Stronger Next Year

My gym! Rowing machine along the back.
I just installed the bar to help with balance exercises.

I did not have a great year physically. It started with recovering from my knee surgery, carried on through a summer of increased migraines and still not up to snuff on my knees, and crashed and burned as a result of my vigorous (but fun!) sailing vacation, where I injured my rotator cuff and generally burned out my whole body.

Through it all I tried to keep moving and working out in my basement gym. (I love my basement gym, and I enjoy working with my personal trainer there.) But there were definitely days on the couch where I hardly left the house. I felt old. I felt feeble. I was fat, and nothing I did seemed to affect that. I woke every morning feeling like the Old Red Woman, bent over, stiff, wobbly, and in pain. I felt frustrated that my body was so frail. I was preparing myself for a new reality of being old and feeble. I told myself that I actually was old, almost seventy years old. Any time there was a news article that another celebrity had died, the first thing I did was check their age. So many of them younger than me!

But by late fall, I felt myself getting better. Stronger. More capable. Actually doing things. Feeling competent and capable. Walking still did not feel good, but I adjusted and spent more time in my home gym working with weights or my rowing machine or on the stationary bike my BIL gave me. I went back to the mental disciplines I had learned over the years of dealing with pain, meditating and observing the pain with kind curiosity. I had some adventures, on the water and on the scoot. I had some actual good days, where I woke up feeling good. Not stiff. Not bent over. Not feeble. Ready to face the day, get out there and do things.

The election results hit me like a gut punch. As I got out of bed the following morning, I was initially fine, but by the time I had walked the length of the house to let the dogs out, my back had tightened into a full fledged spasm. SPROING! I was bent over, leaning on furniture like a toddler doing her first cruise around the house. I pulled out my tool kit, things I know, deep down in my body and mind, to be true. First, mentally: "there is nothing wrong with you. You are safe. You are fine. Yes, the back is clenched, but it's not broken. Yes, the world has gone to shit, but you are safe. Your body is safe." Then I started my series of exercises/ stretches that I know deep down are going to help. I also reached for the tylenol, because comfort is an important part of feeling safe. 

This worked! It took a couple of weeks - the back clenched every morning for a while - but it got fainter, and gradually went away.

Around this same time, my primary care doctor told me that based on my testing, I have great lung capacity and a strong heart, but I have shit endurance. She prescribed aerobic exercise, specific amounts at specific heart rate levels of effort. The next week, my neurologist reinforced this - certain levels of aerobic exercise seem to have a protective effect on migraines.

The view my trainer has from my phone while we video.
I have all the toys! I bought my first weights in 1995,
and I've been adding equipment ever since.

So I'm all in on the cardio now, added to my twice-weekly strength training and daily warm up stretches. I have the devices to keep me going indoors this winter- a rowing machine, a (bottom-of-the-line no bells-or-whistles) stationary bike. I have a mini trampoline in front of my TV. And I dusted off my original, built of wood in Minnesota, Nordic Track ski machine from 1993! Using the NT was the first time in my life I enjoyed indoor cardio, back in the day. It needs refurbishment, but it turns out that while the old ski machines are no longer made, there are enthusiasts and through a sub-reddit I found a guy who sells refurbishment kits with the most common replaceable parts! It's on my list to get it fixed up - probably a few hours work.

I found that walking can't get my heart rate up high enough to meet my PCP's exercise prescription. I try hustling along, but the heart stays stubbornly beating slowly. Only up very steep hills does it go up- and I can't currently sustain that for long enough. This all may change as I get more aerobically fit.

Three Windows to the Twentieth Century

 Three of the best books I've read this year are history / historical fiction set across the breadth of the 20th century. They are hugely different from each other, but all resonate with me on where we are now. In chronological order as they are set (which happens to be the reverse of my reading order):

The Hired Girl, by Laura Amy Schiltz

A young girl in the early days of the 20th century is determined to improve herself. I was impressed by her strength of character and determination in the face of great obstacles. As the book opens, she is in such dreadful circumstances that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to persist. But things brighten up, as she takes action. An unusual element of this book are her struggles with faith, as she figures out what her Catholic faith means to her, and she struggles to understand the Jewish family whose house she works in and whose family members interact with her. It is overall an optimistic book, leaving me feeling refreshed for knowing there is goodness in this world. Fans of Little Women will love this.

Munich, by Robert Harris

I stumbled upon this book. The author has a new book out with a favorable review in the paper. When I went to see if the library had the new book, there was a year-long waiting list. As I often do, I checked to see what else this author had written that might be available sooner, and ended up with this. (Note, I listened to it, didn't read it.)

We probably all know this much: Prime Minister Chamberlain went to Munich to meet with Hitler, sold out Czechoslovakia with his explicit policy of appeasement, and he came home to England three days later proclaiming he had ensured "peace in our time". War broke out less than a year later. 

This fictional story is entirely faithful to the known facts, who was in the room when, who said or wrote what. But it's told from the point of view of two fictional young men, one English and one German, who are minor functionaries for their respective governments, and who have a complicated intertwined backstory. They are present as all the big decisions are thought through and finalized. It gave me new insights as to why Chamberlain did what he did. I still think it was an infamous act. But the strong motivation to avoid war at all costs has its attractions and it is presented with context. But the scenes with Hitler, irrational and frightening, gave me chills. Please save us from crazy dictators!

An Unfinished Love Story, by Doris Kearns Goodwin

I have read several books by Doris Goodwin before, biographies and memoirs. At the beginning of her career, she was a White House intern on Lyndon Johnson's staff. After he left the White House, she worked for Johnson, organizing his papers at his ranch in Texas. In all of this, she just missed crossing paths with her future husband, Dick Goodwin, ten years her senior and predecessor at the White House. Dick Goodwin was one of John Kennedy's earliest staffers, one of his principal speechwriters, and became a confidant of Jackie Kennedy. After the assassination, he stayed on at the Johnson White House for a time, and coined the term the Great Society. His opposition to the Vietnam War put him at odds with Johnson, and he became one of Robert Kennedy's earliest supporters, and was present when he was shot. 

In this book, Doris G. chronicles how she and her husband went through his boxes and boxes of papers and memorabilia from that time, recreating in detail many pivotal moments where Dick G. was present. Further, she follows up on many of the those moments, going beyond the personal history to bring us up to date on what happened since, what was the lasting impact of those times. 

