. You see lots of fat people on power boats but never on sailboats. In fact I believe Ray and I are the biggest people I have ever seen on a sailboat. Explains why we need more recoup time. And the longer people sail the smaller they get. It’s like they shrink to the boat. Maybe it’s because going to the john is easier in a 2 piece and you have to be skinny to wear one.
Yes, Karen is absolutely right – sailing is mostly uncomfortable. But there are times that are pretty wonderful.
This past weekend I was ready to climb aboard again. So we packed up all our gear and groceries and decide to just explore the waters near home. We are unable to keep the dinghy in the water at this marina and the new dink is a too big to haul onboard. Ray had this fantasy that if he got a bigger dink we could “explore” places via new dink. To me this is a dinghy defined as a merely tolerable boat for transporting one directly to the marina/restaurant/bar/ dock for some land time and refreshments someone serves you. This is not a real boat and therefore is not suitable for spending much time in. But one does need a dink for getting back and forth and taking Puppy to shore for “puppy outs”, so we are now trailering it in and out each time. In my view a pain in the ass but I will indulge him this male weekend boating ritual for now.
Arrived at the boat and Ray had done a lovely job getting her spic and span. Decided to simply sail around the Gulf. It was nice not having anywhere special to go. The wind was good and so we simply sailed. Gentle sweet sailing – just like it looks in the pictures. Quiet, lazy, not too fast on blue water and under the sun. The one lovely thing about sailing is when there is wind it is quiet and smooth with only the sound the water slapping against the hull and the sails waving a little. Being in Florida waters on a holiday weekend, it becomes clear that the journey is not the goal. The motor boats go flying by as fast as possible with their motors screaming loudly along with their occupants and their hulls bouncing violently on the waves.
We did take the dink exploring and even Ray with motor controls in hand, felt compelled the make the boat scream. Yeeps bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, even more bouncy over the wakes from bigger, faster, noisier vessels. Felt really sorry for the kayakers. No one seems to slow down for sailboats or kayaks at all. And there are jet skis EVERYWHERE. Kind of like annoying nats making lots of noise and flying around every which way. I have been on one a couple of times but never on my own. While annoying, they do look like fun.
We went to a little island then off to the dog beach. Pandy after getting his unofficial Red Cross swimming badge presented by Mommy in the home pool, jumped right into the water and paddled directly to shore.
From the water it was interesting to see all the ways people enjoy the beach and sea. Little sail boats and catamarans, kayaks in every configuration size and color, people and some dogs, standing on surf boards paddling them around, parasailers, sailboat, power boats, cruisers, fishing boats – big and small, jet skis, dogs and people swimming, dogs playing Frisbee or lunging in the sand, people tubing, lying around on floats, tents and umbrellas from tiny to giant, dotting the beaches, pontoon boats and just folks on the beach soaking up the sun.
The sun is ruthless and both Ray and I need to learn how to deal with it. Gotten too much on a couple of occasions despite taking what we thought were proper precautions. Seen those shriveled old ladies down here and do not want to join the ranks. Already have gotten the crepy chicken skin décolleté’ which I hoped no one would notice but who am I kidding. And while I know I should wear a hat with my baby fine, light, short hair – once the hat is on there is no taking it off until hair wash time since hats do BAD things to fine hair. Not to mention that I perspire mostly on my head further contributing to the awful hair look. But I will bite the bullet and be careful. I must admit a tan does look awfully nice not to mention camouflages cellulite and as much as I want to believe the spray tans and the tanning creams look natural, there is a distinct yellowish cast that is a dead give away.
Our weekend was good and we look forward to hosting guests on the boat (friends welcome) and cruising to all the cities in Florida to visit them from the water’s edge. Nice having the boat only 20 minutes away. Somehow those 20 minutes seems like 100 miles when you are on the water.

Travel Log

Pandy Manning the Winches

Posted April 25, 2011 by marny47

Categories: Sailing, Uncategorized Tags: cruising, doggles, dolphins, fishing, Hemmingway, Islamorada, Key Largo, Key West, Marathon Key, ocean, Pilar, sailboat, sailing

You can always tell when a woman has been SAILING on a sailboat…it’s the look of a new kind of battered. Bruises, big ones, are everywhere with absolutely no recollection of how they were acquired. Her face burnishes a wind burn despite careful application of SPF-30 and she wears a boat hat (always stupid looking with the brim blown up and a drawstring under the chin)

Tan lines are just under the ankle, mid thigh, upper arm, that brown/red scoop around the neck and the ever popular sunglass owl eyes. – flattering. And on top of it all there are remnants of bug bites in various stages of development and healing. On the other hand, a woman STAYING on a sailboat usually has a more rested look, bruises are at least in the yellow stage and face color has evened out some. Perhaps the men look exactly the same, but somehow on them, it never looks quite so bad just manly (or maybe not – see photo). Lucky for me, sailing is on hiatus for a few days and I am starting to look a bit more presentable and have some time to catch up.

