CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO: HOME AWAY FROM HOME

We found a reliable boatyard! Slow Motion’s bottom was cleaned! Her paint job from last year still looks great! She was hoisted out of the water on Monday, June 3 (my brother’s birthday) at Spring Cove Boatyard in Solomons. It’s right across the way from Calvert Marina. The Admiral and I were apprehensive all weekend about what the bottom would look like. I had visions of large beds of clams, oysters and mussels, all attached to Slow Motion, along with tons of barnacles and sea grass. The Admiral and I stood in front of Slow Motion, as she was slowly raised by the lift, and we kept bending down to try to get our first glimpse of the sea garden growing on SloMo’s bottom. Much to our mutual astonishment, as Slow Motion’s bottom emerged, there was only a thin layer of slime coating it – not even one barnacle! Glory Hallelujah! We just saved ourselves a haul out for several weeks, a $2000 paint job, and a difficult decision about whom to entrust with Slow Motion when she was put back in the water during our stay in California. Hurricane Season officially started June 1, and Tropical Storm Andrea was forming in the Gulf. With Slow Motion’s relatively clean bottom, we spent about an hour at Spring Cove, while they pressure washed the slime off, and then they slowly lowered her back into the water. Then we hopped back on and toodled across the water back to Calvert Marina, a trip of about 5 minutes.

We still had the issue of where to keep Slow Motion safe in our absence, so we headed to the Marina Office, and the clouds parted and The Archangel Gabriel handed Assistant Dockmaster Greg “The Plan” for protecting Slow Motion in our absence. At least it seemed like divine intervention. We were still giddy from the fact that Slow Motion had gone through some of the most polluted waters on the East Coast and come out of them with her year old paint job intact. (Side note: So what were the sheepshead fish in Jekyll Island gnawing on, as we tried to sleep? Do we owe them a debt of gratitude for removing the critters that attached themselves to SloMo’s underside? And how about the more recent feasting by the rat a tat tat shrimp on SloMo’s bottom? Good job, Crustaceans!) And then Greg came through for us Big Time. The day before we had been told that we would have to move to “The Point” – oh no, not “The Point”! The Wounded Warriors were coming in to take our place, and after that a rendezvous of sailors. So we were going to be banished from the north floating dock, a very safe place, and we were going to be exiled to a very unsafe place with lots and lots of wave action, “The Point.” Enter Greg: How about tying up on the south floating dock (right next to the north floating dock)? Are you kidding me? Where do we sign up? We couldn’t do the paperwork quickly enough and we bolted from the office back to the dock to move Slow Motion less than 50 yards from the north dock to the south dock – the front of the south dock, next to the sea wall. Then the Admiral secured the lines, putting double lines on the bow. And he put down all but one fender. Slow Motion looked safe. Cross your fingers here, because we knew Tropical Storm Andrea was heading to Florida and then up the coast. We were putting 3000 miles between ourselves and our floating home for more than two weeks, and this was pretty scary. Sure, boaters leave their boats all the time for long periods. Bill and Ruth’s boat, Happy Ours, had been tied up on the south floating dock at Calvert Marina for who knows how long, and no one knew when they would be arriving. Their boat is beautiful, read: expensive. All the lines were double lines. Someone had done a good job securing Happy Ours. If they could leave their Kadey Krogen unattended for weeks, wouldn’t Slow Motion be safe right next to their boat? But we’re the parents with our first child. And we worry a lot more. Bill and Ruth have probably had a lot of boats.

It’s the evening of Monday, June 10, and we’re really getting worried. The Admiral opened his Intellicast application and there was a “tornado warning” notice stuck right in the middle of the tablet. I assumed it was another Oklahoma tornado warning, or at least a warning about another tornado in that part of the country which gets tornadoes on a regular basis. The Admiral opened the warning, and we found that the tornado alert is for the area RIGHT NEAR SLOW MOTION. Yikes. The tornado appears to be forming over Lexington Park, Maryland, which is about 6 miles from Solomons and our boat. So now we’re tornado watchers for the next 24 hours. We know that the rain has been pouring down on Slow Motion almost since the day we left (June 5). And we have been concerned about strong winds coming with Tropical Storm Andrea, but we certainly had not worried about a tornado – until now. So here we sit in our neighbor’s house in sunny California, picturing Slow Motion being swept up to the Land of Oz. This should make for great nightmares. I’ll just click my red Crocs three times, and the tornado will turn into a mild summer breeze which caresses the Lexington Park strip malls before harmlessly heading north to dry out the rain-drenched East Coast. Yeah, that’s the ticket. But just in case this visualization exercise doesn’t work, I think tomorrow I’ll call Cindy and Randy, our Calvert Marina dock neighbors, to find out how they’re faring. I’ve only called them once since we arrived in California, so a second time is not excessive – maybe a third call in a week would be. As the owners of twelve boats, one after the other, they probably have a much more laissez faire attitude than we do, the Nervous Nelly first-time big boat owners. I’m sure everything is fine. Now if I could just convince my subconscious self of this, I would get some sleep tonight.

