CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE: CRUISING FATIGUE AND COOL THINGS THAT KEEP US GOING

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE: CRUISING FATIGUE AND COOL THINGS THAT KEEP US GOING

Life is a blur of sounds, inlets, rivers, channels and marinas right now. We’re hustling up the Atlantic Coast in order to get to Solomons, Maryland in time for our flight to California June 6. And we’re trying our best to avoid high winds and thunderstorms, while traveling 70 plus miles a day. When we were newbies at this cruising gig, we thought 50 miles per day was our maximum – ever! Then we went 100 miles in the fog on the Gulf of Mexico on our way from Marco Island to Marathon, and now 70 days on a clear day seems reasonable. That is, unless you string seven seventy mile days together in one single week, without a break for the Admiral’s shoulders to un-tense and without a break to catch up on everyday stuff, write a Blog or “veg”. I can tell you that when we reached Titusville, Mile Marker, 878, yesterday, we were ready to stop for a day. There is not just the Lab and Laundry imperative, but there is such a thing as cruising fatigue, and we were on the edge of it on Sunday. Keep in mind that we had just left our paradise in Key Largo last Thursday, April 25. Yes, by Sunday, April 28, we needed time off the waterway.

I know, I know. As you sit in your cubicle at work and go about your 60 hour week at the office, you don’t have much sympathy for two gallivanters off to see the world (the eastern shore of America, at least) with no time restraints and few responsibilities. But consider this. We carry, or I should say, the Admiral carries the weight of Slow Motion, a 19 ton motor vessel, on his shoulders every day. And I worry about the Admiral carrying that much weight. There are a LOT of crazy boaters out there, and we run into a few of them every day we are on the waterway. No, it’s not quite LA freeway stress, but it’s definitely stress, the kind where you just don’t think you can take one more knucklehead roaring past you leaving a big wake that rocks Slow Motion and you to the core. Who knew that you could pilot a very large boat and not know, or care about, the rules of the waterway – or especially common courtesy? Of course, there are the nutsy jet skiers and powerful fishing boats tearing around, but at this time of year, there are a lot of boat delivery captains flying up the waterway in yachts to get them to some northern port for the owners – and these delivery captains are either mean SOBs, or, well, I guess they’re just mean SOBs. And very rude. When there is a boat in front of you, that boat has the right of way, and if you would like to pass that boat, you should get on your radio, announce who you are, where you are, and that you would like to pass and which side, then the boat in front with the right of way says that it’s okay to pass (or not), and you thank the boater and promise to make a “slow pass” to avoid engulfing the boat in front in a huge wake. The boat in front slows down so you can get past more quickly, even though you have slowed down. And the pass is made in a civilized manner. The faster boat can speed up as soon as it gets in front of the slower boat, and the slower boat, following behind in the center of the wake, does not get flooded after the pass either. It’s that simple. But you would be surprised how many of these delivery captains don’t even announce their presence on the radio before passing, and how many actually ignore your entreaties on the radio to please, please slow down when they’re passing.

Where is law enforcement, when the delivery captains are ignoring the rules and wreaking havoc on the waterway? We see police boats just about every day on the waterway. Usually they are going faster than any other boat, as if they are heading to a twenty boat pile up. The other day we saw a police boat turn on its lights and run down a very fast little speed boat to ticket the pilot. But I’m told that the police will indeed go after the little speeders, but they don’t touch the big speeding yachts. How’s that for selective law enforcement? What’s sad is that there are a lot of creatures living in the waterway for whom the “No Wake” signs are placed. In ignoring the “No Wake” signs, the speeding yacht delivery captains are not only deluging sail boats and slow power boats alike, but they are also threatening the lives of dolphins and manatees. Especially the manatees, who flock to boats, only to be sliced by the propellers of the fast moving ones, who could care less about leaving a little carnage behind in their wake. There are a lot of manatees swimming around the Titusville City Marina, where we are docked today, and one of them has a number of propeller scars etched in his/her hide. As our friend, Brenda, said, upon seeing a photo of the scarred manatee, “Ouch!”.

Now on to some good things. The folks who helped us tie up at the marinas in North Miami (Bill Bird Marina) and North Palm Beach (Old Port Cove) were just great. So here is a shout out to Vinnie and Sean for their excellence in line tying and stress relief. Vinnie helped us get into that teeny, tiny slip at Bill Bird. We thought that was the tiniest slip we would ever fit into, until we arrived at Titusville yesterday (April 28). We had planned to tie up on the T-head, and we were in the process of doing that, but the wind was blowing every which way, and the dock assistant suggested we would have an easier time of it if we went into a slip. The Admiral made the command decision to go for the slip, against his better judgment. And as we headed around the T head in search of the slip, No. 61, both of us mouthed the words “You’ve got to be kidding”, when we saw it. There was no way Slow Motion was getting into 61, bow first, stern first, or sideways. Fortunately, Slip 60 looked a little better, because there was no boat tied up in the slip right next to it. Always ready to accept a new challenge, the Admiral turned Slow Motion around to enter the slip stern first. Two dockhands were waiting to see if this could actually be done without hitting the pilings and the finger pier. And guess what? The Admiral backed Slow Motion smoothly into the narrow slip. Never mind that all our lines were on the portside, and we had to tie up on the starboard side. The dock hand waited as I prepared the lines for him. And then he even helped put the fenders in place to protect Slow Mo from the pilings. All in all, the Titusville Team did right by us, and for that we are grateful.

This morning I celebrated a day off the waterway by staying in bed until 7 a.m. The days we have been cruising, we get up by 6 a.m. and are underway by 6:30 a.m. So a 7 a.m. wakeup time is pure luxury. This is our catch up day. I had to find the nearest Enterprise Car Rental office, get them to pick me up and rent a car to get to a lab. Then I returned to do the laundry. In between the Admiral made a tasty breakfast of bacon and eggs and toast. While the laundry washed, we cleaned the front and sides of Slow Motion, washing away all the pelican poop from Key Largo, the salt water spray from the dastardly delivery captains and our own dirty foot marks. The Admiral washed down the isinglass that protects the flying bridge. Then it was off to the market to get staples like Oreos and Debbie’s crumb cakes – I mean, staples like yoghurt and milk – or both. And then back to Slow Motion to put everything away, then fill all the water jugs with city water from the dock faucet, then take the rental car back to Enterprise. Whew! I know, it’s not like preparing to argue a case before the Supreme Court, or even like arguing a misdemeanor DUI case before a jury. Still, this was supposed to be our day to relax. For tomorrow, weather permitting (thunderstorms in the forecast), we are heading north again for another 70 plus miles. At least during the week there are fewer rude boaters and almost no loony jet skiers.