Our daily sails have got us moving down the east coast pretty quickly. Hit Fort Lauderdale, where I expertly maneuvered the boat into port next to 2 giant departing cruise ships Jewel of the Seas and Oasis of the Seas – Guest capacity: 6,360, Tonnage: 225,282, Staterooms: 2,700, Length: 1,187′. Ray was most impressed. Funny what you can do when you are too dumb to know any better. Everyone was on deck waving and when Pandy waved back he got lots of cheers.

Not fond of Ft Lauderdale and Miami from a boaters point of view. If you are less than 100 feet of boat they don’t even want your kind. Fort Lauderdale is the big money boat haven. Rows and rows of yachts – I mean yachts, are docked like a row of 22’ skiffs. Each one named something like Lady Belle or Miss Stella (yuck) in letters as tall as your house. Large crews of folks wearing matching shirts in a constant state of polishing, cleaning, scrubbing, trimming on board gardens and making these multi, multimillion dollar boats gleam so the boss can take her out 2 or 3 times a season. I never see anyone but crews on these vessels. The most interesting part is that EVERY ONE of these yachts is flying a BVI flag (British Virgin Islands) indicating that the boats are custom made and purchased there and these folks pay no taxes on them. What you say we give a few more tax breaks to the rich.

  

Just a little somethin’ I picked up in the Virgin Islands

We stopped at the marina to get fuel and water. Water from a hose to fill the tank was $25.00 and diesel $4.89 gallon. Moved on fast. None too friendly either – sail boats don’t use too much fuel. Weather was good so we went out in the ocean. Great! Sails up, moving fast, clear, clear water and 13 dolphins playing tag with the boat swimming right under the bow and on either side so close I could touch them. What a thrill. I think next the pandas nothing is much cuter than dolphins – as does 97% of the world population.

   

 We also saw Portuguese man-of-war. While not a jellyfish it looks like one. And the MofW is not one to be playing with since they can lay you out with their sting. They are about 8″ in diameter and have a football shaped sail on their backs and very long stinging purple tentacles. They sit on the top of the water using their transparent sail to move along the surface. Actually pretty neat. But at dusk when you see them washed up on the beach, you think – hey I was swimming in that ocean earlier…..

Man o’ War

 We found a little hideaway called Pecks Lake. Anchored out and dinghied to the shore to find a short path through the mangroves to a gorgeous practically deserted ocean beach. Water was warm, Pandy ran and ran and we sat enjoying just the sound of the ocean waves.

We met Italians from Venice – Venice who the hell is FROM Venice? She blond and tan, he dark and trim with one arm. Hard operating a sailboat with one arm. They seemed much more exotic than we and we fantasized about what they were having for dinner – surely chilled Bellini’s, prosciutto wrapped melon, aged perconio cheese, homemade gnocchi and espresso with anise biscotti. So deciding we would experience the exotic foreign fare, we deemed it I-talian night on Polaris and cooked up some pasta and jar sauce. Then we devised a story about how Alfredo was a world class race car driver and how he lost his arm while racing Ferrari’s when a small kitten came on the track and to avoid it he crashed the car, lost his arm and his career but the kitten was spared. Time of our hands. But I do want to know how those Italians stay so thin eating all that damn ham.

Woke to a beautiful mist covered lake making the boats and surroundings look like a very old painting.

Set out for the Keys.

Stopped for lunch in Key Largo and knew we had left civilization. Tiki huts, cast of characters, guy singing Jimmy Buffet and cheap beer. Most of these “joints’ are about the same and you know what, it is just fine with me. It’s like life is a perpetual “come as you are” party.

bar fly

Decided to push on to the Upper Keys to the town of Islamorada (pronounced eye-la-mor-ah-da) known for great fishing. But I had heard about a lovely store called Gallery Morada and the mammoth World Wide Sportsman store both worth visiting. We were not disappointed. The gallery was filled with one of a kind items each one more perfect than the next. The sports store, usually not my 1st shopping choice destination was spectacular. Everything you could want for fishing and such in a beautifully one of a kind giant cabin like building with fish fossils in the floor, a marina bar, the Zane Gray plantation like veranda restaurant and in the middle of the store you could board Earnest Hemingway’s actual restored 40’ fishing boat – Pilar, where he wrote “The Old Man and the Sea”

 

EH on Pilar

Bought a pair or zip off leg quick dry pants. No, I am not kidding and you will be happy to know the zipper part where the legs come off are exactly at the fattest part of my thigh. But I am told I “need” them for boating.

 

Now we are in Marathon in the Middle Keys. Marathon is probably the least charming of the Keys however it is the most boat friendly. We stayed here a month and a half on the last trip in order to accustom ourselves to boat living. Fashion is non-existent except for the transient boaters. Everyone wears exactly the same clothes, men, women, children – shoes, hats, shorts, shirts, pants jackets and dinghies. They are all exactly the same. Some of the characters still sitting under the “Tree of Knowledge” discussing pressing issues were there 2 years ago including Capt. Jack and Barnacle Bill. Residents of Marathon living on some strange “boat” collecting junk discarded by other sailors. Barnacle Bill picked up a nice pair of snow skis the other day…… The T of K is a shady place filled with discarded folding chairs and alike where the town “fathers” can sit and bullshit for an entire day.