Since we arrived back in California, we have been amazed at how Zorro has fallen back into the very same daily routine he had with us for years, as though all the changes in the past year – the new house, the foster parents with the frenetic work schedules, the bonding with Ruby, their black Lab mix (the love of Zorro’s life), the scaled back walks and hikes – had not even occurred. Zorro comes into our bedroom in the morning, jumps up on the same side of the bed that he used to, lies down, then presses his body against the Admiral’s, then slowly rolls over to allow the Admiral to scratch and rub his belly. When he sees me put just one foot down off the bed, he starts whining for his walk. Once two feet are on the floor, he jumps off the bed and runs around me, urging me to get dressed quickly to take him and Ruby into the park. He vocalizes his strong desire to get the walk started, as he stretches all his leg muscles in preparation for the exercise. That’s our routine, then and now, as I open the door and the gate, and he and Ruby go flying toward the park with visions of ground squirrels swirling in their brains. Yesterday they nearly caught one. Zorro was right on its tail, as it dropped into one if the many, many holes that dot the landscape of “Squirrel Meadow”. We walk and hike several miles, either heading out to a water tank on relatively flat ground or climbing more than 500 feet up a series of switchbacks to a high meadow, then negotiating a fairly steep cliff on our way down to the lowlands. The wildflowers are gone. I am told they were stunning this year.

The foxtail season has arrived, and after every walk, I spend about 10 minutes combing every inch of Zorro’s body, pulling out foxtails he picked up in the tall dry grasses. Just one foxtail, which penetrates a dog’s paw, or his side, or his belly – or God forbid, goes up his nose – means a trip to the emergency vet and a huge bill. The first three summers that Zorro lived with me we set a record for emergency vet visits. It was emotionally and financially draining. So why do we still go hiking in the park during foxtail season, you may ask. Zorro lives for these hikes. You cannot imagine the wide smile he wears when we are returning from an hour’s walk, even when he has not caught a squirrel. It is his love of these hikes that convinced us that he had to continue to live in Harper Canyon, even as we left for our boating adventure. And we made the right decision – for him. I miss him terribly. But he has his Ruby and his acres and acres of freewheeling running, jumping, chasing and herding just outside the front door. This is his home, whether we’re here or not. But when we are here, it’s heavenly for him and for us. The Admiral thinks Zorro has become a bit more feral, what with his barking at night at every sound – most likely wild critters like foxes, deer, coyotes and mountain lions. He’s right. At night Zorro gets to be outside at his foster home (dog door to the patio), and we kept him inside every night. He and Ruby take turns being the Alpha dog. It’s harder to get him to accept us as the Alphas in his life. But every morning, when he “assumes the position” on the bed, we know that he knows he’s home.

And I know that I’m home because in the last twenty four hours, I have been to my primary care doctor for a thorough physical and my dentist for another dose of sadomasochism. I kid. Still, when are the dental equipment manufacturers going to figure out how to put mufflers on all their tools of torture, so you don’t feel like they’re using coal mining drills inside your mouth? And which is worse, the pain without the local anesthesia or the numbness of the anesthesia, followed by the pain it only delayed? If only I knew how to brush right. Every trip I’m given more tooth brushes and more advice about how and where to use them. There is a very slow learning curve for teeth cleaning, if at the age of 67 I’m getting lessons on tooth and gum maintenance. Am I the only one who doesn’t get it? Or can I attribute some of my dental problems to genetics? And seriously, who brushes their teeth at least two minutes non-stop? Okay, okay, some of you out there are meticulous in your dental care. You probably have good genes too. Curse you! That’s just the pain talking. Tomorrow, I’m switching gears from pain to relief from pain – a long overdue massage. Mmmmm. I think I’ll leave you with that thought. May you all experience at least once in your lifetime one deep tissue massage. And then you will know the meaning of nirvana. Good night.