Ebbing and Flowing

Today was a day to try to get back in the swim of things. I will shortly do my 50 laps in the pool, which I did yesterday and decided to keep to a daily routine. We have a sweet opportunity to enjoy a yacht next to us, during the evenings, which the owners have allowed us to use at their dock slip, which has cable TV and airco. This is a marked change from being at anchor rolling around in the harbor, where the boomboxes blare from a beachside hotel every weekend. We are docked at a slip we have free use of, courtesy of Niles, who is glad to keep Bob nearby the boats he works on. The slip is on a dock directly adjacent to the waves and open water; it has East views to the North Side of St. Thomas, St. John and Tortola. Just beyong the water entry to the South, it is hilly, undeveloped and lush; behind the other long side of the horseshoe shaped dock, is the hill where the village condos are nestled. Off to the short side to the North, it is open until the view is punctuated by the beach condos with water views interspersed and where the beach is accessed. Walking anywhere is a treat. The brick herringboned walkways are canopied with prime shrub, tree and vines; a foliaged nirvana. My kind of place! The 'genius loci'-- the spirit of the place-- is alive and well tended. Bob works with Niles, who runs a yacht brokerage and management company, call Amantha Yacht Services. Of the 75 slips, Niles manages about a quarter of the boats, which involves a lot of servicing, which Bob has been hired for. On any given day he is in and out of some amazing vessels, yet is nearby the boat here, where I have been diligently attempting to catch up with organization and upkeep. He has also done a good bit on our boat while I was in Maine, but now I can pick up my part of this partnership and get to work on brightwork and other fun activities aboard, such as keeping the demon dampness, which is endemic to the Tropics, from becoming too established in the corners of the boat, and in clothing, books and other potentially mildewy spots. The whole boat needs constant attention in keeping the elements at bay. It's not all glamor! The pool is mercifully close by, just above the first set of village condos behind us here at the Marina. Above there the village style condos go up another few rows to the top of the hill, where you can see over the other side into Red Hook Harbor, where the village center is, and you can see over that Harbor's hills to the Atlantic beyond, where St. Croix lies 40 miles away. This spot, called Sapphire Village/Beach Resort and Marina has much to recommend it, now that I have seen the pool and poolside grill, and walked to the top and more of the lush vegetation found higher up the hill. It is beyond my ability not to appreciate the landside accoutrements, but we are both mindful of continuing to earn our freedom chips and to take our excursions to nearby places. We will certainly have to reach beyond the Virgin Islands soon but there are so many discoveries awaiting us here, within a few days of travel, that longer voyages right now seem unecessary. I intend to get my Captain's liscence with Bob's coaching, since he has just secured his diploma for passing the test while I was away. One thing I have realized is that there is such a need to be realistic about what one brings on board. More than what is necessary is just a burden. This is a lesson which I am getting most eloquently from myself now, since I did not give it due consideration from others warning us, and Bob's reminding me. You don't need to have everything on board; you can make do with samplings. More food only spoils, more items to store only have to be kept clean and mold free. More parts for the boat, carefully stowed, make sense. That is how I will gradually fit myself back into the boat. While on shore, one can expand and experience the luxury of growing; on a boat you have the other joy--of minimizing, contracting yourself into the essentials, the constriction that allows you to exhale the excess from out of your boat's body. We are breathing a new, and a welcome, kind of life.