Tree of Knowledge

Everyone hooks up in the mooring field and dinks their way up to the marina for ice, showers, puppy outs and to do laundry. Beat up beach bikes with plastic crates tied on the back are the main mode of transport and there is a Publix and Home Depot plus several decent restaurants within walking distance. With some down time, Ray has fixed the water leak he’s been searching for since February, hooked up some new fans and installed what we refer to as “Ray’s AC”. Nylon fabric scoops that get hooked up to one side of the upper hatches to direct the wind into the cabin. We have scoops on each of the three hatches and I can safely say we have out scooped anyone in the harbor. Ray even has his own snap maker thingy I affectionately call the BEDAZZLER, so he can install snaps on anything, anywhere at any time. Despite the hot sun, the Keys are usually breezy, so Ray’s AC works well.

Our plan is to stay a couple more days here then head to Key West. Good shopping, good people watching, good sightseeing, good sunset show on the pier and a very choppy mooring field where dinking in is always wet, bumpy and worth it. Taking Ray to Hemingway’s house to introduce him to the 6 toed cats. Will keep you updated.

Did I hear “cookie”

She’s Back on the Boat

( Writing this and posting as we sail at 6 plus knots severly keeled over to one side, in a rocking and rolling very hot cabin with the windows closed so no water splases, feet braced against the wall, trying to not fall over, lose the computer, maintain my tethered connection with the phone and not make any typos….the blog must go on.)

It’s been almost 2 years ago that Ray and I set out on our sailing adventure. Polaris has been hanging out in the Chesapeake all this time with periodic visits from Ray for pampering and sailboat spa treatments. I on the other hand have been kept away from her like the insane wife in Jane Eyre, locked in one home or the other hearing tales of varnishing, mast raising, bottom scraping, wire running and finally sea readying. Ray left February 15 to get the boat ready for its trip to Florida, after she had endured a long, cold and hard winter in in VA in the water. She was pretty rough. One season only is all it takes to peel her paint and varnish, pock up her stainless winches and trimming, tarnish her brass, deposit rust in all her joints, and leave a film of crud, goo and barnacles clinging to her pretty white sides and dark blue underbelly.

It took him until March 17 to get her ready for the trip. Still cold as hell with rain and rough seas, Ray sailed by himself, (not easy on a 37 foot sailboat) down to St. Augustine to meet me and he has the assorted aches and pains, bumps and bruises to show for it. While the invitation was extended to join him on the 1st leg, I decide to pass. My experience has been that the first few weeks are filled with many broken things, something I have come to understand on boats. They come with a covenant that states if things don’t break at least once a week and you personally don’t fix them, you must forfeit the boat. Broken things also come with a code of behavior “bad behavior with much cussing is acceptable and even required and any less knowledgeable passenger on board is expected to endure gruff orders, looking for unheard of tools in small dark places to be delivered in a manner of seconds to the fixer while maintaining a certain level of discomfort until said broken part if fixed.” This must be endured because the things that break are always things like toilets, motors, fuel lines or instrument panels….most necessary on boat trips and also provides appropriate trials for of all would-be sailors to test if their hearts are true. I know Ray has the heart of a sailor. I on the other hand have the heart of merely a passenger.

I rented a car and drove up to St. Augustine, a warmer and prettier port and met Ray in the downtown marina. So good to see him all tan,all smiles and lots of hair after being apart for months. I was all new too with my apricot hair (see previous blog) and my airbrushed tan, another experience I should share. Pandyman got his first visit on the boat and has learned the ropes pretty quickly. Yes Polaris is not her gleaming self but she looked pretty good to me. I knew how hard Ray worked to get it comfortable and clean for me. There were even fresh flowers aboard. In fact Ray always has had little vases of fresh fleurs in the boat even if it is just him – a sweet and romantic gesture I fine most endearing.

After my late start and rather stressful drive to St. Augustine in crummy traffic with Pandy whining a good deal of the journey – he thought we were going to stop at the dog park any minute since there was so much stop and go, and then hitting SA with absolutely no parking available in the entire town, I was ready for cocktails. One martini was nice, 2 better and 3 made the journey back to the boat with all my gear worth an episode of Survivor. The boat was anchored out and so we had to make the trip via dinghy – the embark and disembark in my Grey Goosed state – not graceful – and at low tide making the distance between the deck and the dinghy enormous, my climbing aboard was fairly comical it not miraculous. Thank God Ray is a big strong guy with much patience. The next day I paid the price for my indulgences but hell we were celebrating being on the boat, the adventure home, Pandy’s maiden voyage, seeing each other, warm weather, finding a parking space in St. Augustine on Friday night and that I didn’t end up in the drink or throw up on the boat.