Other cool things: There was a humongous bird (Giant Blue Heron?) – at least 3 and ½ feet tall – bluish gray – who greeted us at the Vero Beach Municipal Marina. The manatees are putting on a show for us at the Titusville Marina. The sunrises have been spectacular. Olivia turns 18 this week. Brenda sent us neat photos of Zorro and Ruby cavorting in the hills of lupine in Toro Park. We had spaghetti and meatballs twice this week. Lois sent me some very funny emails this past week. I had a great conversation with a sailor, Caroline, in the laundry room today. I finished the Animal Factory, and it was fantastic. Thank you, Sandra. Speaking of Sandra, we are extremely grateful that she was not injured in the car accident. Sonja embarks on a new adventure with a different law firm. These are all very cool things that have happened in the past few days. Oh, and Violet has a new vet – with a comfortable stuffed chair for an “examining table” – that’s very cool indeed. And Chris and Gryffin are walking to raise money for the SPCA and the critters whose lives are in their hands. And Brenda is walking to raise money to help women with breast cancer – the Avon Walk, which promises to put 90% back into the local community. My sister, Sue, went on her dream vacation to Hawaii for the past two weeks. So, as much as I rant and rave about the crude, rude boaters on the waterway, there are plenty of positive things happening with us and with friends and family, for which we are very, very grateful. And God bless all of you who figure out where we are by checking the coordinates that the Admiral sends out. You are in our hearts, and we wish you all cool things every day.

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO: TURTLE LOVE AND MIAMI ROCK AND ROLL

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO: TURTLE LOVE AND MIAMI ROCK AND ROLL

Carefree waterway, let me slip away, slip away, on you! We blew our little pop stand in Key Largo this morning at 6:50 a.m. That’s right – before dawn. And we’re on the water highway again. But this time it’s a huge ocean, not the narrow meandering ICW. We sweated out two extra days in Key Largo, as the Admiral read every NOAA report every hour to find out when the winds would die down enough to make it to Miami in one piece. We were heading up Hawk Channel, inside the reef, but open ocean nonetheless. And the winds of 20 knots had created waves of 6 to 12 feet on Tuesday and Wednesday. This morning we were not going to be denied. The winds were forecast around 10 to 15 knots today, and there was supposed to be a “chop” – not huge waves – in the channel. Trusting in NOAA, we cruised out of our slip and glided down the dive-boat littered canal ahead of all the commercial travelers out to the Atlantic. Turns out “The Soz”, a fishing boat, eased out right in front of us, but other than the two of us, we had the canal to ourselves, a small wonder. There was NO ONE at “crash corner” to bump into. The sun was peeking out between the mansions that rim the canal. All in all, it looked like a propitious day to travel.

And we were uber-ready to get on the move again after docking at Key Largo Resorts since early March. It had been a very relaxing stay, except for the occasional hordes of loud teenagers bussed in from the North to the Marriott Courtyard, which was essentially right next to the dock. And it had been a successful time for boat improvements as well. The Admiral tackled the flying bridge floor, with its rust, mold and chipped paint and the once white metal strip that went down to meet the floor. He found the right “boat paint” at, where else, West Marine – don’t even ask the price per quart. He painted the floor a sparkling ivory white. It looks great. Then we splurged on a bright blue 4 x 6 rug and two smaller foot rugs at K Mart. And voila, our worn out looking flying bridge is ready for the next issue of Yachting with the 99%. It’s amazing what a little paint and an inexpensive rug can do to raise your spirits. When you come to visit, and you must come, I bet you’ll want to live on the flying bridge and sleep on the new rug. But you won’t have to – we still have the bunk bed cabin and the queen bed cabin in the bow for our guests.

Back to our adventure at sea. As we were poking along at 7.2 knots an hour, being gently rocked by the northeastern winds, the Admiral noticed something yellow in the water – an animal of some kind. As we came closer, we both looked over portside and saw the most amazing event occurring right before our eyes. Two yellow/brown sea turtles were embraced in each other’s “arms”, heads out of the water, and the rest of their bodies wrapped around each other – hard when you’re both in a cumbersome shell – making love. Yes, that’s correct. When is the last time anyone ever saw two turtles making love in the ocean in the early morning hours? When is the next time that we will see this? We expect this is a rare sight, and we felt kind of blessed to have been  momentary witnesses to this frolicsome expression of turtle love. What athletes they both were! Bobbing up and down in the waves, still maintaining full body contact, and clearly enjoying themselves immensely. We captured all of this in the five seconds we were able to watch them. They ignored us completely. That’s the true rapture of terrapin mating. April 25, 2013 goes down in our personal history as the day the turtles made love, and the earth and the ocean moved for them – and for us.

But enough about love. We had a mission to complete – cruise on the ocean at 7 plus knots an hour for 8 to 9 hours to arrive at the Bill Bird Marina in North Miami. By 11 a.m. we were half way there. And we were feeling pretty good about the journey at that point. Sure, the Admiral had mentioned feeling a little seasick at the start, when we first started rolling back and forth with the push of the wind on the waves. But he overcame that and we both grew accustomed to the rolling for the next few hours. However, we were not prepared for the much stronger winds that came along, which created even bigger waves, which rocked Slow Motion even more, to the point where we were rolling back and forth, side to side, like we were going to tip over. No, we were not in danger of tipping over, but sometimes it felt like it. I kept revisiting my raft trips down the Colorado River, when we entered giant rapids and held on for dear life, as the raft plummeted down into the bottom of the rapids and then was spewed out as the next rapid approached. I kept telling myself, “this is fun, this is fun”. But my stomach and my head kept tensing up, and I started to feel queasy. For all of the hours I have spent cruising on Slow Motion in the last year, I had never had that feeling. “Seasick? What’s that?”, I scoffed. No more scoffing. I quickly realized that sitting was not a good position, and standing was out of the question, as Slow Motion’s rocking and rolling tended to throw my body around like a rag doll's. The Admiral suggested lying down in the salon. Except for the smell of diesel, this was a good idea, because we had just printed a photo of Zorro, our blue heeler, looking very relaxed lying on a cushion. I had posted it in the salon. So to take my mind off my stomach, I just zoned with Zorro for a while and felt much better. Then I returned to the fresh air of the flying bridge and kept zoning with Zorro, until we hit smoother waters. The Admiral was having a tough time too, but he stayed at the helm, turning somewhat green at the gills. What a champ!

