For the last 11 years S/V Dragonheart has been our home. Cynthia grew up on her and Michael and I learned lessons we didn't even know we needed to learn.
She was our own little world. Sometimes that world was safe and calm and other times not so much. We learned to anchor, navigate, make our own electricity and water. We snorkeled, we fished, we read and we had fun.
So many wonderful memories of wonderful times with all our friends. We will miss being out there on the blue and salty ocean, but all good things come to and end.
Dragonheart has new owners who will have new adventures. We wish them well.
Good-bye old friend. Takes as good of care of them as you did us. Dance in the waves and foam and wind as only you can.
I have been thinking about expectations a lot lately. Not Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. The expectations that others have for us and the ones that we have for ourselves.
What really got me thinking about this is the two children that sit behind me at Mass. The young girl must be about 10 years old. She has made her First Communion. Her brother is younger, perhaps he is 6 or 7. They are both old enough to know how to behave in church. They do not behave. I really am not upset with them. I am upset with their parents for having such low expectations of their children's behavior.
I believe that people will meet our expectations of them. If we set that bar low then they really do not have to work at it. They can stumble along in mediocrity and be happy. If we set the bar high and encourage them or better yet are an example to them, in most cases we will find that they will meet those high expectations.
I grew up in a home of expectations.
My room would be clean and my bed made daily
I would help clean the house
I would be truthful
I would set the table and wash dishes. No automatic dishwasher in our house.
I would say, "Yes madam and Yes Sir."
I would respect my elders.
I would sit still in church
The list could go on but you get the idea. Now days it seems that we don't expect much of ourselves or those around us. We have taken casual to a new high. I am not suggesting that we go back to the days of women wearing gloves and heels. I would, however, like to see us use our manners again.
Remember when "Please and Thank You" were magic words? They still are, but many of us have forgotten that. Remember when your handshake was a contract? When we looked each other in the eye when we talked?
I am not saying that the Good Old Days were better. They were different. To my way of thinking, respect and politeness never go out of style.
Social Media is a curse and blessing. It connects us to others that we might not ever meet, however, it also makes us more anonymous and thus we tend to not be as polite as we might be face-to-face. We do NOT have to self disclose our every thought to everyone on the planet, twitter, or Facebook. Somethings are and should be private.
Sometimes it is good to sit still, be silent and listen. It is amazing what you can hear.
One thing I know for sure. Just when you think you know where your life is headed you find you have to Change Lanes.
This past year has found us moving in directions that we never dreamed of going. We find ourselves living in the desert of all places and slowly it is growing on me. I dream of rain and lush green hillsides and find that even though there are palm trees they are surrounded with desert. But there is a beauty here with the shadows that play across the mountains and mesas. Humming birds are bountiful and the flora and fauna is amazing as it sneaks up on you after even a dusting of raindrops.
In the Land of Beige
We decided that living in the little Class C motorhome was no longer a viable option and have moved into a park model home. We are still in the same spot with a great view of the Colorado River. We just have more room in this lane.
Kitchen
New Living Space
Michael has changed lanes and been diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver and has bleeding esophageal varices. This has landed him in the hospital twice in month. He is stable now and on a low sodium and bland diet. It is a difficult change of lanes but one that was a long time coming.
In case that you think I have dodged lane changing you would be wrong. My lane change was also a long time coming. I was diagnosed as diabetic. I am on oral medications and of course a diabetic diet. Long family history and well, I just plain didn't take good care of myself.
(If any of you have some ideas on how to combine all three diets I am more than open to suggestions.)
Cynthia is changing lanes. She is taking Drivers Training and learning how to drive a car. I do believe it is harder than being at the helm of our Dragonheart.
As Cynthia tells me changing lanes can be scarey. You have to look at so many things at the same time before you do it. Otherwise, you may just crash. We have our signals on and we are moving over. Watch for us!
I have always been attracted to names. Names are important. They tell a lot about a person. I try to get peoples names right. It always irks me a little when someone gets my name wrong.
I have had a few names. No I am not in the Witness Protection Program. I just have had a varied life. I was born Cynthia Marie Bonham. A simple name. My immediate family has called me Cindy for as long as I can remember. My fourth grade teacher called be Bonnie. She never could remember my name. She always told me when I corrected her that I looked like a Bonnie. It should be noted that she is the only person that has ever thought that about me. Frankly, I think it was an alliteration Bonnie Bonham.