It’s been a week as I write this and I look it. While I showed up with a new haircut, tan, manicured and pedicured, shaved legs, smooth skin, a little makeup, and relatively mar free – in one week I have changed dramatically. My “tan” has gone splotchy with those odd orange deposits fake tans leave around ankles and toes – looking much like I marched through a puddle of iodine, any essence of non apricot toner has disappeared from my hair providing me with a new hue of strawberry gold (sounds better than it looks), fingernails are grubby and already chipped and feet and toes are stained black from my shoes getting wet and I’ve already acquired “boat toes” – chipped polish, heels callused and toes pudgy and swollen from hopping around maneuvering lines, sails and alike. I have just counted 17 bruises including one on the back of my head I think occurred on “martini night” and there is not a part on my body not sporting an ever itching welt of a mosquito bite.

The mosquito bites were trophies both Ray and I were both awarded the first night we showered on the boat. It had rained hard and was both chilly and windy but it had been a couple of days and we both craved a shower. The boat is set up with 2 hot water showers – one in the head and one off the back of the boat. The one in the bathroom seems like the one to use but it is not a separate shower so when used, the entire bathroom and its contents are hosed down, it also steams up the cabin and so we use the one in the back. Of course there is no privacy, it is simply a shower head attached to the very back of the boat for use when one comes in from swimming off crystalline waters (??). We wait until dark, strip down, sit on the back bench, hose off, soap up, rinse off and are done. Not ideal for the modest. On the night in question, it was cold and windy so showering was chilling, but we had no idea that the rain had brought in squadrons of dive bombing mosquitoes looking for tender pink flesh. We were literally covered in bites from vampires attacking us in between suds and rinses. After very fast cleaning and much screaming we had Benadryl tablets all around including the dog, and a coating of Benadryl serum from stem to stern. We went to bed clean but itchy and bumpy. Morning rituals now include the ceremonial application of Benadryl to each other’s bites in those places we can’t reach on our own.

Despite the start out setbacks, I have been getting back my sea legs and relearning the ropes (lines on a boat and sheets if the lines are attached to a sail), I am getting back onto the rhythm and enjoying it all. Beautiful sunsets and chilly rainstorms. Weather for the most part is good and seas calm. Not much wind, so no sailing. Motor sailing on some days. That’s when we put up the sails and run the motor hoping to get to 5 knots or so. That’s still pretty slow. Ray has installed a HVAC system so we were able the ditch the window air conditioner in the cabin entry. Much better. We have to be hooked up to electricity at a dock or run the portable generator onboard to keep it on but it does take out the dampness in the boat and makes it more comfortable. Since docking is charged by the foot and fuel is very costly at marina’s, along with everything else, we usually anchor out and run into shore with the dink. I actually like it better –private and no noisy neighbors.

We’ve been making about 50-60 miles/day on the Intra-coastal Waterway, if we get an early start which is good. It is mostly like driving across country – lots of water, occasional boats and so-so scenery. Something I like is that boaters always wave to each other. Nice – reminiscent of an earlier time. We’ve tried to get “out” which means we go out into the ocean, but weather has thwarted our attempts. Once you go out you can’t just get back in easily and if weather comes up you’re stuck. And of course if the wind is going any way but at your back, you’re still just motoring just in bigger water. Our thought is to hurry through most of Florida and spend more time exploring the Keys and/or Sanibel. It’s nice being back away from the world. Somehow even with my iPhone and its access to news, the space on the water between the boat and the land seems miles and miles away.Our day is filled with immediate basic concerns – food, safety, keeping things tidy and in their place, our route, and the weather, getting provisions and getting along. Oh and getting the puppy ashore for “puppy outs”. While I wouldn’t want to live on a sailboat forever, it is good periodically. It cleans the fluff and superficiality out of our veins and helps us to remember how pretentious we tend to be with our concerns for comfort, stuff and appearances much of the time. I also like just being in OUR world. Ray and I fell in love on this boat and being on it again – just us and puppy, is perfectly wonderful. We are good, we three. Maybe he’ll let me rename it The Love Boat….bet not.

Hair Color

A couple of days ago I decided I’d had enough of letting my hair go natural.  My hair is naturally dark blonde – which of course I didn’t know for sure until living on the boat for the good part of a year and letting the bleached hair grow out.  I was 16 the last time I saw an entire head of my own color hair.  The new natural hair growth color seemed ok and was getting a little lightening from being in the sun all the time so I was fooled into thinking it was lighter than it really is.  I liked being fooled and felt younger and a little smug that I could still call myself a blonde.

After the long winter, the truth surfaced – dirty blonde with a smakling of gray.  And with my haircuts being very short and every 5 weeks any chance of natural blonding is out of the question.  There is another factor in the equation – my hair is very fine and thin, so bleaching the hell out of it or roughing it up some gives it a little more body.