Speaking of green, the ocean between Key Largo and Miami was every shade of green and blue/green today. There was a lot of turquoise. In many spots there were at least five different shades of green and blue, teal and turquoise. It was magnificent. This was something we noticed and enjoyed before the rocking and rolling took its toll on sightseeing.

Now for the most dramatic part. We contacted Bill Bird Marina to advise them that, yes, we were actually arriving today (as opposed to our cancellations on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday). They told us that we would be in Slip D-2. The Admiral was put out by this news, to say it mildly, because this marina has a wonderful face dock, and he thought we had been promised a space alongside. These face dock spaces are soooo much easier to manage than tiny little slips at the end of a harrowing day of cruising. The Admiral checked his aerial views of the marina, it looked like the slip they told us to go to was very, very small and narrow. The Admiral said: “This looks like Soverel”. That was our first ever docking experience, north of Ft. Lauderdale last year. And the slip was nightmarishly small. We had a terrible time getting between the pilings. Oh God, not another Soverel! Trooper that he is, the Admiral resigned himself to a challenging docking experience. And boy, was it a challenge! We pulled into the marina, wended our way past boats in tiny slips and headed straight to the seawall next to the marina office. We were in the last slip, between a boat and the seawall. The dock assistant asked: “What’s the beam on your boat?” I told him “Sixteen feet”. He said, “Great. This slip is a little more than 16 feet wide.” Jesus! We’re used to slips that are at least 18 feet wide. And did I tell you that we were going to have to back into the slip? This meant pulling forward, while at the same time not hitting the seawall or the boat in the slip directly across from us. And it also meant not hitting the boat in the slip right next to us. Somehow, and I still don’t know how, the Admiral manipulated the engines of Slow Motion to pull off the miracle of backing into this tiny slip without hitting, or even kissing, anything. The dock master was watching, and even she couldn’t believe it. We all gave the Admiral kudos for his masterful work. Naturally, in his aw shucks manner, he said “And this is my first day at trying something like this.” Everyone had a hearty laugh, as we all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

It’s time to make our fresh vegetable salads – the treat of the day (along with the mini Kit Kat bars). Then it’s off to induct Slow Motion into the cruisers’ Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the wild ride she took us on today. And tomorrow? More ocean, more wind – more of that supine position zoning with Zorro. Wish us luck!

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE: BAD PUNDITS, GOOD BIRTHDAYS AND THE TRIUMPH OF GOOD OVER EVIL

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE: BAD PUNDITS, GOOD BIRTHDAYS AND THE TRIUMPH OF GOOD OVER EVIL

All right. I’ve had more than enough from pundits who know nothing about the Supreme Court’s Miranda decision. Stop talking and writing about it, and take the time to read it and its progeny! Now a headline reads: “not giving suspect 2 (this bomber does not deserve to be named) his Miranda rights raises serious legal questions”. Uh, no it doesn’t. Suspect 2, by all accounts, was taken to the hospital seriously wounded and having lost a lot of blood. In that condition, had some idiot read him his Miranda rights and tried to take a statement, there is no way in hell it would have been admitted as “knowing” or “intelligent”. You see, there has to be not only the reading of these rights, but also a KNOWING, INTELLIGENT waiver of these rights. So read the decision and stop showing your ignorance. And by the way, there is a public safety exception carved out by the Supreme Court in the Quarles decision that should cover this situation. No Miranda rights reading when a gun or a bomb or something else that is imminently dangerous to an unknowing public is “out there” and the suspect knows where it is, but the police don’t. In that instance, the police would be totally negligent if they did not ask – even of a seriously wounded suspect – “Are there any bombs still out there? Where are they?” Yup, Miranda does not come into play in this circumstance.

And furthermore, if a non-Mirandized statement is taken, or a Mirandized statement is taken, but there was a flaw in the taking of it (police don’t use the right words or suspect can show waiver was not knowing or intelligent), while that statement may be ruled inadmissible in the prosecutor’s case in chief, if the defendant takes the stand, it will be admitted to impeach him. You see, we don’t like it when defendants perjure themselves and try to subvert the justice system, so if there was something flawed about the giving of the prophylactic Miranda advisement, or about the waiver, the statement may still be used against the defendant to combat his perjury. (Harris v. New York). So, stop blathering about Miranda when you don’t know what the decision says. And don’t worry, there is plenty of evidence to convict suspect #2. If he is able to give a statement to the police, even better, but we don’t know his condition or his ability to speak or be coherent. So stop dithering and let the trained investigators and prosecutors gather the evidence, including any statements, in accordance with the Supreme Court decisions. They have actually read them and know what they’re doing.

If you don’t believe this, ask any first or second year law student who has read the Miranda decision, for their opinion. So come off it, CNN gurus – this means you, Toobin. Don’t feed the public a lot of false BS about Miranda. It’s not like in the movies or on TV. You don’t “cuff” a suspect and read Miranda rights simultaneously. You pick the right time and place to read the Miranda advisement, where appropriate. Giving a smart suspect the Miranda advisement immediately often leads to an immediate invocation. That’s not a smart move on the part of the investigator. You only advise IF and WHEN you plan to INTERROGATE a suspect who is IN CUSTODY. If you ask a few preliminary questions, say of a drunk driver at an accident scene, that is NOT interrogation, and most likely the drunk driver is not yet in custody. So you, the investigator can ask away: Were you driving? Have you been drinking? Doing drugs? OMG, OMG, you’re probably saying, these questions could elicit incriminating statements. So what? If there is no custody, there is no “inherent coercion” and if there is no interrogation – asking a long series of questions designed explicitly to elicit incriminating statements (rather than investigatory questions to find out if you are the perpetrator of a crime) – then there is no requirement for the Miranda advisement – at all. Try to remember that, as news people and their so-called constitutional experts fill the airwaves with misstatements about Miranda. One final note: Miranda is not a “constitutional” right – it is a court made rule based on certain constitutional provisions.