In these discouraging and cynical times, it was eerie to transport myself back to the time when it seemed the world was changing so fast for the better. It did me good to be reminded (or made aware) of one of the most productive and positive times for our government. In the space of two years, the Civil Rights Act, the Voting Rights Act, and the foundational legislation for the Great Society: Medicare, Medicaid, Head Start, federal aid to education, the War on Poverty, federal minimum wage, urban renewal (OK, that one maybe not so great). Per Wikipedia: The Johnson Administration submitted 87 bills to Congress, and Johnson signed 84, or 96%, arguably the most successful legislative agenda in US congressional history. Sadly for the country, the world, and Johnson himself, the Vietnam War choked off funding and focus on implementation of this agenda, but many of these programs are still with us today. 

But even the story of Vietnam resonates with messages of inspiration for today. Eugene McCarthy ran an upstart challenge to the Johnson re-election campaign, and succeeded in making Johnson withdraw, but he still lost. There were twists and turns - Robert Kennedy entered the race and divided the challengers, was killed, and McCarthy took the banner back. But by the time of the Chicago convention, conventional wisdom and a centrist Democrat, Hubert Humphrey, was the weak challenger to what has become the mostly-Republican government that we have known as adults. But Dick Goodwin was there at many of these crucial inflection points, lending an immediacy to the telling of events that kept me enthralled throughout this book.

Vespista

Rolling Through Roslyn
(not my photo)

The past couple of days were spent surrounded by the waspish buzz of Vespas! It was the annual rally of the Vespa Club of DC (VCDC), the Monumental Raduno. The club, which had a slow start immediately pre-pandemic, sponsors group rides, fixes up and gifts to college students some donated scooters, and holds this annual rally. This year, there were a record number of Vespista* who signed up, just shy of 100 people. While all scooters are welcome to events, the club specifically celebrates Italian culture.

I went on a few group rides sponsored by a different DC-area scooter group pre-pandemic, but this was my first VCDC event. Since I knew absolutely no one, I signed up to volunteer to help. I am very shy in new situations, and usually end up hanging in a corner alone, or even backing out entirely due to anxiety at the last moment. Volunteering meant I was certain to have to talk to people.

The weather in Washington has been unrelentingly grey and wet for a week or more, and Friday dawned pouring. The plan for an outdoor Friday night kickoff party was changed to an incredible indoor venue, hosted by a club member who just happens to own a tech company with its headquarters in a modern building next to the Potomac in trendy Georgetown. We took over the reception and cafeteria area of the company offices, including some touches one might expect of a tech company: ping-pong table, putting green, an outdoor terrace overlooking the river and forests of Virginia. We also had access to free indoor parking, an incredible benefit in busy Georgetown on a Friday night. 

At the Italian Embassy.
My bike is the blue, 3rd from right

I had decided in advance I would drive my car to the Friday night event, skipping the planned night ride around downtown DC and also avoiding a long scoot home by myself in the dark and rain. The skies cleared during our casual sandwich dinner and announcements, allowing us to spend time out on the deck admiring the view. It turns out the folks in the club are very friendly, so I didn't need to worry so much about hanging out alone. A common conversation opener was, "How long have you been riding?". When I stopped to think, I was surprised to realize my answer is "20 years"! I got my first motorcycle license (required for above 50cc motorbikes) in 2004, which seems like yesterday. In my conversations, most men (grey-haired) downsized into scoots from motorcycles, often to ride with their wives. There were more young women than young men, as well as those my age.

Colors of the Italian flag, at the embassy

I woke Saturday at 6 am to the sound of pouring rain, but by my 8 am departure time for the rendezvous there were signs of the grey mist burning off. We ended up having the only sunny day for many days (and for several more days to come). What a treat!

We gathered outside the Dupont Circle area hotel where out of town guests were staying. (A small group came over from Italy, and about a dozen people rode down in the rain from New York together.) After a safety briefing (which included teaching hand signals used) we formed up into a column and headed out for a 45 minute ride through DC and over to Virginia. The group ride was so fun! Because there were so many of us (50+ at least) our ride included "blockers" - folks who rode alongside the column, and sometimes blocked cross-traffic to allow us to flow on through red lights. With the traffic circles and such, it would otherwise have been impossible to move with that many people. As we were going through areas with government offices and embassies, we rolled on through red lights right in front of many police cars, who seemed indifferent to our maneuvers. 

Modernist Embassy,
Many scoots!

That ride ended up at the Italian Embassy, which opened up the grounds just for us! We parked in a colorful line, and were treated to expresso and gelato. Some minor cultural official from the embassy greeted us - apparently real world events were occupying the ambassador.

Further events involved splitting up into small groups for more rides, lunch, and then a gymkhana. That last is a skills event held in a parking lot, focusing on tight maneuvers. It looked like nothing so much as dog agility, weaving around cones, driving over a teeter-totter(!), around into tight circles, kicking a ball into a soccer net without any feet touching the ground. I didn't give it a try, but I might practice for a future event. 

Lining up to go for a ride
(not my photo)

I was so occupied with enjoying myself, I took few photos. So this post includes some taken by others.

It was a lot of fun! There are some group rides coming up, and I might make the next one. It will compete for time with sailing, which has also been scarce due to the good weather.

*Vespista is the correct non-gendered plural for those who ride Vespas, which is the Italian word for wasp.

What I've Been Cooking

I'm trying hard to cook more often, and along the way to eat more vegetables. I get a lot of inspiration from the daily newspaper, the Washington Post and especially the New York Times. Here are some things I've made recently. (Very few pictures, but most of the linked recipes have their own pictures.)

deconstructed roasted ratatouille

This was inspired by the Washington Post recipe for Ratatouille Galette. Eggplant, zucchini, red onion, and tomatoes are sliced on the mandoline and laid out in a pattern. To make a galette, it should be done on puff pastry. I actually bought some frozen pastry, and then decided not to use it. This was yummy just baked like this. A spatula scooped up intact rectangles for serving.

One oldie-but-goodie recipe I made for a family dinner is from one of my old cookbooks, the Silver Palate Goodtimes Cookbook. I made grilled shrimp with prosciutto and basil. The shrimp is marinated in lemon, olive oil, garlic and basil, and then wrapped in basil leaves and prosciutto, skewered, and grilled. The marination and the wrapping keep the shrimp from drying out. It's very time consuming to do the wrapping and skewering - I bought the largest shrimp I could find. I grow very large-leafed basil, so they worked very well in the wrapping.

I'm trying to eat less processed food, and most sausages are considered processed meat. (Though I wonder if fresh, uncooked sausages are?) I love sweet Italian sausage, and so I got a recipe for flavoring your own ground turkey (or chicken or pork). There were several recipes on-line. Of course the magic ingredient is fennel. I ended up using this one from AllRecipes.com. I like to just use the meat sauteed anyway, usually with onions and perhaps zucchini and tomatoes.

