Settling into life in California means everything is different, but also more of the same. SNAFU (for you non-military types, google it).
5 am. Wife and kids are asleep. Dogs are asleep. East-coast guests are asleep, though there is a significant danger that they will soon be awake since it is 830 on their internal clocks.
I woke, as I often do, to dog poop in the kitchen. Argh!! Our little French Bulldog is an untrainable mess at this new house.
Despite the new dog-door she enjoys using during the day, late night pooping in one area of the kitchen has become her thing. And, of course, since it is “late night pooping” nobody is awake to tell her “NO” as she squats to poop by the stove. I do not think she will make a good pet on a sailboat. I keep telling her that she needs to impress me before the move, but not sure she is getting it. Perhaps if I show her this pic and explain that the life jacket is optional?
or walking along the path to the sole Zaxxon machine
at the Douglaston Driving Range (this really makes me think I am too hard on my kids about video games),
I just never thought about the water. But now, being near the water and seeing it is incredibly relaxing. Something about it is calms the soul, and brings daily small issues into perspective. So, bottom line, the move was a great thing thus far and I am very happy with the trade offs from land locked Atlanta.
Luckily, by joining the local sailing club we also met a bunch of super nice folks who enjoy sailing, drinking wine with Teresa (I sip my beer in a haughty fashion, swirl it around the bottle, and talk about its floral notes just to be a jerk), and are quickly becoming good friends.
I realize how incredibly far I am from the teenage kid that was dragged to a boat at the World’s Fair Marine in NY by my dad largely for manual labor. As much as I recall being pissed about it, I now know that I learned invalauble skills by spending virtualy every weekend as forced labor on a boat, friends boats, and working as part of the Coast Gaurd Auxiliary.
To be fair, I have no idea what the World’s Fair Marina is like now, but even without the constant rotten-egg sewage smell in the 80s, it was a pretty awful spot just under the runway of LaGuardia airport. I remember thinking that we were in danger every time we motored passed Riker’s Island, one of NY’s most notorious prisons. To be fair to the staff and prisoners on Riker’s Island, we were in far more danger from an alcohol induced boating accident than an escape, but the danger was real nevertheless.
The catamaran variety was astounding.