I feel better now.

Let’s see. It’s Saturday, April 20, and the Admiral has returned from a journey to a faraway state to have his pearly whites repaired. He already had an engaging smile, but now it’s a glistening, engaging smile. Just one week ago, his eldest daughter, Sonja, visited us in Key Largo to help celebrate the Admiral’s 70^th birthday. If you don’t know this, the Admiral pretends to hate celebrations. He claims to dislike presents of any kind – this comes in handy for him when he “forgets” the birthdays of family members and friends. He supposedly can’t stand the singing of “Happy Birthday.” I needed to test the depth of his aversion to these all-American traditions, so Sonja and I took the Admiral to Mrs. Mac’s for a birthday dinner. Ahead of time, we had arranged for the presentation of one of their famous key lime pies at dessert time, with “Happy 70” written in whipped cream and a candle on top. We arrived at Mrs. Mac’s with the unsuspecting Birthday Boy, got a lovely booth and ordered some of Mrs. Mac’s best fish dinners. When we finished, on cue, a bunch of the wait people came up to the table brandishing the key lime pie with a lit candle – and they were singing Happy Birthday. Aha! The moment of truth for the Admiral! Well, he looked so surprised and so happy, and he laughed and appeared to be having a great time with the impromptu serenade. Sonja and I took photos to memorialize his true feelings about birthdays, at least his own. And we all enjoyed the famous key lime pie. Happy 70^th, Admiral. Bah, humbug.

Since the Admiral’s real birthday was the next day, April 14, we all drove to Key West to continue the celebration. On the way we stopped at the key where the small Key Deer are in abundance. But alas, we saw only one Key Deer – and it had just been hit by a car. The last time we looked for Key Deer, we found a whole herd in the woods in a neighborhood. They’re shy, but there are so many of them, you’re bound to see them on the side streets. Not last Sunday, no, no, no. The word about the fatality must have spread quickly through the deer colony, and they all stayed very, very far away from any roads or vehicles.

We continued on to Key West, knowing that there would be plenty of wild animals in that crazy little village. Sonja took me to Bo’s for a mid-afternoon lunch, while the Admiral toured West Marine across the street. Bo’s made something for me that was not even on the menu – a grilled cheese sandwich – and it was delicious. Cost? $2.23. Who says it’s expensive to live in Key West? After our tasty meals, Sonja and the Admiral and I parted ways, with Sonja heading off to one of the more historic parts of Key West, and the Admiral heading to the marina. What else? Of course, we’re going to look at the marinas and check them out for next year. We came upon the Jewel of the Seas, a nine hundred foot long “Love Boat” based on Nassau, loaded with people heading to Cozumel from Tampa, then back to Tampa, all in five days. That’s a lot of rich food in a short period of time, if this cruise ship is like most cruise ships – food six times a day, heavy on the carbs and desserts. I’m not sure who would take this cruise, but the liner seemed full, and there were a lot of people who stayed on the boat for the nine hour stop in Key West. (You don’t want to miss any of those sumptuous meals.) I’m not saying it couldn’t be a fun time, but it’s kind of like spending your vacation in a floating hotel. Who goes to a hotel for a week’s vacation? That’s the person who would really enjoy this kind of cruise.

We left Key West, cold drinks in hand, and headed back to Slow Motion. On the way, Sonja found a lovely restaurant right on the water, Lazy Days, where we stopped for another birthday dinner, this time on the actual day of birth. The food was really good, according to my traveling companions, but you would not have believed the service. For lack of a better name, let’s call the waitperson “Rudy” (for being plain rude). The Admiral ordered a dinner that included a salad. The salad never arrived. When Sonja pointed this out to Rudy, he said “What do you want me to do about it?” Sonja suggested he could reduce the bill by the cost of the salad, and he looked dumbstruck, gobsmacked, and actually confused. He said something about giving the Admiral another roll, or some idiotic remark. But he could not grasp the concept that the dinner without the salad should cost less. Sonja assisted him by requesting that he take $2.00 off the dinner price, and again, he looked dumbstruck and gobsmacked – not confused this time. He asked: “Why would I do that?” Okay, we asked for the manager, but there was none to be found. There was an equally mentally challenged host person, who also had apparently never taken any course in customer service (or common decency). So Sonja did the only decent thing – a very, very small tip – getting the dinner reduced by the tip that Rudy would have received, had he been just civil to us. The Admiral remained serenely above the fray, enjoying his second birthday meal. Thank you, Sonja, for being assertive and for feting your father on his birthday. Rudy notwithstanding, you did a great, loving thing.

The Admiral made orzo for us the next day, and we were enjoying the orzo and each other’s company, when the bombs went off in downtown Boston next to the marathon finish line. Then we were glued to the news channels to follow this devastating tragedy. April 15, Tax Day, Patriot’s Day, Marathon Day – another Day that will live on in infamy. We took a break from the news to drive Sonja sadly and slowly to the airport, so that she could return in time for the rains and floods in Chicago this week. We are always so happy to have visitors on Slow Motion, especially loving, caring, brilliant ones like the Admiral’s eldest daughter. Come back, Sonja! Any time!