A recurrent meal I make is this Braised Chicken with Lemon and Olives. It's a casserole cooked in the oven (no stovetop browning) with whole Meyer lemons cut up and in the pot. You eat them skin and all when cooked. My store doesn't always have Meyer lemons, and when they do, I snap them up and make this. It smells so good! And tastes that way as well.

It's eggplant and zucchini season and I've had several edible zucchinis from my very own garden! I did this recipe for air fried zucchini, and it was excellent. It uses mayonnaise to make the coating of herbs and breadcrumbs stick. There are many recipes for roasted eggplants; I settled on this one which I've made twice. No salting the eggplant in advance. (One school of thought is fresh eggplant has no need, it's old ones that are bitter.) The recommended coating of olive oil, garlic, salt, and herbs and spices is brushed on both sides in the roasting pan just before cooking, and then the slices are flipped halfway through. The first time I made it I used the recommended cumin; the second time I wanted a different flavor family and chopped the garlic and then fresh basil leaves in my mini-food processor before adding the other ingredients and applying with a basting brush. Both versions were very good - I found myself picking up browned slices right from the pan and juggling the heat in my fingers before popping them right in my mouth. 

I generally only buy corn on the cob at the farmer's market. I usually just microwave the unshucked ears for 3-4 minutes and then eat them as a separate course with butter and salt. But I also like various sautees with the kernels stripped from the cobs and cooked briefly on top of the stove. So I made this chicken, marinated with basil and lime and then grilled, and served it with the recommended lime butter on the side, and a saute of corn, zucchini, and shallots, also flavored with basil.

On a similar note, since I loved the lime and corn combination, for a family dinner that needed to include a hearty vegan dish, I made this corn and chickpea salad. I kept the arugula on the side to be added at the table, because there were substantial leftovers of the main chickpea-corn mixture, which kept for a few days and only got better. 

Summer is inspiring! I've got a few more zucchini recipes stacked up, notably different types of frittatas. The basil supply is in no danger of running out. I think I'm going to slice off some branches and dry them, since I'm out of dried basil in a jar in the kitchen. Seems silly to go buy any!

Scotland - The Aftermath

 

Passengers

I had a terrific time sailing in Scotland, but I got home really knackered, as they say over there.

The time during most of the voyage had been a little bit dreamy, time and rhythms cut off from normal life and tied to the working of the ship. Foreign languages and barriers in communication contributed to the sense of out of time. We didn't have cell phone (and thus internet) access all the time, and rarely below in our cabins. On deck when anchored in port there was usually some coverage, so first and last thing in the day. I wanted to know the Vice Presidential candidate selection, so at least once a day I tried to pull up the NY Times app. I was startled one morning when the lead picture on the app on my phone was a graph of the stock market plunging down, down, down. I shared it with my fellow passengers, but my reaction, cut off from any possible actual response, was to shrug and let things just shake out on their own. I actually heard about the VP selection from a group text from friends. I read a little bit about the guy, and the next day enjoyed a brief time on Threads reading a series of "Tim Walz is the guy who..." jokes, stressing how he is the nice guy, the understanding father, the one you can rely on to be kind and come through in a crisis. It was fun to share in the zeitgeist with my friends back home, but most of my attention stayed on the here and now on the ship. None of the jokes or memes could be translated for my fellow passengers, I tried and failed miserably to their puzzled polite smiles.

Our last day on the ship had a "last day" vibe all day, a bit intangible. People were packing, thinking about their next plans, etc. It also was extremely rough, through very strong winds and big irregular waves, for a few hours, so for the first and only time I declined to help with the ship handling, but sat it out indoors in the dining salon until things calmed down. I had all kinds of feelings about that, but I'm sure it was the right choice for me. Sometime the previous day I had pulled a muscle or something in my shoulder, and that was part of my decision.

Party Time with the crew

We had a farewell party and dinner, anchored out in the harbor at Oban. There was a lot of gaiety from the young crew, some of whom were going to be changed out for relief crew the next day. Apparently one of the navigation devices had the date wrong (a software bug, otherwise it worked fine, they said) and thought it was Christmas Eve, so we had Christmas in August as the theme. They decorated the dining salon with lights and greenery and gave each other presents, while the captain and passengers looked on with indulgent smiles.

The next morning was all business - finishing packing, hasty breakfast, (the cook was one of those leaving the ship), and a last bout of pulling on lines to set the ship up for docking at the town dock in Oban. All of us (the passengers) got off. Five of them, the family of four and Swiss Rudi, were taking the same noon train as me to Glasgow, though I was the only one going right on to Edinburgh. We had all of our luggage, and it was the same intermittent drizzle as ever. After a brief burdened stroll through the very interesting and scenic old town, we piled all of our bags under a big umbrella in an open-air eatery close to the train station. Being together meant we could take turns making forays out and about during the couple of hours we spent waiting, to shops, to the take-out seafood place (fresh prawns, yum!), to buy provisions for the journey. 

The town of Oban looked worth
spending more time in

Boarding the train was a scrum, but we all managed to sit more-or-less together. The scenery from Oban to Glasgow was terrific! We went through forests, and through a series of long, narrow, deep lochs, and around minor mountains. At one point, they made all of us get off our train and walk along the platform to another, longer, train for the rest of the trip to Glasgow. Again a scrum, and I got separated from the group, into a different car (but at least seated, not everyone was). I had the day before used WhatsApp to send some pictures to Anna, (my only phone contact in the group) and so I sent her a message letting her know I was on board, and would look for them in Glasgow. Sadly, the train was late into Glasgow and so I had to run for my train. They were all there, and I said hasty goodbyes, but there was no time to exchange contact info (why hadn't we done that?) and off I went.

The train to Edinburgh was modern, but also crowded with standing folks, though I secured a seat. On arrival in Edinburgh, I was astounded at the crowds, as the August festivals were in full swing. I hadn't seen so many people in a while! I hopped right in a cab and went to the airport area hotel. It was elegant, posh, hushed, full of grey-on-grey-accented with black straight lines and minimalist decor. My plan was to head to the adjacent village for a pub dinner (it had been long time since harborside seafood) but after I got to the room I just deflated from the adrenaline that had fueled me so far. I realized every single muscle in my body ached and I was starving and exhausted. I did room service, didn't even finish the beer I had ordered, showered and fell into bed. 