I had tried some highlights which always look good from the front – the view you get in the bathroom mirror when you check yourself out and say “yeah, looking good”.  Not the view you get in the store dressing room from the back, under fluorescents displaying your hair as darker than you ever thought with this dibby dab of blondish stuff on top.  You stand there looking in that 3 way deal and not only are forced to  take in the fat hanging over your bra, the muffin top sitting over the panties and the dimples on the back of your legs but now your hair.  The one thing you thought you had going for you is not so hot.  When I got that view I think of some of those home jobs I get behind in Wal-Mart and cringe.

I was ready for a change.   I decided to do it myself.  Partly because I thought it would work out and partly because I haven’t established a good hairdresser here yet.  Let’s talk about that……When looking for a new hairdresser; I usually look around when I am out for women with good haircuts.  Good short haircuts and ask them where they go.  Let me tell you about women in Florida and give any good hairdressers a heads up – I have never seen such bad hair in my life. It seems the entire west coast of the state suffers from bad hair.   No matter where I am, grocery, art fair, mall, dog park, nail salon – I haven’t seen one decent haircut and I am looking.  Saw one slim woman with prematurely gray hair with a very smart short cut.  Too short for me, but she was tall and thin and it looked great on her.   When asked where she had it done she replied “oh, Fantastic Sam’s – I have it buzzed, tell them to set the razor at a #3.”  Now this gal is far braver than I.  Not to mention if my hair is too short or cut badly I clearly resemble the head camp  counselor from Girl Scout camp or my sturdy  high school gym teacher with that whistle around her neck blowing  and shouting “Bleeeeeeeep – ok girls lets have 3 trips around the track and make it snappy”

In desperation I did go to Fantastic Sam’s and got a decent haircut for $10.  (Used my coupon – regular price is $14).  Just walked in and in about 20 minutes I was out of there.  This from a woman who had one hairdresser I had to make a year’s worth of appointments in advance, when I arrived at my appointments I would wait at least an hour and the cost – well  we won’t into the cost but it was more than $14.

I am a believer that if one’s hair is wacky you feel like crap.  So I am willing to pay the price to get it right.  But I always said I would never clean my own house and I’m doing that now.   I am clearly a liar. 

My motto per Dorothy Parker “Take care of the luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves”  Hallelujah Sisters!!

Back to this coloring thing.  I know my hair pretty well and have had enough mishaps and hair colors over the years to get an idea of what works and what doesn’t.  There was henna which made me a burgundy brunette – not even worth commenting on that. A crew cut way before Annie Lennox sported one.  Had bright red hair for about 5 years and not bad until I decided to go back to blonde.  Anyone who has done red hair knows you might as well shave your head as get that red color out.  Hairdresser bleached my hair which actually was ok but then he added ash toner – which has a green cast to it to counteract red.  My thin, fine hair was shoulder length so the ends were fragile.  End result a unique ombre effect from pale greenish white to a lovely shade of pistachio green.  Went very short once again.

 In the 80’s  – such a good hair decade between the bad perms, the scrunched gelled hair,  front bang Farah Faucet sweep and the topiary hairspray you could spritz on your hair and it would stay where ever you wanted it to,  I was frosting my hair.  For some reason the “in” color was a gray white!?? In my 30’s and going for gray.  What the hell? 

The first time I colored my hair I was 16.  Spent summer in chlorinated water which I never rinsed out and my hair (still short) bleached out nicely until about October then it morphed into a lovely shade of pale green (again?).  So I colored it with Nice n’Easy Golden Blonde.  I thought it was great but it was a bad brassy gold (what did I know?) and my mother criticized the color but in those days mothers didn’t drag you to the salon for a fix – I lived with it. 

When I got this brainstorm to color my hair this time I had visions of that gold color. So I set out to do some research.   I went online and investigated Clairol, L’Oreal, Garnier and John Frieda.  Went through all the gyrations on those sites to get the right color.  Even had an intimate tete a’tete with Christophe Robin, L’Oreal’s online hairdresser who asks you specific questions with a very French accent about what your hair is like and what you are going for.  After our intimate conversation, I really trusted Christophe and based on his personal recommendation I went with Whispersoft #10NB.  A light cool natural blonde supposedly 2 shades lighter than my own color.  With Christophe, my new BFF, in my corner how could I go wrong?

Read the directions. Tested the strand seemed ok and applied the stuff.  Washed it out and VOILA….I have apricot colored hair.  OMG.  I am 16 again but now, sallower, fatter with wrinkles and way past being able to carry anything off ‘cause I’m young.

 To myself –

“Is it really that bad or am I overreacting?  It’s kind of strawberry blonde, that’s not so bad”

Leave the bathroom, come back an hour later, catch myself in the mirror “OH MY GOD!!!

 OK, Ok….call the helpline and see what to do” 

Denise answers and talks in a calming tone.  She has received these calls before.  She asks me questions and then insists my hair must have been brown not dark blonde to go orange.

 “BROWN? Humph.”

We decide that I should put Light Ash Blonde over it and that should fix the problem.  So out to the store again with a peach blouse and coral lipstick so it looks like I’m born with strawberry blonde hair and damn proud of it.   Back in the bathroom with hair color on for 25 minutes.  I give it a little extra time for umph.