This entire week I was glued to the news stations, watching events unfold in Boston, Cambridge and Watertown. I have a good friend in Watertown -- Hi Karin! – and when she was placed on lockdown with a million other people, I had to check on her safety. She was safely at home, but described the days and hours of not knowing as one of the most horrible experiences of her life. She was about a mile away from where Suspect Two was found. I have never been engulfed in a manhunt, but can only imagine what every sound outside the house must feel like. My worst recurring nightmare is running into my house to get away from a pack of boys, who then arrive at my house and try to break in through every door and window. And I’m running to each door and window just seconds before they get there to lock them. But there are too many doors and windows and the locks are not secure or the windows are broken – and then I wake up screaming. It sounds like Karin was in the middle of my nightmare this past week. Hats off to the boat owner who saw the rip in the tarp and the blood on it. I wouldn’t have gone to look inside the boat, as he did, when he actually saw Suspect Two – but fortunately, he was not shot and he called the police. What an observant guy! Bostonians are definitely tough and resilient, but they are also really good eye witnesses – a prosecutor’s dream town.

To get away from the manhunt for a few hours, I went to see “42” at the Tavernier Cinemas. As you may know from a previous blog, I saw “Quartet” there, and I was the audience of one. This time I had to share this amazing movie with two other people. Harrison Ford was really, really good. Chadwick Boseman, you were great! Watching Jackie Robinson join the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947 and withstand the repulsive racist remarks of managers, ball players, umpires and fans was incredibly inspirational. I knew much of the story, but didn’t know about Ben Chapman, the horrible Phillies manager who stood on the field and shouted one racist comment after another when JR came to the plate. As Branch Rickey said (at least in the movie), the only color he recognized was “green”, and ultimately the Phillies realized that they were losing a lot of “green” with the subhuman Chapman at the helm. Well, I don’t want to get into name calling – he wasn’t subhuman, but he was definitely racist. Racists have to check their humanity at the door, in order to put down another human being for the color of his/her skin – so at the very least he was inhumane. Good triumphed over evil in this film, so it was the perfect antidote to the Boston bombing. I don’t think I will ever forget the smile on Martin Richard’s face – such a lovely eight year old. Suspect Two, I don’t care what “motive” you and Suspect One had for destroying innocent people’s lives. I don’t. Evil doesn’t need a motive. You are evil. Whatever your friends say about a previous life you led, on April 15, and from that day forward, you personified evil. Go to hell.

 

 

 

CHAPTER SEVENTY: TEARS OF ANGER

CHAPTER SEVENTY: TEARS OF ANGER

I came back from Tampa today (4/17) and turned on the news, watched one of the Newtown parents state “We are disappointed. We are not defeated”, and started to cry. Tears of anger – how could any elected official ignore 90% of all Americans who want background checks for dangerous and violent criminals and seriously mentally ill persons? Yet, 46 Senators – FORTY SIX (This includes YOU, Heidi Heitkamp!) – voted against this necessary measure. It was a compromise, for God’s sake. It didn’t even cover private gun sales, but at least it covered gun show sales and internet gun sales, two currently gaping holes in background checks for weapons of child destruction. It specifically prohibited a national gun registry (which I favor), although the gun lobby lied, yes lied, that it would set up a national gun registry. These gun lobbyists have no shame, no conscience and apparently, no brains. After the bloodied but unbowed grieving parent spoke, President Obama gave the angriest, most emotional remarks I have ever heard from him. I was finally proud of him for calling out the gun lobby for its lies, for castigating Rand Paul for calling the Newtown parents “mere props” for the effort to get moderate gun background check legislation, and for promising that this is just “round one” of the movement to bring sanity back into the discussion of gun control. If I had the time and the money, I would personally work against every one of those 46 Senators who defeated this bipartisan bill. They should be ashamed. As President Obama said, they “caved” to the gun lobby pressure and they ignored the desires of 90% of us, selling their souls for a Senate seat. Disgusting, loathsome, despicable.

We will have gun control legislation in our lifetime, even before the end of Obama’s second term. The 2014 elections, with the help of Mayor Bloomberg, will be fought over this issue. All of the NRA members who support the background checks legislation will finally revolt against their so-called leaders, who serve only as lackeys to the major gun and ammo manufacturers. Remember what happened to Big Tobacco? It’s your turn on the hot seat, Big Gun Manufacturers. I remember when cigarettes didn’t kill people; people killed themselves by not using the product correctly, you know, getting addicted to nicotine and smoking too many cigarettes. I also remember when Big Tobacco said there was NO connection between cigarettes and health problems. Come on down, Big Gun Industry, tell us again that guns don’t kill people, that they’re not dangerous to our health. The CDC is finally getting money to do the research to prove your shibboleths false, once and for all. I want to see you all on a panel in front of Gabby Giffords and the surviving relatives of murdered kids and adults in Newtown, telling us about the sanctity of the Second Amendment, which to you is more important than the sanctity of life.

About that Second Amendment, Southern slave owners fought for the specific language, so that they would be able to continue to send out their slave patrols, called “militias”, to round up African-Americans who had escaped from the yoke of slavery. The original intent was to ensure that the FEDERAL government would have a well-armed militia to protect the entire country. But the slave owners were convinced that a federal militia would end up interfering in their efforts to round up fugitives from slavery, and would actually recruit African Americans to join a federal militia with the promise of freedom. They pointed to the fact that during the American Revolution, government soldiers had already promised freedom to any African Americans who fought for liberty from England. So when Madison (a slave owner) was crafting the Second Amendment, the Southern slave owners (including Patrick Henry) insisted that the wording be “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free country” to “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State”. In this way, they preserved their “slave patrols” and they did not have to fear the freeing of African Americans by a federal militia. Thanks to Howard and Sondra for this historical perspective. The evils of slavery still dog us in the ludicrous NRA and Scalia interpretation of the Second Amendment. Why would we want to preserve a pro-slavery amendment? What’s next – repeal of the 13^th, 14^th and 15^th amendments? For further historical analysis of the connection between slave owners and the Second Amendment, see “The Second Amendment was Ratified to Preserve Slavery” by Thom Hartmann, Truthout, January 15 2013.