The trip home was uneventful. The flight didn't leave until noon, so I had time for a full Scottish breakfast at the hotel before the airport, egg, sausage, bacon, black pudding, the whole nine yards. On the plane, I watched a movie (All of Us Strangers), read, dozed, napped. I Ubered home, as no family was available to pick me up. Bixby climbed up on the back of a chair and flung himself into my arms! I managed to stay awake until 8:30 pm, and slept through the night.

When I woke in my own bed (at about 4 am) I realized that many of the aches and pains had subsided, but my shoulder was on fire. Now, a few days later, I have sorted out many bruises and twinges, but clearly my shoulder is messed up. I have a PT appointment on Monday, and hopefully they will be able to help. 

I'm settling down now to a time to turn inward, to take care of me. No trips planned, some good family time with our girl in town for the next few weeks, a garden to tend, dogs to walk, farmer's markets to visit, an election to avoid thinking about (except for money). I can still do adventures, but I do need to allow recovery time from them. My weight the morning after I got home was alarming, tied for all time high, and I want to do something about it. At my last physical, my cholesterol was higher than in the past, and I bargained with my doctor I could lower it back down with lifestyle changes, versus going on a drug. My followup appointment, the reckoning, is in October. Fitness is, as always, a primary focus. I can do hard things, but I'm going to opt out of most of them for a while. Such a privilege to be able to do so!

I plan to eat a lot of vegetables.
This is zucchini and peppers from my garden,
with onions and a little minced leftover pork

Scotland Part B: Actually Sailing!

Note: I originally wrote up the following for my sailing club's newletter. Rather than write another account, I'm copying it to here with some minor edits for the different audience.

Sailing in the Southern Hebrides

For over a decade I’ve been getting emails from Classic Sailing UK (https://classic-sailing.com/ ), a travel company that provides a central location for classic and tall ships to post their trips offered to passengers, as well as some training courses. I signed up for a trip on a schooner to Iceland – but it was during the pandemic and it didn’t happen. But in early summer this year, clicking through on the ad and browsing through their trips, I decided to go for it. I booked a trip leaving in just over a month, in Scotland. Classic Sailing serves as the initial contact, but once a trip is booked, the remainder of your interactions are with the ship’s operators directly. The week-long itinerary was beginning from one small town on the west coast of Scotland and ending on another. It was only feasible for me because of the excellent Scottish rail system, enabling me to fly non-stop between DC and Edinburgh and then take the train to and from the ship.

Under sail.
I could sit like this for hours, watching the sea and the sails.

The Eye of the Wind is a 100-year-old steel brig (or brigantine, nobody seems sure) owned by Germans and flagged in Jersey, UK’s answer to the Cayman Islands. It has a rich history – built as a coastal freighter, and kept busy in the Baltic trade under power until the 1950s. In the 1960s, a bunch of Australian enthusiasts bought her as little more than a hull, and converted her back to square ship sailing glory. She spent decades down in the South Pacific as a training and holiday ship, sailing around the world once and Cape Horn twice. She was the star of the otherwise unremarkable 1996 movie White Squall with Jeff Bridges, the story of a training ship full of New England school boys that ran into a bad weather phenomenon. Around the turn of this century, the Eye came back up to Europe and eventually ended up with the present owners. They use her for some corporate training events, and otherwise she plies the tall ship passenger cruising trade. Typically, she is in European waters in the summer, and spends winters in the Caribbean.

Leaving harbor, motoring out a long channel

I’ve done a number of voyages on the Pride of Baltimore II, as have many other club members. This trip on the Eye is a whole different thing, a pleasure cruise, luxurious by comparison to the Pride. We were clearly passengers, invited to help with some of the ship functions, but not integrated with the crew. There are 2-person cabins, each with their own head and shower (a LOT of plumbing to tend!). I had a cabin to myself as the ship was not fully booked. There is a main-deck enclosed galley and dining lounge, with windows to observe the passing scene in comfort, as well as a below-deck saloon, with a library and skylights. Because of the superstructures on deck, there were also many places to sit comfortably outside, some very sheltered from the wind and the rain.

The quarterdeck, a place to have an overview
Both crew and fellow passengers are here

Look at how many ropes to pull on and coil!
"You get a rope, and you get a rope, and you get a rope!
Every body gets a rope!"

The pace was leisurely. We roused for a European breakfast at 8 am, and afterwards the crew prepared for sailing while the captain went over the plan of the day with us, as well spending time on topics such as navigation and the ship’s rigging and handling. We would get underway by 9:30 or 10, with all the passengers invited to join in the sail handling. With many small square sails, there are a LOT of lines to pull, bracing the yards to the wind even when under power, and raising the yards and lowering and trimming the sails and furling the sails. The crew would always invite the passengers to help with this, and hauling on lines and coiling them were our main tasks. Typically we would motor in the morning until we reached the right angle to set the sails, and were underway until we reached a harbor at 4, 5 or 6 in the afternoon. We would anchor (only laid alongside at the beginning and end and one other night), and we could then dinghy to shore to walk, explore, and visit pubs. We would go back for dinner on board, and then the hardier passengers and crew went back ashore for an evening out, though I generally crashed right away. (According to my watch, I slept a decent total amount each night, but got little deep, restorative, sleep. I was exhausted each night.) At this high northern latitude, we had 16 hours of daylight each day.

A village we stopped at

The weather was dreadful. It rained every day, but not all day every day. We would have drizzle, then brief pouring rain, then the sun would come out, and then it would repeat – all in the space of an hour or two. It was in the 50s for temperature, and reached the mid-60s some days. (But below decks, the lounge and cabins had heat when the generator was running. Besides our comfort, clothes could dry well.) During a dry spell, when I had shed some layers while hauling lines, a rogue wave came splashing aboard and doused me thoroughly from head to toe. After that, I just lived in my foulies all the time we were underway. I blessed my sea boots, even though they were a pain to pack and carry from home. I was aware in advance roughly what the weather would be like, and had brought plenty of appropriate clothing, so I never felt cold.

A crewmember (short guy in the middle) prepares to take
the Swiss guy and the young brother up into the rigging.
Harnesses are worn by all.