Dreamlife Return

After having returned back to St. Thomas yesterday from five weeks in Maine, staying with my Mom after my Dad died in January, I have been acclimating to life here. From blizzards to balmy weather, with the corresponding emotional upheavals, it has been a memorable transition. The first acclimation to being here was after a baptism by water; our Bermuda passage was so far beyond my expectations that I switched into endurance mode. Accomodating to here, from that Nantucket sleighride, was a simpler matter, having made the boat my home away from home. Going back to land, to baths and real beds in bedrooms and doors with locks and cars and trucks and all that I could want to ddrive to at my disposal, and movies, it was like going back to a regular existence, even with the constant state of snow. Coming here, I thought it would take a longer time. It hasn't. It has just taken sleep and swimming and sunning and socializing. It is easy to enjoy being back. For just a day, it felt as though I was returning to a vacation existence. Today, after sleep and time with Bob and relaxing and enjoying the weather and our new situation at a slip at a Resort Marina, I have let myself enjoy the idea that I could be peaceful here. I can settle into the rewards of a life of ease and loveliness, at least for a time, while it is possible. I have a table where I am typing, under a canopy by a pool, and nearby is a turtledove cooing and ambling around. There are geckos and iguanas in the trees, and people have dogs on their boats--one boat even has a pet white heron that comes in for fish. People are pleasant, warm and courteous. Bob has made great new friends on board the other boats. He goes to the grill that is next to the pool, where people come to sit, drink, play poker some nights, watch TV and read. There are some glamorous types of boats too, for instance a gorgeous boat owned by the CEO of Lowes that is a client of Bob's (he works for a yacht broker/manager, which is why we get a company truck and free slip). Mostly the people seem very delightful, and come from many places, usually the States It could not be more relaxing. This blissful day is a marked contrast to my extreme difficulty leaving Maine, and my Mom behind, while she endures blizzards and I am poolside and content. I have encouraged her to come, maybe someday she will be open to it. For now, she has her liife and she just wants to stick to it there. I can stay in close touch, that will work better. My kids are homesteading nearby and the newness of that is mixed in with valuable experiences in self-reliance. I am there for them better if I am here. They will be happier knowing that I am being busy being me. It will be a new time, a unique chance. While I am not content to be a Marina Queen I do intend to make the most of this general state of bucolic existence.

Casting Off Again

Casting off

This is a nautical expression that has plural meanings for me. As I write this, there is the major storm Juno still working its worst outside, as I try to sleep in my parents bedroom. My mother, recently widowed, does not want to sleep in here with its memories, so I am in here, with my fathers things staying untouched on the shelves and desk nearby.

Casting off....
In the Hornblower novels which I am working my way through, as a diversion, I am reading of his casting off to head to the frigid waters of the Baltic, an unfriendly sea, to my thinking. It is frigid here, with this raging storm, yet I have been staying with my mother, who is the center of my family, and my time here has been heartwarming. I dread leaving her now, but it is time to assume my responsibilities to my chosen lifestyle, and be getting back to Bob, whom I miss.
There can be many unwelcome places to cast off from, or to, but the common meaning of these words implies a person offloading something unwelcome, as in an anchor dragging one down. So it isn't the destination so much as the act of disengaging, that is the focal point. Casting aweigh.

I have only a few more days here before casting off to return to the boat, and living aboard in the tropics. It is a queer experience, seeing the extreme change of weather, knowing that I will leave all this foul weather behind. Very soon, I will be trading boots for sandals.
It is also queer to have experienced such an extreme of adjustment, in losing my father, having one day back here before saying my last goodbye. I am still adjusting. Nothing new there.

I have, it seems now, cast off into a new direction, in becoming the eldest in the family without a male head of household, and so I have grown into a new role. Traditionally, I am the one responsible for the care of my mother, yet here I am, about to re-embark while leaving her here with other family members around here, and me, literally sailing off in the distance. I worry about her future welfare.

This is an intensely personal time, with experiences I wish to share, but it seems rude to open them to the informality of a blog. While it seems disrespectful to our family process, it could be helpful to others to open my processing, fresh as it is.
I have taken some time away from writing to escape from exploring my feelings.
I find this act of writing surprisingly cathartic, and it comes so easily to me that I can justify it on the grounds of healthy emotional expression.

Back to the title, which means the most to me when I apply it to the act I am about to once again undertake, which is to cast off into the unknown in my life.

I realize that the great opportunity in taking on something that requires you to leave so much behind, is that you can--I can--allow great changes into my conduct of living.

When something so completely disrupts the everyday flow and habit of life, it can make  conscious the moments that happen. 

I see more about my life than I did before. I am aware of its uncertainties, but that is not the gift, so much as that I am aware that nothing is written in stone. 