Yes, I know, this is a blog about cruising on Slow Motion. But you’ve read my rants before. And, except for a 4 hour fishing excursion, we have been tied up at the marina in Key Largo since March 4. That seems like a year ago, especially in light of the attempted massacre at the Boston Marathon just two days ago. Nothing is sacred. The greatest thing about running is the freedom you feel just running down a public street, or along a country trail, at your own pace, building endorphins every step of the way. All you need is shoes, and many runners don’t even need those. When I ran 10 Ks for a bunch of years, every race was a natural high. The San Francisco Bay to Breakers races (I did three of them) were pure entertainment in terms of people watching – watching my first caterpillar runners, watching a woman in a wedding dress and a man in a tux running with a minister and getting married. The Together with Love runs for the Monterey Rape Crisis Center were gratifying labors of love along the ocean in Pacific Grove. The Big Sur River Run was a healthy jog in the redwoods. The New Year’s Eve Los Altos Run was a gut check, as I had broken my big toe in the first mile, but finished the race and went back to Cathy’s in Atherton to dance until three, waking up with a big toe the size of a tennis ball. I never felt freer than when I was running. Now I get some of the same feeling by hiking in Toro Park or biking around the harbor towns where we’re docked or walking several miles through nature centers or museums. Still, running -- even my nine plus minute miles – has always been the essence of freedom for me.

I know the Boston Marathon will be run next year, and there will be even more runners and even more spectators – it will be the All-American Marathon. I have never run a marathon, but I know about hitting the wall and I know that 26 miles can really hurt your legs and other parts of your body. But if you ask the most hurting marathoner, you will still learn from him/her that, even with the aches and pains, they feel free when they’re running those 26 miles, whether it’s up and down the streets of Boston or up and down Route 1 along the Pacific in the Big Sur Marathon (set for April 28). No terrorist, however heartless, can take away that feeling of freedom. When I heard that two bombs went off near the finish line at the Boston Marathon on Monday, I was really, really angry. When I heard that 8 year old Martin was killed by one of those bombs, I was livid. When I saw Krystle’s mother speak about her hardworking, “best daughter you could ever have”, I was furious. When I read today about the beautiful Chinese graduate student who was killed, I was outraged. What can I do with all of this anger, compounded by my rage at the cowardly Senators for their gutlessness? I’m going to have to run tomorrow, or at least go for a very, very long walk. I need to get back my sense of freedom, and I need to do something positive to honor the lives of these three martyrs and the 180 plus spectators and runners who were also injured by the evil bomber. I propose that the Boston Marathon organizers add a 26 mile walk to the marathon next year, so that those of us who want to show our empathy for the injured and dead of the 2013 marathon can do so, crossing the finish line in a triumph over terrorism.

In the meantime, keep on running, jogging, walking, hiking and biking. Do it for those whose lives were cruelly ended by someone who is so jealous of our freedoms that he/she destroyed his/her own soul  -- for what? We are stronger. We remain free. We mourn our losses. And we united in our will to remember Martin, Krystle and Lu Lingzi.  

CHAPTER SEVENTY: TEARS OF ANGER

CHAPTER SEVENTY: TEARS OF ANGER

I came back from Tampa today (4/17) and turned on the news, watched one of the Newtown parents state “We are disappointed. We are not defeated”, and started to cry. Tears of anger – how could any elected official ignore 90% of all Americans who want background checks for dangerous and violent criminals and seriously mentally ill persons? Yet, 46 Senators – FORTY SIX (This includes YOU, Heidi Heitkamp!) – voted against this necessary measure. It was a compromise, for God’s sake. It didn’t even cover private gun sales, but at least it covered gun show sales and internet gun sales, two currently gaping holes in background checks for weapons of child destruction. It specifically prohibited a national gun registry (which I favor), although the gun lobby lied, yes lied, that it would set up a national gun registry. These gun lobbyists have no shame, no conscience and apparently, no brains. After the bloodied but unbowed grieving parent spoke, President Obama gave the angriest, most emotional remarks I have ever heard from him. I was finally proud of him for calling out the gun lobby for its lies, for castigating Rand Paul for calling the Newtown parents “mere props” for the effort to get moderate gun background check legislation, and for promising that this is just “round one” of the movement to bring sanity back into the discussion of gun control. If I had the time and the money, I would personally work against every one of those 46 Senators who defeated this bipartisan bill. They should be ashamed. As President Obama said, they “caved” to the gun lobby pressure and they ignored the desires of 90% of us, selling their souls for a Senate seat. Disgusting, loathsome, despicable.

We will have gun control legislation in our lifetime, even before the end of Obama’s second term. The 2014 elections, with the help of Mayor Bloomberg, will be fought over this issue. All of the NRA members who support the background checks legislation will finally revolt against their so-called leaders, who serve only as lackeys to the major gun and ammo manufacturers. Remember what happened to Big Tobacco? It’s your turn on the hot seat, Big Gun Manufacturers. I remember when cigarettes didn’t kill people; people killed themselves by not using the product correctly, you know, getting addicted to nicotine and smoking too many cigarettes. I also remember when Big Tobacco said there was NO connection between cigarettes and health problems. Come on down, Big Gun Industry, tell us again that guns don’t kill people, that they’re not dangerous to our health. The CDC is finally getting money to do the research to prove your shibboleths false, once and for all. I want to see you all on a panel in front of Gabby Giffords and the surviving relatives of murdered kids and adults in Newtown, telling us about the sanctity of the Second Amendment, which to you is more important than the sanctity of life.

About that Second Amendment, Southern slave owners fought for the specific language, so that they would be able to continue to send out their slave patrols, called “militias”, to round up African-Americans who had escaped from the yoke of slavery. The original intent was to ensure that the FEDERAL government would have a well-armed militia to protect the entire country. But the slave owners were convinced that a federal militia would end up interfering in their efforts to round up fugitives from slavery, and would actually recruit African Americans to join a federal militia with the promise of freedom. They pointed to the fact that during the American Revolution, government soldiers had already promised freedom to any African Americans who fought for liberty from England. So when Madison (a slave owner) was crafting the Second Amendment, the Southern slave owners (including Patrick Henry) insisted that the wording be “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free country” to “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State”. In this way, they preserved their “slave patrols” and they did not have to fear the freeing of African Americans by a federal militia. Thanks to Howard and Sondra for this historical perspective. The evils of slavery still dog us in the ludicrous NRA and Scalia interpretation of the Second Amendment. Why would we want to preserve a pro-slavery amendment? What’s next – repeal of the 13^th, 14^th and 15^th amendments? For further historical analysis of the connection between slave owners and the Second Amendment, see “The Second Amendment was Ratified to Preserve Slavery” by Thom Hartmann, Truthout, January 15 2013.

