100%

You know, this week I was going to title this post "The Backlash" and I was going to tell you in a funny, cynical and smart-ass sort of way, about the negative feedback we've been getting from some folks.  I know right?  I never imagined that some people out there would be down right mean and outwardly hoping for us to fail.  I mean I knew some people would be utterly clueless and never in a million years understand why I'd want to just give away a perfectly good "fill in the blank here, yada yada... whicha-ma-call-it" but come on. I came up with a couple of cool categories to describe the different groups of people we've encountered and I gave them names like "Claymore's" yes, after the WWII land mine.  Another was the "George Costanza's" and things like that.  I was going to post a snippet from an actual email that Melody received saying, "how utterly disappointed" this person was with her for making this "rash decision" ending with "I expected more."  Huh?

But I'm not gonna do that.  

After my last post, you know the one about the Lincoln running me down? I've decided to take a different tack.  I'm going to marvel at the absolute bitch slap handed to me today. 

I had two incredibly difficult conversations scheduled and I would rather have a root canal than have either one. I had a meeting with the VP of my company to inform him I'd be leaving and shortly after that, I had to call Bill (The guy who owns the boat I backed out of buying~ last post).  I still hadn't spoken to him directly. I left him a voicemail and sent an email and hadn't heard back.  I expected he was pissed but I needed to speak to him. I owed it to him and didn't want to skulk off with having just sent an email. I needed to "take my poison" and I was dreading it. Dreading both.

Now we've had a really busy and some would say stressful month with this closing and trying to find a new place to rent for the next two months, etc.  We've sold or given away most of our stuff. And the dog... Jet... is absolutely confused.  We've fixed the kitchen sink three, no... four times and finally it no longer leaks.  We've got boxes labeled "books" and other's labeled "Donate" and still other's labeled "Boat." Where is this all leading you ask? I'm getting there.

Today, in the meeting with my boss... I struggled... I mean really struggled to hold back the sudden swell of emotion that hit me as he arranged a couple chairs for us to sit facing each other.  I had been fine reading my notes and going over what I was going to say and how I was going to say it. Positive. Nothing but gratitude and appreciation. I sat down and he looked at me, leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head and said, "So... what's going on?"  Like a cowboy in an old western just before a gunfight. As I started with, "First, I'd like to just say thank you.  Thank you for a great gig for the last ten years..." Tears welled up. My hand holding my coffee cup started shaking and I was now careening down a river of emotions that I hadn't planned on.  All the stress?  Now!  It had to come now? "Holy shit," I'm thinking... "this can't be happening now. Not now. Get... A... Grip!"  

After a moment, I regained my composure and continued.  We had a heart-felt, honest conversation about dreams, goals, expectations and the dangers of getting too comfortable.  We got through the details of my exit strategy and then... as we were ending the meeting... he stood up, looked me dead in the face and said, "I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you for taking control of your life and realizing that it's not good enough.  And I'm going to say the only thing I can say... I support you... 100%. I'm going to miss you. I always liked you. But I support you." I nearly hit the floor.  And then, he hugged me. 

I'm not sure what I expected but I didn't expect that. Maybe I expected to have to defend a position. A point of view. My validity. Maybe I expected a little more, "good riddance." I don't know... Maybe we've all gotten so jaded and used to confrontation and drama that it's become the first response. Moments like these blow me away because of the natural conditioning towards anything but kindness and understanding for another's situation. Why was I so stunned. 

"Hello Bill? It's Chris..." I braced for the onslaught of "you shady son-of-a-bitch... etc... etc..." and it didn't happen. It was absolutely the opposite.  "Hey Chris, I got your email and your voicemail and I'm sorry we couldn't put this together."  WHAT? I agreed to buy your boat, started the survey process and pulled up short and you're apologizing to ME? This is just bazaar.  

We've got a place to rent now. Today... two days before we have to be out of our house. A good friend called and had a tenant unexpectedly move out on him. Really. Right when things were getting critical... we find a place. How funny.  You know, from the moment Mel and I made this decision, nothing has been difficult. It's all fallen into place. Maybe a little stressful at times but it's worked. Every piece from the selling of the boat, the house and furniture to the new boat being available now that we have the money. And now... the apartment. Just when I think... uh, oh... here it comes. This is where things bind up and grind to a halt, I get surprised... again and again.  Bitch slap.