There are inevitabilities, but challenging myself to encounter what they portend (is that a nautical term...port end?), has been  freeing.

For instance, I can go back and find that I have to get used to being confined to a boat sized existence all over again, regaining what I might have lost, or being seasick again. Yet, that will come or not, it is not so much a matter of control over my will as it is a matter of allowing a lack of control to affect me without disturbing my equilibrium.

In plain talk, I have already changed. I go back to a newer me than the me I was when I left to embark on this journey. 

In a sense, I have grown younger. If it does not sound uncaring, I could allow myself to even say that I look forward to leaving again. Not because I am leaving my family behind, because they go with me, in a truer way. I am eager because I am going to go back again to this voyage of self discovery, and to the joy of knowing the meaning of those words personally. A voyage to my self. This makes the loss of my father, who was a consummate explorer, less of a loss than a chance to remember him in the places that will remind me of him.

Since he was an airman, I can find him in the skies. He is surely along for the ride, in my own airborne. and seaborne, soul.

Heart's Journey

I left the boat in Bob's care, while I flew home on the soonest possible flight back to Maine. My mom called me to come to be there, as my Dad was declining fast. As it turns out, my flight on Monday was just in time, because my Dad died at 9pm on Tuesday night, with family around him.
For a live-aboard, coming into a strange environment can simply mean that you have set foot on dry ground. Adding to that strangeness is the bizarre permeation of extreme cold, the darkness of the sky at this latitude, and dullness of clothes contrasted with the paleness of people.
Of course, the environment around somebody transitioning out of this life is the real factor. I will be experiencing delayed grief, due to the intensity of the last few days. None of us had any real time, to let our feelings come up, until about midway through the service, which was yesterday morning, when we all got through our speaking parts.
I played piano for an all sing to 'Try to Remember', and sang an a cappella solo on ; 'Suddenly There's a Valley', not an easy song, but it worked out. My sister Wendy read her own poem and Karen had some reminiscences, as did my late sister Lisa's son, Danny, who talked about his childhood relationship with Grampy.
We were all at our best, and, as these things tend to happen, we all relapsed last night. Too much delayed grief, wine, stress and chores contributed their part, and we reverted to lousy communication form.
It isn't ever good when material possessions become part of a family dispute, but it is nasty to deal with when the grief is fresh.
As a live-aboard, one good thing is that the boat is already full enough, so there is no question about my being able to take additional things on board.
Other people have more struggles about what they want as mementos. On a boat, you are in a living organism, in a way, almost like a mammal, and it rolls and pitches in the water. You learn to do with the basic needs getting covered.
I am glad to have my attic treasures back in Maine, but they have no day to day place in my life; that is reserved for adventures outside and in the transition zones, like the cockpit and deck. Life is simpler without so much stuff. Bob has been preaching this to me for awhile now, and it is becoming clear.
Although I sympathize with my family and their struggle around the 'things' that were in my Dad's life, I know that my Mom can handle all of that in her own good time. I trust her to make her own decisions.
Being on a boat is making me a better person. I am grateful for this new life, with all its restrictions. They are opening more to experiencing every new day.
I also know that my Dad is in my heart--he is with me as I go on this journey. What a freedom! What an adventure! This is how to share your life---put things in your heart, where there is always room.

Thoughts on My Dad's Life

Albert L. Goodrich, beloved family man and aviator extraordinaire, died peacefully in the loving company of his family on Tuesday night, January 6th, 2015, just two weeks shy of his 84th birthday. He and his wife Corinne celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary in December.

Al had lived through 12 years of Alzheimers. He and Corinne gracefully navigated through the course of this illness from their home, called 'Back Acres Ranch', on Goose Rocks Road in the 'Port'.

A native Mainer, and ten generation Kennebunkporter, Al came from humble beginnings. "I was born on the banks of Tyler Brook," Al was fond of saying.  After beginning his education at one of Kennebunkport's two-room schoolhouses, Al graduated from Kennebunk High School.