Rinse and VOLIA ……………..APRICOT.  No change.  None.

Screw Christophe that bitch.

Turns out, I found a hairdresser and got in the next day.  She toned it down some and cut it very short.  Good short, not Coach Marny short and I can live with it and hell I can stay in the house 4 months until it grows out.  You can get just about everything delivered from the internet these days.

Some things are better left to the professionals and I think blonding goes on that list.  But who would’ve thought that hair color hasn’t change since the 60’s, I sure have.

STUPID SHOES

 Ok, I am stymied.  I was watching the Grammy’s the other night and of course just like the Oscar’s it seems much more important to talk about what “they” wear than what they have accomplished,  but that is not the reason for my commentary. 

What the hell is wrong with young women and these stupid shoes?

 Anyone who knows me, knows I love shoes – pretty shoes, sexy shoes, pointy shoes.  For so many females,  shoes are one of the true pleasures and the indulgences of being a girl.  I really think one of the reasons we all like shoes so much is that your shoe size may be exactly what it was in high school however your weight and dress size may have increased considerably (like mine).  “Oh yes I am a size 7”

Caption: When Dresses Shrink

 So help me out with these stupid platforms.  Is everyone in some great Greek play and in need giant platforms to be seen from the cheap seats?  Hell aren’t these the shoes girls “on the pole” wear?  Is this what we are going for?

    

at least she has straps on so she doesn’t fall

(Side note from Chris Rock about “the pole“ : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tojBadSr2zI )

Now I am not going to tell you that I don’t have stories of aching feet and stupid shoes. Oh I do. I can remember going to market walking the steaming sidewalks on Fashion Ave in NYC in pointy spikes for 12 plus hours. Who the hell was I trying to impress?

In fact I can recall one particularly painful evening trying forever to hail a cab to finally get one to stop and some guy jumps in front of me and tries to get in. The foot pain took over and with Herculean strength I grabbed the SOB by the collar, yanked him straight out of that back seat and with foam on my lips, blisters on my heels and vengeance in my voice, I uttered low and strong ” Oh no buddy, this is MY cab” and tossed him to the curb.

Then there was the pair of wooden platform Bare Traps I fell off of while trying to manipulate the clutch peddle of my lovely stick shift, avocado green Vega. My foot slipped off the shoe and off the brake and I plowed right into the car in front of me at a stop sign. The Vega ended up with a hair lip, I ended up with an increased insurance premiums and the guy in front of me ended up with a crushed rear bumper. Slick move.

I’ve bought shoes that were too small thinking they would stretch ( they never do). Too high thinking I could get used to them – oh come on. Boots too narrow my toes looked like they had been bound at birth in some Japanese ritual when they emerged from said boots.

I admired a pair of white bucks one stylist I was working with was wearing. She says “ Oh I can get you a pair next time I am in Paris” “Great!!!” The shoes arrive and the price tag was $470!!!! This is in 1989. Turns out they are Paul Clergerie’s who I had never heard of before and very expensive. Duh. My God, I had never spent anything like that before – let alone on shoes and of course had to pay the bill. You bet I still wear those shoes – despite the dog chewing on them a little one day and almost being banished from my home. “Not the Clegerie’s! Couldn’t you go for the Target vinyl thongs?”

I had 5 pairs of wooden clogs in assorted colors while in high school and college, not the best time for women. Just watch Mad Men. We were to put up with sexual harassment and learned to fend it off with humor or charm in hopes not to offend the guy (probably our boss) who was treating us like some floozy. We had to accept the fact that we would make less then our male counterparts even though we often worked much harder, sacrificed much more and had far less opportunities to move up. If we were ambitious we were deemed “bitches” and if were tough we were “ball busters”. Hard terms to deal with when your Mom told you to always “be nice.”

Even my friends have typecast me as the one who wears the pretty but uncomfortable shoes. On a girl’s weekend in Chicago – we hit every store selling shoes. Since all of us wear about a 61/2 we can try on the sample shoes on display. One friend is a sneaker/loafer fan, the other specializes in Audrey Hepburn type flats. Since we had been walking a lot and my feet were feeling it, I would longing look at something flat and comfortable and they would say in unison “no those aren’t you Marny, these are you” holding up some strappy spike made of pearls and black faille that were only useful for sitting (key word here) sexily at a party and asking someone else to get you a drink.

My point is I am not at all immune to the suffering endured for the love of shoes. But here is the deal. I was born in the 50’s when women were supposed to “catch a man”, be feminine at all costs and be pretty little things. It was before feminism, equal pay, the pill and Title IX. It was a different time and frankly not the best time for women. Just watch Mad Men. We were to put up with sexual harassment and learned to fend it off with humor or charm in hopes not to offend the guy (probably our boss) who was treating us like some floozy. We had to accept the fact that we would make less then our male counterparts even though we often worked much harder, sacrificed much more and had far less opportunities to move up. If we were ambitious we were deemed “bitches” and if were tough we were “ball busters”. Hard terms to deal with when your Mom told you to always “be nice.”