I've had this piece of paper on my computer monitor for about three years now. It's the full width of a piece of copier paper and it has a saying on it.  A friend and co-worker gave it to me years ago when we were having one of our deep discussions about dreams, goals, expectations and the dangers of getting too comfortable. In plain, black courier it says, "I am abundant and the universe supports me."  Somedays I notice it and some days, I don't. Right there in front of me. Not two-feet from my face.  On a monitor that I look at every day for about eight hours. Somedays I actually miss it... Unbelievable. 

Know what? I'm going to make a point to see it every single day for the next two months. 

Compression

com·pres·sion/kəmˈpreSHən/

Noun:

The action of compressing or being compressed. The reduction in volume

I'm late... and I know it. I've missed my usual Monday time-frame for my post and it's very unbecoming.  I'll refrain from the excuses and begin with a short telling of events from the past weekend.  I've done something I'm not proud of... I backed out of a deal.  

To recap: Mel and I traveled to Naples, Florida to see another Cal 35. There are currently three on the market and we've now seen two.  The third one is not an option. Needs too much work.  And that... if you recall is how this damn blog started in the first place! I won't go into all the technical details but after seeing the first one in Panama City, I (I stress "I") wanted to see the one in Naples for piece of mind.  In an effort to save money we found some really inexpensive (notice I didn't say cheap) tickets on Allegiant Airlines. However they don't fly from Nashville. In the interest of time I'll give you the readers digest breakdown... 

Friday: leave work early, drop Jet off at the "Pet Resort" (more than our hotel), go home to clean the house because the new owners wanna do their final walk-thru tomorrow... of course. Got going early on Saturday, drove 3 hrs. to Knoxville, Flew to Punta Gorda, drove to Naples, met the boat guy... Bill, had dinner and finally got to the Old Naples Pub at 9:45pm for our St. Patty's day celebratory Guiness!  Just in time cause...

they close at 10! Crap.

Saturday we woke early, had breakfast and met the owner Bill and his wife Sally.  They were so incredibly gracious. They let us stay on the boat and met us the next morning with a cooler full of sandwiches and wine, the perfect set-up for a nice test sail.  After settling up with the harbor master for the nights dockage, we pushed off to motor out and it couldn't have been more beautiful. Everything was great... the weather, the company, the wind was freshening and it was almost perfect... almost. 

TECHNICAL ALERT:  This is where I have to regress back a bit... When I read the ad for the boat, it said the owner had Kiwi-gripped the decks. Now if you don't know, sailboats have a rough area on the decks known as "non-skid" which is placed strategically to keep your feet from slipping when the decks are wet. Over time, it wears down and starts to become ineffective and unattractive. Most people paint the decks and that intern creates a whole-nuther set of problems... painting the deck every couple of years... YUCK. I've had two boats with painted decks and I told Melody, "Don't ever let me buy another boat with painted decks!" You see where this is going. However Kiwi-grip is a different product entirely and it's much more reliable.  Anywho... Upon walking up to the boat I noticed that they didn't do such a great job painting the and the mast looked different than it did in the photos... It looked PAINTED!  And it was... half-way up... he stopped... painting... 

Now this is where my internal dialogue starts saying just be nice, stay over, do the sail, be diplomatic and go home. Another part of me says, "Go home now!" But the voice who wants to remain with my wonderful girl agrees with the first voice. So we enjoy a lovely night and I proceed to talk myself into a painted boat.  "It's really not too bad. I can repaint it in white and get rid of that nasty tan color. Ah, I can pull the mast and paint it correctly... fill in the vent in the fore-deck, fix the auto-helm, re-do the headliner." You see where this is going. After-all there are only two Cal's and we want the best boat for the money... This one just had a twenty-five hundred dollar bottom job, newer diesel engine, new standing rigging, new mainsail, and... painted decks. We sailed and it sailed just as it was supposed to... FREAKING INCREDIBLE.  We had a lovely day, drank wine, sat at the dock and in the excitement, I tossed out a figure that was six-thousand dollars short of his asking price... annnnnd he took it. So, Mel and I told him we had to discuss it and we'd call him later. 

On our way to the airport we talked. I ignored my little voice and my little voice didn't appreciate it.  The pressure of dragging my girl around the country in a fit of planes, trains and automobiles had gotten to me. I was telling myself, "you need to just make a decision and get moving. Time is running out... our escape time-table is being compressed at an ever increasing rate.  My little voice began screaming... and I ignored it.  I smiled through clenched teeth and we agreed to go for it. I called Bill and said we wanted to move forward with the purchase. He was over the moon. Said he and his wife had such a great feeling and really enjoyed us as a couple... I however felt very sad. Very compressed... "reduced in my volume" and Melody knew it. She said something like, "you're not has happy as I thought you'd be..." 