My fellow passengers were six Germans, one Swiss German speaker, and me. Four of them were a family - a brother and sister in their 20s, their father, and the father's brother, none with significant sailing experience. There were two hearty old guys in their 80s, who have done many similar voyages (though they said most were to warmer places!) The Swiss guy had never been on a boat before, but had wanted to do it forever. He was in heaven the whole time. The two young people got seasick, and had a bad couple of days, but then adapted (and/or the meds kicked in) and had a good time. There were nine crew, with a German captain, an Italian cook (yay!) and a mix of Danes, Swedes, Scots and Australians. A couple of the crew were “trainees”. The Eye is a formal training ship, and apparently that means the trainees can earn credit towards various professional certifications. Everyone spoke English well, but of course the German speakers spoke to each other in German (of which my vocabulary consists only of “bier, bitte”, surprisingly useful). The food was plentiful, hardy, and flavorful, with freshly baked brown bread every day. We had a European breakfast each day - porridge, cold meats and cheese, bread, butter and jam. Lunches and dinners were hot and starch heavy: several pastas, lasagna, couscous, risotto, with small cut up vegetables and meat mixed in. There was a cash bar available with beer, wine, and some whiskeys. Gotta love those Europeans and their wine.

See the small boat (slightly bigger than mine I think)
It came over to see us, then veered off.
I cannot imagine going out in these conditions in my boat!

The sailing was terrific! The wind never dropped below 15 knots, was mostly between 20-25 knots, and up to 35 knots on a couple of days. We left from one small town on the west coast of Scotland, and sailed to and through a myriad of islands in the southern Hebrides. The initial strategy, taking three days to unfold, was to position ourselves for a rounding of the Mull of Kintyre, which is in sight of northern Ireland, and has fierce currents and winds. The captain showed us how he worked with the almanacs and weather forecasts to get us to the Mull at slack water and on a reach. It was a long, fierce day of sailing and sail handling, a lot of fun. I have a great respect for the small boat sailors who tackle this area.

Most of my pictures were taken during bright intervals.
Those clouds there brought more rain within the hour.
(I wouldn't want you to think the weather was better than it was!)

The Scottish coastal scenery is fabulous! Islands, lighthouses, castles, fields, and many many sheep. The villages we visited were small, had old parts, but were quite modern and prosperous in many ways. There were whiskey (and rum and gin) distilleries around, but our schedule did not allow us to visit any, sadly. We did get a little bit of light hiking in, over hills and around bends. Plenty of sheep, a few terrific dogs, and actual Scottish heather growing on the hills.

We started in Greenock and ended in Oban.

Finally, the trip had to end. We got to our end point on Friday night, and anchored out. The next morning, we motored up to the dock and we left.

Next: the Aftermath

Sailing in Scotland - Part 1

This trip was scheduled almost on impulse, just six weeks in advance. I felt I was settling down to aging in place, and I really wanted to show myself I can still get out there and do things. I picked a sailing trip knowing it would be both physically challenging as well as mentally so. Traveling alone requires me to use a lot of gumption to avoid cowering by myself in my room while regretting missing out, in order to avoid dealing with strangers. I actually really like traveling alone most of the time - I enjoy the actual trip, time on the airplane (never try to talk to me on an airplane, I'm in my self-absorbed bubble), wandering around a strange place looking at things, all on my own schedule and at my own pace. But where it falls apart is meal times - I find it difficult to go into a nice restaurant on my own, especially for dinner. I've found being totally on my own for about three days is my limit. I've also found active, small group travels can be much easier, with interaction around activities coming naturally, and group meals planned. Hence the small ship cruise.

The cruise was on the west coast of Scotland, but I found there is a non-stop flight from here to Edinburgh (in the east of Scotland), and I hadn't been to that city as an adult, so that's how I went. I went over a day early, to allow for disruptions and to start to adjust to the time difference, as well as to simply see the city. I checked out the extensive network of trains and buses in Scotland, to verify I could get to the start and back from the end of my voyage via public transport. Infrastructure, people! It really is nice!

Edinburgh's Royal Mile, from the top deck of a bus

I booked two nights in a hotel that was near the central train station, and not coincidentally near the end of the airport bus and tram lines. I paid extra for an early checkin, and I was able to go directly from my flight to a bus to my hotel room, schlepping my bags only a couple of blocks. I had spent time with maps, guidebooks, and Tripadvisor beforehand, so with a brief refresher at the hotel I ventured out. First I bought my train tickets to get to and from the boat, and then I wandered around. Unknown to me when I planned the trip, Edinburgh has nonstop festivals of all kinds the entire month of August - comedy, theatre, music, fringe, art, drag, on and on, at around a million different venues around the city. It was packed with people! But there is compact area with the history and other sites, and I spent several hours on my feet checking it all out. Sadly, the castle atop a hill in the center of city was completely sold out of tickets, so I just wandered nearby instead. A mid-afternoon pub lunch (steak pie, chips, and beer) fixed me up with food for the day. By early evening, I was ready to crash and didn't regret it.

I was intrigued by this spiral building - never figured it out
Lots of hills in Edinburgh, views all over

The next day, I started with following a self-guided walking tour in a different part of the city, with breakfast at an interesting restaurant along the way. Last year, I fell in love with the Irish breakfast, especially the sausages. I was pretty sure the Scottish versions would be similar. But I went for something a little different. I was so glad I did - it was the best restaurant meal of the trip! Dashoon is a South Asian restaurant that offers breakfast. I got sausage and fried egg in a freshly made naan with sweet chili sauce with fruit sides- yum! and I chatted pleasantly with the waiters and the folks at adjoining tables.

One of the joys of my centrally located hotel (which was otherwise no more than ok) was the ability to keep swinging back to take a break before venturing back out. I was able to pace myself nicely. After my walking tour, I ended up back in the room for a bit, and then bought a ticket for the circular hop-on-hop-off bus, which started across the road from the hotel. I got up on the front seat of the top of the double-decker bus and rode the whole 90 minute route. After another bathroom break at the hotel, I used my same ticket to ride to the interesting furthest away stop and made my way back slowly, pausing at a street art show, some shops, and in the late afternoon, a pub for fish and chips and beer. I ate outside, and stopped at a pastry shop on my way back to the room for a scone for a sweet treat before bed. With 12,000 steps the first day, and 15,000 the second, I felt I had done sufficient exploring of Edinburgh and could skip night life to get more sleep with no regrets about not having done more.

The next day was some tricky logistics, juggling the hotel checkout time, train schedules, and the requirement to show up at 7 pm - and not before - at the ship at a dock in a small town the other side of Glasgow, where I had to change trains. The weather in Edinburgh had been gorgeous, but was forecast to have intermittent showers all day on the west coast, so I didn't want to spend a lot of time touring on foot outdoors with my heavy bags. 