Yes, I know, this is a blog about cruising on Slow Motion. But you’ve read my rants before. And, except for a 4 hour fishing excursion, we have been tied up at the marina in Key Largo since March 4. That seems like a year ago, especially in light of the attempted massacre at the Boston Marathon just two days ago. Nothing is sacred. The greatest thing about running is the freedom you feel just running down a public street, or along a country trail, at your own pace, building endorphins every step of the way. All you need is shoes, and many runners don’t even need those. When I ran 10 Ks for a bunch of years, every race was a natural high. The San Francisco Bay to Breakers races (I did three of them) were pure entertainment in terms of people watching – watching my first caterpillar runners, watching a woman in a wedding dress and a man in a tux running with a minister and getting married. The Together with Love runs for the Monterey Rape Crisis Center were gratifying labors of love along the ocean in Pacific Grove. The Big Sur River Run was a healthy jog in the redwoods. The New Year’s Eve Los Altos Run was a gut check, as I had broken my big toe in the first mile, but finished the race and went back to Cathy’s in Atherton to dance until three, waking up with a big toe the size of a tennis ball. I never felt freer than when I was running. Now I get some of the same feeling by hiking in Toro Park or biking around the harbor towns where we’re docked or walking several miles through nature centers or museums. Still, running -- even my nine plus minute miles – has always been the essence of freedom for me.

I know the Boston Marathon will be run next year, and there will be even more runners and even more spectators – it will be the All-American Marathon. I have never run a marathon, but I know about hitting the wall and I know that 26 miles can really hurt your legs and other parts of your body. But if you ask the most hurting marathoner, you will still learn from him/her that, even with the aches and pains, they feel free when they’re running those 26 miles, whether it’s up and down the streets of Boston or up and down Route 1 along the Pacific in the Big Sur Marathon (set for April 28). No terrorist, however heartless, can take away that feeling of freedom. When I heard that two bombs went off near the finish line at the Boston Marathon on Monday, I was really, really angry. When I heard that 8 year old Martin was killed by one of those bombs, I was livid. When I saw Krystle’s mother speak about her hardworking, “best daughter you could ever have”, I was furious. When I read today about the beautiful Chinese graduate student who was killed, I was outraged. What can I do with all of this anger, compounded by my rage at the cowardly Senators for their gutlessness? I’m going to have to run tomorrow, or at least go for a very, very long walk. I need to get back my sense of freedom, and I need to do something positive to honor the lives of these three martyrs and the 180 plus spectators and runners who were also injured by the evil bomber. I propose that the Boston Marathon organizers add a 26 mile walk to the marathon next year, so that those of us who want to show our empathy for the injured and dead of the 2013 marathon can do so, crossing the finish line in a triumph over terrorism.

In the meantime, keep on running, jogging, walking, hiking and biking. Do it for those whose lives were cruelly ended by someone who is so jealous of our freedoms that he/she destroyed his/her own soul  -- for what? We are stronger. We remain free. We mourn our losses. And we are united in our will to remember Martin, Krystle and Lu Lingzi.  

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE: ZEN AND THE ART OF OCEAN FISHING

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE: ZEN AND THE ART OF OCEAN FISHING

We sailed past April First with not a prank committed by or against us. Actually, we stayed put in our slip at the Marina Del Mar Marina in Key Largo. But Tuesday we embarked on a new adventure – for me. The weather was perfect, the winds were de minimis, the spring breakers were mostly gone, and it was time to leave our safe harbor for the Atlantic Ocean. Oh yeah. We were going deep sea fishing. All we had to do was get out of our crowded canal, either before or after, or during, the daily comings and goings of the dive boats, the snorkel catamarans, the fishing party boats and the Granddaddy of them all, the Glass Bottom Boat (GBB). So at 12:40 p.m., after all but one commercial boat had left the channel, we released the lines and eased Slow Motion out of her home for the past month. We were on the move again! Oops! The Reef Roamer was tailgating right behind us, getting off to a late start on its 12:30 run. Oh well, what’s a little friendly rear-ending on the way out of the canal? Ask the Admiral. On second thought, don’t ask the Admiral, who hates, hates, hates tailgaters.

We made it out of the canal without a bump or a scratch from Reef Roamer and we headed for the deep, aqua blue ocean. It was a glorious day! There was a slight refreshing breeze coming in through the raised isinglass windows on the flying bridge. The sea was extremely calm, and there were no storm clouds on the horizon. As Reef Roamer headed over to its first snorkeling stop at Sea Garden Reef, we cruised toward Pickles Reef, a lot further off shore and much less crowded than the snorkeling sites. We could see the bottom of the ocean, especially where it was sandy and the water above it was turquoise. Eat your heart out, Greek Islanders. This is the original turquoise blue. Then when we passed over some sea grasses, the water took on an unnaturally beautiful cerulean blue hue, entering the cyan range. Those of you who paint know about these shades, but for us non-artists they are a real treat, indescribably rich and textured. I could have spent the entire afternoon staring at the various “pools” of blue and soaking up the warm sun and the cool sea air.

But the Admiral had a special outing planned for us. He left me in charge of the flying bridge – we were on autopilot with no boat within a mile of us – and he went to his stash of lures and pulled out some lures to attach to fishing line. He set up a fishing rod in its holder on the port side of the stern, cast the line into the wake – and we were trolling! Ocean fishing! This was a first for me. I was assigned the task of watching the reel and reporting any clicking sounds to the Admiral, who had restored order by returning to the flying bridge. I never knew how relaxing fishing could be, especially when there is no clicking. As I sat in one of our sun deck chairs next to the rod and reel, my mind wandered all over the place. I visited tons of cool people and wished you all were here with me enjoying this same reverie. I thought about Butch’s less than satisfactory experience ocean fishing, when the smell of the diesel engine on the boat made his stomach queasy. I wished he were here to have this pleasant ocean fishing experience eradicate the bad one. I thought of my brother fly fishing for trout in mountain streams and how exhilarating that must be, even if perhaps a bit more arduous than sitting next to a fishing pole waiting for the “click”.