His father, George Goodrich, was a lobsterman in Cape Porpoise and his mother, Sadie ran the roadside clam hut called 'Sadie's Swimming Lobsters' on the Mills Road. Dad loved to recount the stories of his youth, including the time he helped his father beat the flames from the fire of '47 off the roof of their home at the age of 17.  He is in a famous early photo of the town, playing baseball in the road down in the center of Cape Porpoise, in order, he said, to 'hold up tourist traffic'.

Al had a sociable nature, a talent for adventure and a head for detail. He was an unhurried man, painstaking about his talents which he developed into hobbies, and achievements. He also encouraged these traits in his daughters, in whom he took evident pride.

Al took a lively interest in the world and was a lifetime learner, acquiring many skills along the way that inspired friends and family to live to up to their best potential. He demonstrated the confidence that a person could do anything they chose to with their life and believed that a person's circumstances created opportunities to explore.

His love of flying led him into building model airplanes, which evolved into buying and flying and then building them himself, in his hangar, on their property, where they made a landing strip in the field and took off with children and grandchildren in tow.

His mechanical aptitude and deep curiosity led him to work on motors and build things that helped save time and trouble.

He also built two homes and barns and workshops and a hangar and furniture. They were the penultimate do-it-yourselfers; they didn't preach their lifestyle, they simply lived it.

When he started forgetting, Al accepted his situation with grace and patience. He had by this time built an 'ultralight' an experimental aircraft and was an honorary member of the EAA.

Al decided early on that lobstering was not for him. Instead, he left his Swampscot Dory behind to take up a twenty year career in the Air Force. At that time, you could not become an officer without college background. However, Al was one of the last people eligible to join the Cadets, a pilot training program. He earned his B.A. in history while working his way up the ranks to becoming, eventually, a Major, Crew Commander and pilot of B-52's. Al flew over 100 missions in Vietnam and flew in many overseas engagements, including Korea.

After his retirement, which came in his forties, Al worked at a variety of careers as teacher, supervisor, and was a pilot for his own charter company, 'Call-Air-Inc.'

After his four daughters were teenagers, he and Corinne built their first house on the Stone Road and moved the family to Kennebunkport, where they worked on their land. They cleared woods, built ponds, gardens and stone walls, raised Polled Hereford cows, grew a Victory Garden and practiced an early version of what would later be called 'sustainable living'.

Many people grew up watching his famous home-built Piper Cub airplanes take off and land from the hangar and runway on their land near Goose Rocks Beach.

When the grandchildren came, they were treated to the classic country farm experience, along with trips in the plane with Grampy. He raised four daughters: Laurie, Lisa, Karen and Wendy, who raised 11 grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Through this all, their home has welcomed friends and family.

Saying that Al Goodrich will be sorely missed is an understatement. That's the way how it is, he would say to us, smiling.