Monday morning 4 am:   

Compression... major compression.  Shortness of breath, heart pounding. My little voice now standing on my chest, a firm grasp on my throat says in a calm, "Clint Eastwood" voice... "Now you listen here bitch... I'm only going to say this one more time." 

5 am:  

I'm on the couch in a full blown anxiety attack looking over photos and the survey the owner of the other boat sent me, reeling over the fact that I have to tell Melody, "...it's not over. No deal. I gotta go back to see the other boat again."  

Melody knows me pretty well.  She woke up and knew... she just knew... Jet, our dog, knew too. He left the room.  I bared my soul, my fears, my reservations and said, I know you hate me but I have to go back... She cried. Balled. Big, red, swelled-up eyes. 5 am-I'm not awake-I'm hungry and I have to pee tears. 

I had to call Bill. I felt sick to my stomach, like I was letting my dad down. I was going to call this nice retired couple who probably set their "next phase" into motion. I mean... why not... they sold the boat right?  Ugh.  I left him a message. I sent him an email. He hasn't called me back. I feel like a total dick. I have to call him again and I'm not looking forward to the conversation.

Compression. The action of compressing.  I feel it. With our house closing next week, no place to rent until we leave in June and no boat, I feel like I'm running. Running as fast as I can as a 1979 Lincoln Continental speeds behind me. My feet clip the front bumper with each stride and I feel the air suck past me into that big, chrome grill. 


And I'm running out of road... 

      

Graceful Transitions

It's Monday and it couldn't come soon enough. I was thinking about this post most of the weekend.  How would I transition from the last post and the emotions of the last week, to the emotions of this week and beyond?

tran·si·tion

 [tran-zish-uhn]  

noun:  1. movement, passage or change from one position, state, stage, concept, subject, etc...   

             to another.

With that in mind, we'll do it together.  Gracefully, respectfully... I turn the page and focus forward.  

We spent the weekend packing the house.  It's quite funny because we were done in about 3 hrs. See, we've donated and/or sold almost all the furniture and we're just waiting for it to be picked up.  We've given or donated several loads of clothing to Goodwill and friends and yesterday we made a run to McKay's Book Store here in Nashville. They just opened a new three-hundred thousand square foot wear house. They sell used books, cd's, dvd's... well, you know the type store. As we packed Saturday we loaded up our itunes with all the cd's we could handle before tossing them in as well.  All told, we got a paltry $86.00 for our efforts and a $10.00 store credit.  BUT... that wasn't the point was it?  We got rid of a ton of stuff and still made enough money to grab a couple bottles of wine and some dinner.  I couldn't think of a more perfect exodus for that copy of "Men Are From Mars and Women From Venus" that I'll never crack the spine on!

This coming weekend, March 17th... St. Patty's Day... we'll be heading to Naples, Florida to look at a Cal 35.  That's a sailboat.  We have pretty much decided this is the perfect boat for us at the moment.  As every sailor knows, every boat is a combination of compromises.  One has great sailing abilities but an exposed cock-pit. One has shallow draft but feels dark and cramped inside. Another will have all the creature comforts of home but sails like a dinner plate. That's a bad thing. And the most important one for us right now... which one fits in the budget?  Money... You never want to sacrifice and buy a shitty boat just because it's cheap. You'll find one night, while you try to sleep in a blustery storm, drops of water caressing your forehead through that leaky hatch you saved ten grand on.  That will almost guarantee you and your lovely will be land-lubbers in no time at all. 

The Cal 35 fits our criteria, and let me stress "our criteria" once again.  Everyone will have different needs or requirements when they pick their boats.  Just read a few forum's and you'll get mind numbing assessments of facts and figures, capsize ratios, balance to displacement, righting moment equations, comfort factors and so on. At long last, you'll just have to know what you want.  For me... I need a boat that sails well.  She has to go to weather with a measure of confidence. She has to be well built with less than six feet of draft. She has to come from one of a handful of designers that I hold in high esteem.  Sparkman & Stevens, Ted Hood, Bill Shaw, Carl Alberg and Bill Lapworth are just a few.  The later being the designer of the Cal 35.  Bill Lapworth designed several Cal boats and early on changed the sailing world with the wave churning Cal 40.  A legendary boat if ever there was one.  So, without getting all technical on you... We searched for the last two years for our "next boat" and if you're talking about under 50k, there are few as good with the reputation to boot.  