Then the “click” came. I jumped out of my seat and shouted: “It clicked! It clicked!” That got the Admiral’s attention, but by the time he made it to the stern, the clicking at stopped. The Admiral saw that something was on the line, just at about the same time a porpoise saw that something was on the line. So it was a race between the Admiral and the porpoise to get to the fish at the end of our line. The Admiral pulled in the line and saw that we had only a tiny part of tissue from a fish’s mouth on the hook. The hook was huge, so he decided to go with a smaller one, as well as a different, shinier, more fidgety lure. He recast the line with its new hook and lure, and I was back to my sitting position and back to my private thoughts. Did the fish escape the porpoise too? How long would it take to get another “click”? I had waited two hours for the first click. Those were two great hours of deep thoughts by the deep blue sea. And it was deep – our depth meter read 170 feet at one point.

The second “click” came pretty fast. And it was a relentless clicking, not like the first hesitant click. I shouted to the Admiral, who once again leapt down from the flying bridge to take control of the rod. I ran up to the flying bridge to take over the controls.
“Put it in neutral” yelled the Admiral. “Aye, aye.” He sounded like he was having a lot of fun. Suddenly he pulled in our catch – a shiny, round, silvery fish – all of 8 inches in length, weighing a pound dripping wet. Not the marlin or albacore or dolphin (mahi mahi) we were hoping for. In fact, this little fish would have been good bait for a marlin. The Admiral was able to unhook our first catch and get him/her back into the ocean quickly. Out of concern for this little rookie, we did not recast the line. Who knows how many times it would take getting hooked in the mouth for this baby mackerel (?) to learn not to chase lures? The main thing is that we caught a fish, and there was a happy ending for everyone, including the fish. Maybe next time we’ll catch something we can keep. And there will be next time, as soon as the next storm passes through.

Tired but happy, we headed back to our slip. It was around 4:30, and all the dive, snorkeling and fishing boats head back to their slips in the canal about this time too. So we watched them charge past us, and we even took a spin around in a large circle to allow some latecomers to blow by us, so they could all enter the canal in front of us. We were hoping to avoid any tailgaters on the trip back. And we did. However, we had a “frontgater”, a little boy going about 2 miles an hour on a jet ski in the middle of the canal in front of us. His father was riding behind him on the same jet ski. Slow Motion cannot go that slow without stalling, and we were approaching Crash Corner, where we had stalled before, upon first entering the canal in early March. The Dad must have felt us breathing down his neck, so he had the boy pull over to the side, and we passed without stalling. The next big challenge was going to be backing into our slip and not hitting the boats on either side or the pilings. Why did I even worry? The Admiral lined up Slow Motion perfectly and glided right back into the slip. I reached for the port side spring line with my pole, and of course, the line slipped off the pole into the water. Hey, not everyone can be perfect. As I dug the line out of the water, hoping the Admiral had not seen my latest imperfection, I heard: “Oh no, get that line out of the water quick!” He noticed. I did, and I was able to get the other line attached without any more drama.

The whole fishing expedition lasted 4 and ½ hours. And for some reason – probably all the fresh air and the tension of getting through the narrow canal twice – we were both exhausted. We’re in pretty good shape. The Admiral works out every other day in the Marriott’s fitness room, and I walk and bike regularly. I have even started using 2 pound weights to strengthen my arms. But there’s something about maneuvering a 19 ton boat through a narrow canal and taking her out on to the ocean, avoiding reefs, shipwrecks and other boats, that gets the adrenalin moving – fast. Add to that the excitement of actually catching a fish, albeit a very small one, and we were in adrenalin overdrive for 4 and ½ hours. When the adrenalin rush was over, we both crashed.

So yesterday we did boat chores. The Admiral is working around the base of the console on the flying bridge. There was a lot of gunk on the console next to the floor and on the floor. I cleaned that entire area in the morning, then took two loads of wash to our laundry in the Marriott’s garage, and sandwiched in a phone call with one of my Bethlehem Babes, Carol V. in Allentown. We had a great talk about the books we have been reading (must check out the book on habits). Meanwhile, the Admiral did more data base work for his North Carolina client, then started putting the grout on the floor in the flying bridge. We can’t seem to get through a day of chores without one of us getting injured. This time it was the Admiral’s turn, cutting the palm of his hand superficially – this always means a lot of blood – with his chisel. Don’t ask how. We finished the day with the Admiral putting glow in the dark tape on the steps down into our cabin. Hurray! Both the Admiral and I have taken stupendous falls down these steps, because the last step is narrower and looks just like the floor. So if you’re not paying attention, you miss the last step or slide off it, and, believe me, you can get some pretty big bruises on your legs and you can torque your knees pretty good, when you take the header off the second to last step. If this glow in the dark tape works, we’ll only have to work about taking headers off the teak steps going from the sun deck into the cockpit on Slow Motion’s stern. Hurray!

Today I ordered the New York State Guide to the Erie Canal. Our current dream is to travel to the Erie Canal this summer. We have to figure out some way to get through New York and up the Hudson River without spending our life’s savings and without getting rudely buffeted about by the ferries on the Hudson. I have full confidence in the Admiral’s ability to negotiate any waterway. However, the thought of paying $6.50 per foot per night for a marina slip at the West 79^th Street Marina in New York is daunting. With a 50 foot boat, the math shows that we would have to pay $325 for that one night. That’s the equivalent of one week’s stay at most marinas. It’s probably comparable to one night in a 2 or 3 star hotel in the City, but it’s definitely not what we’re used to – and not what our budget can afford. But if it means getting to the Erie Canal and climbing several hundred feet through the dozens of locks to enter the Great Lakes --  maybe one night is worth it. This is just a dream right now, and the navigation challenges are already making the Admiral dyspeptic. We always research all our moves thoroughly before we chart our course. So there’s plenty to study between now and late June, when we decide whether to head further north from the Chesapeake, and whether to brave the New York Harbor and the Hudson River to get to the Holy Grail of canals, the Erie. You’ve got to have a dream, and the Erie Canal dream is currently ours. What’s your dream?