I ended up taking a train to Glasgow right at the hotel checkout time. The ride was uneventful - except it was crowded - there were some people standing without seats. The route lay through suburbs and a bit of gentle farm country - nothing dramatic. I had to exit the platform into the main station to change trains, and I had figured out the ticket was good for any connecting train to my destination. I decided to spend my extra few hours in Glasgow rather than the tiny port town of Greenock. I walked around the city a little bit, but the weather wasn't great and my bags were heavy, so I reverted to the train station waiting room. I watched on the schedule board as a series of trains to Greenock departed - every half hour - as I read my book. I finally got on a train and took the short ride to the small town, where I debarked onto an empty platform (with no enclosed station) in a light drizzle. I had to walk more than a mile to the ship, with my heavy backpack and tote bag. More than halfway there, I stopped at the only open business along the route, a McDonalds (how appropriate! Scotch food!). I was still ahead of schedule, so I lingered over a diet coke, appreciating the caffeine and a chance to sit down.

Finally, the ship!

Finally, I headed to the ship. It was clearly visible from a distance - a classic square-rigged sailing ship, not to be confused with anything else. I connected with my fellow passengers also arriving, and finally, right at 7, we boarded and were greeted by the crew. After a very brief tour of the ship with some safety instructions, we were shown to our cabins (I had one to myself as the ship wasn't full). Dinner at 8, where introductions were made, a lovely meal was served, and we were told breakfast was at 8 and we would be sailing right after that. 

(Next: actually sailing!)

High Summer

It's about as summery as summer can get around here. We're having a severe drought and a serious heat wave. We have one hot golden day after another, with daylight until nine at night. I'm all in on summer this year. Here are things that are letting me know it's really really peak summertime:

• Watermelon cocktails! 
• Basil in everything, including watermelon cocktails!
• Sailing! This is the first year my boat partner is also retired, meaning weekday sailing!
• Tomatoes! With basil!
  
• Dresses! With flip flops and painted toes! (and slip shorts, thanks Kim!)
  
• Peaches! Some things I only buy at farmer's markets, never ever at the grocery store. Peaches are #1 on that short list.
• Ice cream! New flavors to try! With peaches! With basil! With cocktails!
  
• Corn on the cob! Also on the farmer's market only list (except for the stunted ears I grew myself!) It goes well with basil!
  
• Shrimp on the barby! Wrapped in basil, of course!
• Sprinklers and running through the water! Every single morning watering! Dogs chasing the water! Picking the basil before it goes limp in the heat!
  
• Very early morning exercise, with slanty golden light before it gets too hot!
  
• Opening up the windows every morning, only for a couple of hours! Smelling the basil!
  
• Huddling up to the air conditioner every afternoon! Closing the blinds to keep the sun out!
• Evening happy hour in our cul de sac, with the pavement too hot to set a beer down! Parents comparing notes on the multiple camps and car pools for the kids out of school! Sharing the basil!

 

On the Road Again

This morning at Lake Artemesia

I don't exactly know how or why, but I seem to have got my mojo back on several fronts! And now, stand back, because I'm on the go!

I parked my Vespa scooter several years ago. First, I had a vertigo outbreak in the early spring, before I had put my bike on the road for the season. The vertigo lasted about a week, with two very bad days when I couldn't walk for some period of time due to total loss of balance. I totally lost confidence in my ability to deal with gravity even after the attack subsided - not a great attitude for leaning around curves on a two-wheeled vehicle! Also, the type of vertigo I had, BPPV, is likely to recur. (But it hasn't, so far.) So that took me off the road for a year. Then, no surprise, the bike wouldn't start when I tried it after sitting for a year. I bought a new battery, and last year made another attempt to get it going, to no avail. 

This spring, I determined I had to either ride it or get rid of it. I had been thinking an electric bike might be a better proposition. But I really couldn't see buying a expensive new toy while I had a very similar one parked in my driveway already. In addition, where the bike is housed is one of the sunniest spots in my yard - I was eying it as a place to put more plants if I got rid of the Vespa. A dear friend, a motorcycle maestro, came over last weekend and he got my bike to start right up! I rode around on the street and it seemed sound and appeared to be running well. At the least an oil change seemed necessary before really relying on the bike, so I made an appointment to take it to the dealer for a tune-up (no user-serviceable parts inside). 

The dealer is about 15 miles (and two states!) away, in Arlington, Virginia. I worked myself up to it riding around the neighborhood some, to get both my muscle memory and my systems memory fully back up to speed. My body seemed to know what it was doing (I first started on motorcycles about twenty years ago) but I needed to resort to the manual to remember how to work all the buttons. I really was keyed up for the ride to the dealer, studying maps and trying to memorize the routes, as I wouldn't be able to look at my phone during the trip. To get to Virginia, I would have to go into DC and across the Potomac. The District of Columbia into Virginia can be very confusing, with a plethora of roads going in very strange directions. It would be easy to accidentally end up on an expressway and be stuck there for a few miles. With a top speed of around 60 mph (and cruising capability around 50) technically I could be on an expressway, but remember, this was the trip to make sure the bike would be reliable to try to go that fast. I also certainly need more practice and confidence before doing that again!

The day of the service drop-off dawned rainy. I had scrounged through my closets and found my old riding jackets didn't fit, as the Vespa idle period coincided with my gaining 20 pounds. I scrutinized my weather apps and set off between deluges. I had an uneventful 40 minute drive, dropped off the bike to a nice Italian service guy, and treated myself to a wonderful lunch in a cafe in upscale Arlington. The DC metro has lousy service these days, with the local line closed down entirely right now, so I also treated myself to an Uber the whole way back.

I picked up the bike on Saturday ("we don't often have to remove a mouse nest from the engine!" they said in that charming Italian accent, and charged me about 20% of what I originally paid for the bike) and I had another uneventful and confidence-building ride home. So I'm ready to go! Small local errands, fun rides, perhaps even going off with the scooter gang I rode with pre-pandemic! I call it "fresh air without the exercise" and I've remembered how much of a smile this puts on my face.

But in other exciting road news, I have gone back to running! At least, I've stuck my barest toe in! 

Both knees are currently in an ok state. They hurt, but at levels I can stand. And so far, most activities have not caused them to hurt worse than they feel just sitting around. On my trip to Bellport, I walked more than four miles in sand, and I've been trying for three mile walks two or three times a week. I have a New Year's goal of making it 10 miles in one day by the end of the year. But walking takes a long time to get the miles in - a three-mile walk by itself takes me slightly more than an hour, and I have to get organized, get the right shoes on, put the dogs away, and maybe drive somewhere first. So I decided to try running again.