My Dad thought if I went to college I should study nursing or be a teacher so I would have something “to fall back on” in case something happened to my husband. I’m sure Dad did not anticipate that men don’t take care of women anymore, often let their wives take care of them while holding down a job and running a home and 60% of marriages end up in divorce.

My hope for my daughter and her generation of women is that these “girls” would not be so damned impressionable by flagrant marketing of stupid things to women. Ridiculous fashion that makes women look like hootchies, deems it acceptable to show cleavage in any circumstance, allows the likes of the Housewives of Anywhere, the Kardasian’s and JerseyStupid to take up more time on TV than anything else (and make more money by the way).

It bothers me that my generation of women went out there and took the shots so that it would be better for our daughters and that what I see is Toddlers in Tiaras, Paris Hilton, more news about Lindsay Lohan and fat young women with their jiggling bellies hanging out, their bras hanging out who are more interested in Victoria’s Secret than in world politics.

I am not saying this is true about many, many young women. I look at my daughter and her friends and I see these amazing young women who seem to have things more balanced, more together than we did and who’s accomplishments and hopes are grounded and astounding. They make us all so proud.

And I am not saying that fashion is not fun and a form of self discovery and expression . God knows of all people I cannot slam anyone for dressing up, I have done it all my life. But for heaven’s sake girls, while its fun being a girl and playing in all its trappings get off the stupid shoes before you break your necks and remember we really are more than tits and ass.

 

  

Decorating

I went to bed at around 11 and thought I would read a bit. Ended up finishing the book and couldn’t get to sleep so now at 2:15 in the morning and I am writing this blog. I figured that writing at 2 am is what writers’ do and since I have been pondering how to a get a book started or get some of this dribble I’ve been putting out, published, that I should act like a writer. So I put on an old cardigan (sans leather elbow patches ) over my pj’s, made myself a cup of tea with honey, sat the dog up on the barstool beside me and started typing.

 

 I am alone this week. Ray and I have been together everyday, every minute since we moved down here. Strange that we haven’t killed each other. Remarkably though, we get along enormously well and really like each other’s company. I haven’t longed for as much alone time since Ray, although all my life I seem to need lots of it. Well this week I am on my own. I usually spend the first couple of days wandering around wondering what to do with myself and then I kick in and get crackin’ on all those things I just need time alone doing – thinking, figuring things out mentally and fiddling with this and that and enjoying having the place to myself. Every woman knows what I’m talking about…..just having the place all to yourself.We had to leave half a garage worth of stuff in Indy which included silverware and cooking utensils (mentioned previously) because the truck wouldn’t hold it all. But the time had come to get that stuff out of the condo. Ray worked a deal with his rather eccentric friend in the sign business, to bring up a van that this fellow had bought online. No ordinary purchase, this was a rather used van with a fork lift cherry picker type thingy in it for installing big signs. Ray helped negotiate the terms with a rather suspicious group of “ferners” who’s boat/auto/truck inventory seemed to move from lot to lot around a rather unsavory part of town inclusive of many pawn and fast cash establishments and rims stores. The van was not what you might term luxury….dirty, smelled of oil I guess from the crane workings inside, heater spotty, seat springs shot etc., etc., etc. Anyway he recommended I pass on the journey northward in this van and since I was fighting a cold or something I agreed. He drove it up on his own with tales of his miserable drive reinforcing the decision for my staying in sunny Florida.. I just had a feeling. On top of that, he arrived in Indy to 6 inches of snow one day and record low temps the next. That’s what I love about old Ray, always up for the challenge.My whirlwind creative spurt spilled into organizing, sorting and becoming an interior designer extraordinaire.   I actually found places for stuff besides the cardboard boxes they came down here in, painted all the gilded gold frames silver, moved out the harvest gold kitchen remnants and found final resting places for all kitchen stuff (except for knives and silverware still in Indy)

one would think I cook

furniture and treasures (AKA knick-knacks) rediscovered and finally used the black and white striped fabric bought in 2005 to cover the couches and slip covered the boring wing chair.

 

 

 

I could live in a house of black and white stripes!

 

I love to decorate. Decorate anything – houses, people, prom night, dinner tables - you name it I love to accessorize. Since the notion of this move I have been mentally decorating the house. I have stacks of decorating magazines and files of ripped out pages of decorating inspiration. Each room pictured is like a homework assignment of looking for the perfect ideas I can knock off for my place at a fraction of the cost. And while in my mind I had this image of this house being white and sleek and modern the reality was I was sitting amongst the darkest furniture I have ever owned. I had not gotten a handle on this space and all of a sudden this color palate of light blue, white and gray the color of sky over the water, beach colors has now become NYC on an overcast day after acid rain during a garbage strike – grays and blacks. And the only modern part was the new sleek sectional and a couple of new lamps amidst my belongings of blue and white dish collections, gilded frames, oriental rugs and toile fainting couches.

What went wrong?