She is sea-worthy, fast and has very nice accommodation's down below.  She's got a nice safe galley, navigation station, 6'-3" of headroom and... a separate shower stall.  That was the selling point for my lovely girl Melody. Few things are more important after a day in the salty air than feeling fresh and clean. A shower, albeit not a glamorous one, makes you feel 100% human.  She's got a lovely v-berth and quarter berth with tons of storage.  Another plus for Mel, secret squirrel as I like to call her.  That girl can stow some stuff away... I'll have to make diagram's with "circle's and arrows on the back of each one" (Arlo Guthrie reference there) just to be able to find the soap!  Her mast height is a little taller than I'd like at 54' but like I said, trade-offs... 

We've seen one in Panama City which had some nice canvas and a cool layout but had a lot more use on it.  We're going to see this one before we pull the trigger just to have that piece of mind.  Ideally, I would like to not have a "Florida Boat" since they spend so much time getting pounded by the sun... but hey, if it's been taken care of... with a good clean survey... it  is what it is.

So there, I think we've made a nice, clean and graceful transition here.  A technical, dissertation on a boat and the why-to's and where-fore's of our mindset.  Non-offensive. Nothing too heavy or thought provoking. No deep quotes from Emerson or Twain.  Nothing to ponder.  Just a nice, warm piece of dough that you can chew on until I wax poetic or have a momentary lapse of reason once again. Rest assured dear friends and followers... it will happen.  It will happen.

Per-spek-tiv

per·spec·tive

  [per-spek-tiv] 

noun

the state of one's ideas, the facts known to one, etc., inhaving a meaningful interrelationship: 

It's Monday. It's been customary that i write my blog entries on Monday's. I'm not sure why that's become the case. Maybe it's because i've had the weekend to reflect but i think that's a load of shit since i don't really do much reflection here. This blog was to be an honest "on the spot" assessment of the "journey" we've undertaken. Stream of consciousness, drivel with moments of witty repartee. I said i'd be honest, "...warts and all" and today i guess is one of the wart days. 

I'm not sure where to start. See, i'm conflicted.  Because i believe we've become a society of self-absorbed, ego-infested, lemmings who feel the need to incessantly post every mundane thought or action on Twitter and Facebook. We suddenly feel like it's important to tell everyone, anyone who'll listen that we just had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or that our head hurts or we just "struggled" through 3 loads of laundry and now we need a break. I could go on for days about this but i won't. Needless to say, thisblog also falls into that senseless, self-absorbed, crap category. But i made a deal with myself to make notes about our experience because later i wanted to look back and see a road-map of thoughts and emotions that were written in the moment, at the time they occurred and not from reflection or reminiscence. My intention was to make the next, "rest of my life" a piece of art.  For ME... not for any of you.  I stopped making music and painting because my "next project" was this experience.  And... i've been so shut down for the last ten years, i felt the only way to discontinue that trend was to throw open the curtains and let everyone in.  Warts and all... Take part in the exhibitionism. Foolish.

About now you're probably asking yourself, "What the hell is he talking about?" and i completely understand. See... If I ignore my post this week, i'm turning my back on the deal i made with myself.  I become a fraud because later i'll be resigned to recall this particular Monday from a place of reflection. I'll be forced to pull hard the strings of emotion and loss. Because let's face it... time changes our perception... our per-spek-tiv.  It does heal most wounds.  Most... 

My per-spek-tiv is definitely different today.  A very dear friend succeeded in killing himself this weekend and the thought of writing a blog about our boat search trip makes me sick to my stomach. The "...state of my ideas" is not clear right now.  I fluctuate between anger and sadness.  This "experience" has now shifted like the tectonic plates as i morn for my other friend who was there when he did it and is now forced to carry that image in his head for the rest of his life. Brutal and inhumane... it makes me wanna sit on the floor and cry. 

Warts and all...

So... you see my dilemma. Do i post this crap and feed the monster?  Or do i lock it down, choke back the tears, cover it over with bullshit and tamp it down deep into the dark, wet dirt. 

Do me a favor, if you've made this far, don't post any "I'm sorry for your loss" comments.  Don't tell me "...things will get better with time."  Respectfully... save your breath.  You wanna be sympathetic?  Do something that matters.  Take a long lunch, go outside and look around. Lay on your back for a change of 'per-spek-tiv' and take a deep, deep breath. Now realize that life is a gift. Selling another widget won't make you a better father or mother. Your BMW is not fooling anyone.  At least anyone who is still paying attention. Don't judge people because chances are, you don't know shit about what balls they are juggling in their lives and... if you have a problem, get help. Do a better job with your life.  Engage. Mend your fences. Count your blessings. That's what you can do.

Ignorance is not bliss. It's simply ignorance.

Now... if you'll excuse me, i'm going to make a peanut and butter sandwich.