I've actually had a bit of a Thing about running. It seemed impossible to do again. The mechanics of running are distinct from walking, and I I couldn't make myself do it. My knees hurt, but all the muscles of my legs have been tight. Crossing the street, needing to hurry, I couldn't go into a jog. I would lean forward, then tense up and not be able to do it. I had an image of a face plant in the middle of the street from a leg collapsing under me. 

When I was running regularly, I ran intervals between walks. The length of my running intervals varied widely, from a mile of non-stop running all the way down to 30 seconds, but the technique, of running and then walking for a minute or two for recovery, is sound. The theory of very short intervals, especially for beginning runners, is that you can sustain the mix for much longer than you can sustain just running, and so your body gets more thoroughly conditioned to running. Your heart and breathing rates repeatedly go up to running levels, and then recover before you do it again. I also had a couple of sessions with a running coach who specialized in a technique known as "chi running". It is supposed to lead to fewer running injuries. The essence of the technique is to lean forward from your ankles (not your waist) and a foot will automatically lift up and move forward to keep you from falling. A fast cadence is stressed, with a faster pace leading to longer steps but the same cadence.

After hitting the turnaround point for my three mile walk one day this week, I decided to see if I could overcome this Thing and run. I leaned forward, and my foot lifted up, and then I was running! To the untrained eye, I was "just barely jogging" but to me it was everything. I could feel the muscles in my thighs waking up in surprise! "What's going on here? I remember this!" The form came back to me, and it felt good. I ran just three short intervals interspersed with walks, and then swaggered my way back home, feeling quite a bit taller and more confident. The Thing was gone.

I went out this morning to a nearby trail that makes a mile and a half loop in a pretty setting, equipped with my running watch and running playlists. I walked a lot, and ran my structured intervals for a bit, totalling two loops. I'm highly satisfied with where I am with this, even though I barely kept up with a (young) person walking while I was running. I hope to work up to doing 5K races again, but even if I don't, it's all good. My body is capable, I am capable, and if the body starts to decline, it's possible even at the advanced age of nearly 70 to recover some of the mojo.

I'll leave you with this: schedules and weather finally combined to get us out on the Bay! Yay, sailing! I'm on the go, on two wheels and four, and two feet, and by sea! Stand back, here I come!

Report Card

 The last time I published a report card was in January of last year, looking at 2022. I actually have kept up tracking myself primarily through apps and devices, and from time to time I sit down and go through the data trying to glean some meaning or insights. I haven't felt like I've learned that much recently, certainly not something worth sharing. I still haven't got any wisdom to share, and it's not that pretty a picture, but the data is what the data is, and there is a certain value in simply showing it. Keeps me honest with myself.

First, to get it out of the way, my weight is high and stable. No need to share a graph. I gained a bunch of weight in 2022 (Fuck You, Intuitive Eating!) and it's stayed on. I haven't been motivated to any kind of a big push to change it. And it's been remarkably stable - plus or minus four pounds. I do plan and track my food most days, but it's more part of planning how to spend my time than trying to morph it into fewer calories. And then, keeping me conscious of what I'm doing, to do away with mindless eating. I still weigh myself every day and it gets recorded on the internet, for whenever I feel like reviewing the history in detail. I chuckled one day recently when I got up and peed several times during the night and found the next morning I was two and a half pounds down from the day before! That's why I can't get excited about day-to-day fluctuations, the range I'm seeing is just water weight. 

First up: Activity. As always, darker is better. January was knee recovery time, and I give myself a pass for everything but workout days. My "workout days" focus on functional fitness, either in my home gym or with physical therapy (my PT experience the past couple of years has been a solid hour of working out followed by 15 minutes of massage and stretching). With PT from the knee replacement added to working out in the home gym, I was really doing a lot. It also paid off, as now my calories and steps are back to where they were last year (which was NOT a stellar year for activity, I admit). The walking mileage shown here is from taking a deliberate walk where I activate my GPS, not an accumulation of steps during the day. I'm currently pretty active in the house and garden, which keeps my steps up, but I haven't been feeling the walk as a way to spend time (and I only do short and slow training walks with the dog, not worth tracking.) I've added a new row since the last time I posted, "stand time". My apple watch tracks this - how much time do I spend on my feet all day. It seems worth looking at, since my goals involve being less sedentary. Here, I'm moving in the right direction!

Next, some health parameters. These are both controllable and uncontrollable things. The big worrying trend is migraines, which are up. I have fallen off the meditation bandwagon, and that might be a contributing factor. But my doctor thinks that perhaps allergies are acting up - and there is a connection between respiratory inflammation and migraines. So I'm trying to be more faithful on OTC allergy remedies. "Alone days" (still looking for a better descriptor) are days I don't talk to anyone. I might be texting or emailing, but it only counts if I talk to someone either in person or on the phone. I really enjoy days on my own, but I am aware it is not healthy to have too many. And besides, I enjoy my family, friends and neighbors! I continue to be a sleep champion, with a normal seasonal variation of less sleep with longer daylight hours. (These sleep hours are separate from time in bed, as the watch purports to distinguish between lying awake versus truly asleep. I am awake at least 45 minutes during the course of the night - but apparently, that is less than average for a woman my age.) Heart rate variability is meant to be an overall measure of stress, with a high number being better. I haven't been looking too much at it, but the apple watch keeps track, so I decided to add it to the list. Resting heart rate, as a reminder, measures resiliency, with a lower number better.

Lastly, how do I spend my leisure time? (Ok, it's all leisure time. I do a minor amount of volunteer work, but I'm not tracking that here.) This whole category is not necessarily "more is better", but it is what it is. I also struggle with whether the "year" column should show an average of the months, or a cumulative total for the year. It's currently a mixed bag. I've actually wanted to read fewer books this year, because I read a lot of fluffy entertainment and it gets in the way of doing more productive things. My TV watching is up recently, as I indulged myself with a season of my only reality TV show, "Below Decks". I haven't been watching movies, neither at home nor out. I have been traveling a modest amount this year, more shorter trips, which is suiting me right now. And I'm hoping for more sailing, as my partner has retired, which multiplies the number of possibilities of aligning our two schedules and the weather.

So that's the story in numbers. Looking at this does motivate me to move, so I'm off to do that now.

Excelsior!