I sat in the living room and pondered. It’s the rug yes it’s the damn rug. While we tiled the floor in a pale gray tile and the gray blue oriental looked lovely on it, it also muted everything. The gray couch, the Danish credenza and the new Ikea black chair made it dark. The whole place was looking far too grown up and sedate. I went straight to Ikea catalogue for inspiration.

Side Note:

 

This is the time when I must take a side trip down Ikea lane. Now for those of you who have never been, you may not get this. But those who have hallowed its halls it is a retail wonderland. In fact it is my most favorite Florida theme park. Now granted, I am an admitted Target groupie but perhaps my loyalties are now straying. Being the old retailer myself, I admire places that do a good job. Those retailers, who excite me (did you see the Christmas Anthropologie catalog?), value me, toss me a deal periodically without strings attached or jumping through hoops and provide merchandise that is smart, fun, good looking and stands up. When you first go to Ikea it can be overwhelming. So much stuff, such great prices, so creative and innovative, fun shopping and meatballs. Almost too much. But now having a store close by and remodeling a house, I have made enough trips, studied the catalog, and delved into the particulars of kitchen remodeling, furniture assembly and meatball eating to feel comfortable with endless array of decorating possibilities their designs offer. Turning the corner and seeing that giant building and the monster IKEA sign renders the same feeling as when you walk through those gates at Disneyworld and there’s Mickey and you know you’re gonna a good time. And this confession just when we thought Marny who lived sparsely on a boat for almost a year and is engaged to nature boy Ray would have tempered her love of blatant consumerism the truth comes out….I AM seriously superficial and yes – proud.

Ikea offers European modern design economically designed for multi use and small spaces. My mind’s eye was thinking just that but my decorating efforts seemed to go awry somehow. I had too many ideas, too many possibilities and it kept me from eliminating choices. When I moved into my townhouse – my independent woman, all girl, reflective of me place. I picked PARIS  APARTMENT as the theme, complete with gilded frames, a little bit of fouffy, crystal chandeliers and bits of glitz. French country in the kitchen and family room, city salon in the living room, Versailles in the master bedroom and bath. With this in mind and downsizing from a house twice the size, I was able to get rid of the things that didn’t fit.

 

Now in this place I had to downsize in half again and I already had kept the things I really liked from the last move. And now I wanted to go modern and I had to add in Ray’s things which are MAN things – you know….man things in man colors which do not include turquoise and pale aqua. Hmmmm. Not Budweiser bar signs or a collection of Dale Earnhardt Jr. memorabilia, but not toile tuffets either. And Ray actually wanted input, I never anticipated input. Not that I don’t value his, which is good and comes with a discriminating eye and surprisingly overlaps my preferences…but it just didn’t occur to me that he might want a say since he is living there too. Oh this sharing thing…..

So now in my modern West Elm image I was trying to fit in the fouffy French stuff thinking it would be an eclectic mix bit ending up being fouffy with some chrome thing next to it. Long story short – I ended up finding a very colorful rug at Ikea. That was the answer. Dump the light blue crap we’re into big color now. It is so good when it feels right. The place should be bright and fun and whimsical and eclectic. Much more reflective of Ray and I. We both made the pack to leave behind the old life and create a new one for ‘us” in this move. And while I am not particularly sentimental or the type who proudly points to the ugly Victorian tufted couch sitting next to the big screen TV and says “Oh that was Grammy’s settee” I do kinda like my stuff.

Isn’t that what change is about? Weather decorating, moving, a new job, a new partner, learning a new skill, even a new haircut? Parting with the old, the familiar the comfortable the safe and going to the new . But then feeling uncomfortable, scared, without confidence, beating yourself up with “what have I done?” and then romancing the old into something more than it was, to finally moving on. Letting go, trusting yourself to leap and knowing the universe will provide the net and discovering a whole new part of yourself and being glad you took the risk.

I have missed my creative side. In my early years it was much more prevalent ….also lower paying. As life’s necessities took over and the pace got faster just getting it done was key. The more you got done the better. Creativity takes time, takes pondering, takes day dreaming – takes experimentation and making mistakes and going back and rethinking and getting it right. It can’t be rushed and of course today everything is rushed. I do not think productivity is all its cracked up to be. I am glad I have had some time to “play” with my ideas, make some mistakes and then get it right and enjoy the satisfaction. I guess I’ve enjoyed the journey instead of putting all my eggs in that destination basket. Crap….I’m growing up and maturing again. Bummer. But I do love my crazy bright rug and my black and white striped chair.

So I had the week or so to myself with a house to sort out and get a handle on and figure out just how to decorate it. It turned out to be a good thing for me to stay behind – getting things done. I had lots of creative energy plus wherewithal to accomplish tasks I’d been talking about. Even made throw pillows – not the hard part – figuring out the sewing machine a completely different matter. It’s been almost 40 years since I had to deal with bobbins, threading, the foot and the tension and so on and so forth. My eyes are worse, my patience shorter and my mechanical abilities just as lousy as ever. Pretty comical afternoon for anyone watching. But I have new throw pillows, and they are not too bad.