Epiphany

Life happens while you are busy living your dream as well as making other plans.
My Dad died tonight at 9:00pm. It was a day full of family gathering and togetherness in the nursing home where Al Goodrich, my dad, spent only about a week and a half at the very end of his 83 years. He lived through 12 years of Alzheimers which he and my mother navigated from their home, called 'Back Acres Ranch' on Goose Rocks Road in Kennebunkport, Maine.
Staying power is a profound thing--it can help you sustain through tough times, rough weather, rocky patches and blowouts. It's a decision, which my mom, Corinne, and my dad, Al, made at the beginning of their lives together in the military; and their staying power helped them to cope with the ups and downs of life, because they decided that they would. They lived in a generation that understood sacrifice and unselfishness.n
My parents did not just cope together, however, they flourished. Partly because they did not require much except their own elbow grease and a clear set of priorities based on right-minded living, and partly because my mother is a genius at making everything work and making it look easy.
Also, my Dad knew what he wanted and they made it work for them. They were full-fledged partners in their life. Last month, they celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary.
Dad was unhurried and painstaking about his talents and developed them into hobbies that inspired other people.
Although not an intellectual or philosopher, per se, he took a lively interest in the world and was a lifetime learner, acquiring many skills along the way that in a way that inspired his children and others to achieve to their best potential. He demonstrated the confidence that a person could do anything they chose to with their life.
He believed that a person's circumstances created opportunities to explore.
His love of flying led him into building model airplanes, which evolved into buying and flying and then building them himself, in his hangar, on their property, where they made a landing strip in the field and took off with children and grandchildren in tow.
His mechanical aptitude and deep curiosity led him to work on motors and build things that helped save time and trouble. He also built two homes and barns and workshops and a hangar and furniture. They were the penultimate do-it-yourselfers; they didn't preach their lifestyle, they simply lived it.
My Dad came from humble beginnings. "I was born on the banks of Tyler Brook, 77 years ago", my Dad would say, long after he turned 77. 
After beginning his education at one of Kennebunkport's two-room schoolhouses, Dad graduated from Kennebunk High School.
His father, George Goodrich, was a lobsterman in Cape Porpoise and his mother, Sadie ran the roadside clam hut called 'Sadie's Swimming Lobsters' on the Mills Road. Dad loved to recount the stories of his youth, including the time he helped beat the flames from the fire of '47 off the roof of his parents house at the age of 17.  He is in a famous early photo of the town, playing baseball in the road down in the center of Cape Porpoise to hold up tourist traffic, he said. He had a talent for adventure and a head for detail.
When he started forgetting, Dad accepted his situation with grace and patience. He had by this time built an 'ultralight' an experimental aircraft and was a member of that esteemed organization, the EAA, who have stayed friends with my parents, who are considered honorary lifetimes members.
Prior to this, my Dad decided early that lobstering was not for him, and left his Swampscot Dory behind to take up a twenty year career in the military. At that time, you could not become an officer without college background. However, my Dad was one of the last people eligible to join the Cadets, a pilot training program. He earned his B.A. in history while working his way up the ranks to becoming, eventually, a Major, Crew Commander and pilot of B-52's.; he flew over 100 missions in Vietnam.  He flew in many overseas engagements.
After his retirement, which came in his forties, Dad tried a variety of careers as teacher, supervisor, pilot for his own charter company, and finally moved the family to Kennebunkport where they built on their land and raised cows, grew a Victory Garden and practiced an early version of what would later be called 'sustainable living'. 
When the grandchildren came, they were treated to the classic country farm experience. He raised four daughters who raised 11 grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Through this all, their home has welcomed friends and family.
Saying that my Dad will be sorely missed is an understatement. That's the way how it is, he would say to us.

Sailing Through This

1/5/15
I'm coming back home to Maine, on a flight that gets into Boston at 10:30pm, having just watched the movie 'Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day' on the plane. It was in Spanish but the message got through.
It is the classic children's story about how everything that can go wrong, does; yet, when the people, despite their circumstance, pull together for each other, even the worst situations work out. The movie showed how the people felt empowered when they decided to turn their situations around, and how making that choice allowed unexpected good results to occur.
That's the kind of can-do positive orientation that I was raised on. I could make excuses for myself and create a sorrowful outlook as I am going back, due to my Dad's being in his last days. I could settle into a melancholy or sentimental sadness or fall into existential drama or regretful thinking, or go into my usual pattern of trying to make sense of it all.
Instead, I intend to keep aware and stay centered and calm. I could reject this as being superficial thinking, but I know that it works.
As the movie built up in its drama the people in the airplane were also going through their own loud, complaining, negative mindsets. It's not bothering me, though, and, instead, I am just keeping steady.  Sometimes you can be in the vortex of howling ferocity and stay at the calm in the center of the storm. I seem to be there.
The weather has been extreme, with cold up north and heavy winds and rain in the islands; and with the full moon, it seems prime for what is going on in this airplane. People seem to be falling into fitfulness all around me.
Prior to boarding, everyone heard, on the airport TV, that a plane was held up for 28 hours on the tarmac, and an elderly person died on board as a result.
That undoubtedly has added to the anxiety in the air, and snappish high voltage behaviors. I don't have to react, it is just what it is right now. It feels as though I will be able to sail through this. If all it takes for me to do this is to make a simple decision to make the best of a 'bad' situation, I am ready. It may not be much, but it is the sanest way of thinking.