The Home of my Heart

I've lived a number of places in the world, and visited many more, but Bellport will always be the home of my heart. My family lived there when I was born, but we moved to the middle of the country when I was five. We returned for many long summer visits, and Bellport grew in my mind as the aquatic marine summer paradise place I longed to be all the time. We moved back permanently as I started high school, and the acquisition of a sailboat cemented the deal. My high school years were not particularly happy and there certainly is not enough money in the world to ever convince me to relive them. It was the sixties, and traumas both political and personal were significant. But the place I lived was much of what made those years bearable.

I come from a family of great indoors people. Touring the great capitals of the world was their idea of an ideal vacation. My parents were profoundly bored by the beach, we never once went camping, and the idea of scrambling around a little sailboat buffeted by wind and waves was anathema to them. The year we moved back to Bellport, my mother wrote in her Christmas letter how sad we all were to leave the delights of a college town in the midwest. She clearly never checked in with me, her middle child, to find out how I felt about it.

Carmen's River, where we sailed

Bellport gave me the freedom to go places and do things as an adolescent I couldn't have done in many other places. It was a small rural and prosperous town back then, with some summer people, but not with ostentatious wealth or fashion. Alone or with friends, I could bike through small roads and over a bridge to the beach on Fire Island. On weekends, we would go birdwatching with some avid adult birders, hanging out in marshes and on beaches throughout the east end of Long Island. Even more delightfully, my friends and I could sail to Fire Island, or other destinations along the Great South Bay, one of the best small boat sailing areas in the world. It has the steady and strong ocean breeze, but very sheltered water so no big waves. Even better, at least half the area of the Bay is so shallow that if a boat capsizes you can stand on the bottom to right it! Astonishing to me now, my friends and I were allowed to take a family small sailboat each summer for up to week, cruising along the Bay and tying up to shore at night. Our boats were completely open with no toilet or cooking facilities aboard, but the Fire Island National Seashore provided docks to tie up to and places to put a small campstove for cooking. Generally there were also payphones, and we tried to remember to call in each night to assure them we were still alive.

I left to go to college (in the midwest, ironically) in 1972. I never spent a whole summer back in Bellport afterwards. But my family was dug in there, until my mother moved down near me in DC in 2006. Even then, she and I would go back for visits, once or twice a year, until about ten years ago when we went back for the funeral of one of her best friends. Her declining health and declining pool of friends decided against any more trips.

So it was a lovely surprise when I got an invitation to the eightieth birthday party for one of my close friends there, and realized the calendar was free and I really wanted to go. The birthday girl was also a close friend of J, my boat partner who was my friend in high school, and who actually moved back to Bellport (well, ok, Brookhaven, a mere hamlet to Bellport's village) as an adult for about a decade. She decided to come as well - she hadn't been back in nearly 30 years!

The Birthday Girl, Jo, is about a dozen years older than me. That was perfect when I was in high school. I think every adolescent can benefit from adult friends to show alternative ways to be in the world, something different from the parents. Jo and her husband, Phil, provided a safe place to hang out, drop in, drink tea, and sometimes meet other kids from the next town over where Phil was a teacher.

The beach

We had an uneventful but tedious nearly seven hour drive up to the island on Friday. We went directly to Smith Point beach on Fire Island, as Friday had the best weather forecast of the weekend. One of our objectives for the weekend was to walk along the beach to where Superstorm Sandy had made a breach in Fire Island, letting the ocean in directly to the Bay. The breach has since filled in with sand, on all but the highest of high tides. It was a bit of a hike - 4 1/2 miles round trip - but we took our time and watched some birds and stood in the very low spot where the ocean had been washing over the sand. We had spent many many hours in roughly the same spot, and sailing over the waters of the bay just inside the barrier beach, so it was fun to spot landmarks on the far shore. Many of them were just the same.

We stayed in a bargain Airbnb just outside Bellport. I think we may have been the fourth set of guests to stay there - we were the fourth folks to review it, anyway. It was very clean and very basic. I would guess the owner had done the work himself (or hired a friend) because it was not skillful work. There was no weather stripping on the outside door, and when the wind blew the puffs came in. There were stripes of wall paint on the ceiling where the taping wasn't sufficient. There was no book of instructions or local area tips. It had a fancy coffee machine, ground coffee and mugs, but no sugar or cream. The fridge was entirely empty. No ironing board, no hair dryer, sparse furniture. But comfy bed, plenty of bedlinens and towels, a decent shower. It did the job. We left some suggestions on the private feedback, and stressed the positive on the public review.

Friday night, we ate at the fancy Bellport Restaurant. We had no reservation, and we were shuttled to a back room, away from the hopping main part where very attractive people were socializing between tables and the bar. But we asked our server to let the head chef know we were there (using the first names we used back in the day which is not how we are now known to friends). The head chef is the son of the birthday girl, and we used to change his diapers! He came out, astounded, as his sister the party organizer had elected to keep our attendance a secret. So we got excellent food and service and a discount on the drinks. It was fun to see him as an adult in his element - the last time J had seen him, he was babysitting her children! 

Saturday was kind of drizzly, but we made a pilgrimage out to see my mother's building. Back in the year 2000, a local health center was renamed in her honor. I wouldn't have been surprised to see it renamed or even the whole building repurposed, because it's been twenty-five years. I was really touched to find it is not only still a community health center, but even though it's under new management and has a new name, they kept the "Marilyn Shellabarger". 

It's still her building!

 

We took another hike, through a wildlife refuge and along a marsh, seeing more birds and wildlife. We also visited all of our former houses and favorite places in a driving tour, commenting on the changes, not always favorably. Highly enjoyable!

The birthday party was fun! Jo has many many health challenges running back over many years, but she is still gutsy and independent and sharp and funny. Of course, the food was excellent, because not only is her son a fancy chef, but her daughter is a professional baker. There were not lots of people there, but an unexpected treat were the couple who lived behind my parents' house. Also eighty years old, they had sold their house last year and moved back to their old neighborhood on the upper west side, and driven out for the weekend. They were both very bent over and walked very slowly with canes. Also still sharp and funny and highly opinionated, I enjoyed talking to them both. 

Sunday morning we got up early, hit a diner for breakfast, and were off the island and to the NJ turnpike by 9 am. The trip home was uneventful, and a full 90 minutes shorter than the trip up.

I don't know that I will ever go back to Bellport. Jo and her family are my only people links to the place. Being there, I feel both at home and a stranger. I go to a familiar place, but nobody knows me and knows that I belong there, though I feel strongly that I do. The first time I played the game of "what will I do if I win the mega-lottery?" the first thing that popped up was "buy a place in Bellport". But that's really the only way it would happen. 

Maybe it's better to just keep it in my heart, and not allow myself to be disappointed by any inconvenient realities.