When I was confirmed in the Catholic Church I added my Confirmation Name. I wanted a male Saint. So I choose St. Thomas Aquinas. They insisted that I use the female version of Thomas which is Thomasina. Many thought that I wanted the name Thomasina because of the Disney movie about the cat, Thomasina. Not me, I am not partial to cats. Truth be told I had always wanted a name that could have a cool male nick name. You know, Lucinda could be Lou. Samantha could be Sam. But no I was Cindy. Listed in the Church Records I was, Cynthia Marie Thomasina Bonham. To my brother, Joe I was Cindy Boneywanna. To the my other siblings I was Nanny Goat!
When in High School I was in German Club and as part of taking German we all got to pick out names that would be used in class. I was Erika. I loved that name. I can't tell you why, I just did.
My next name came when I got married. I became Cynthia Marie Common or just Cindy Common. When people asked how to spell it I would say, "Common, as in ordinary." It didn't last long. When divorced I reverted to Cynthia M. Bonham.
Soon I fell in love or was it lust? My name changed yet again. I became Cynthia M. Lawson or just Cindy Lawson. Two children later that marriage had ended and once again I was Cynthia M Bonham.
Love reared it's head yet again and so did the name change. Now I was Cynthia M. Bonham-Paddock. Why did I decided to hyphenate my name. Well, it is complicated. I was working on my Master's Degree and I knew that I wanted to honor my parents and my last name. My father is an only child and our particular branch of the tree was looking a little light at the time. So I began the frustration of having a hyphenated name. Not only did I hyphenate my name I decided that I would claim Cynthia as my name. I had never liked that name. I wasn't named after anyone and it felt like an old name to me. But now I was a professional and felt I needed a grown-up name and Cynthia fit the bill. I came to love the name Cynthia. It was a name I had to grow into.
Once again my marriage ended, but fear not, I had barely changed my name back to Cynthia M Bonham when I changed the hyphenated part to Bonham-Miller. At this point in my life the only people that called me Cindy were my family. I was Cynthia M. Bonham-Miller with lots of initials behind my name. Then I decided to name my youngest after myself and have a Junior. Yes, I wanted to share the hyphenated name and to top it off, a female junior.
Life really got complicated. Cynthia, Jr came to me around age 6 or 7 and informed my that she did NOT like the name Cindy and she was going to be Cynthia and I would be Cindy! I was okay with that, I was going to go on a new life adventure and would no longer be working in my profession. So I became Cindy. But my official name, the name I sign on documents and who I am, Cynthia M. Bonham-Miller.
Cynthia M. Bonham-Miller, Sr try writing that on a check or filling out a form. It never fits in the little space/boxes. So here is the problem. No one gets my name right. It is especially difficult if Cynthia and I are together. For example, the dentist. They keep us straight by putting us in the computer as Cindy and Cynthia. The VA has me as Cynthia M. Miller. I do not know who she is, but I answer when they call me. The trouble is I am having trouble remembering which name each places uses for me. So when I call or check in it goes something like this, "It might be under Bonham-Miller or Bonham or Miller."
"Can you spell that, please?"
"B O N H A M - M I L L E R" Once the person on the other end actually said " no please spell your entire last name with the hyphen. I don't know how to spell hyphen."
It went like this, "B O N H A M H Y P H E N M I L L E R" Her reply was, "So how can I help you today." I almost burst out laughing.
I love my name I just wish it was easier for everyone else to get it right. I don't need a change of address card. I need a change your name card. My father tells me that in his address book my last name is in pencil!
Please forgive me in advance for this little rant. I have set on this for a couple of days and it still is bothering me.
Sunday at Mass I was distracted. Here are some of the things that distracted me:
The ADHD father and son next to me. Fidgeting and talking continuously
The ladies in the front who talk during the Rosary, Mass, after communion, etc
The couple in front of me talking to the people in front of them during the petitions
The individuals that feel the need during the Sign of Peace to walk around the Church to all their friends
The individuals that don't sing. If God gave you a bad singing voice give it back to Him!
The Eucharistic Minister that will NOT distribute Communion any place put next to the priest
In reality none of these things should have distracted me. I am not a Saint, I can only hope to be a Saint in the making. I should not be at Mass to watch those individuals around me. My focus should be on The Sacrifice of the Mass.
Even though I know where my focus should be I am easily distracted and then I get irritated and then I realize that I and only I did NOT really attend Mass. Instead I chose to pay more attention to the distractions, not the Sacrifice.
What can I say? I will try harder, but Lord could you at least drop those other people a nudge? Thanks in advance.
Actually there are bees in our mast making honey and lord
knows what else. Bees in masts are
a common problem that you face when your boat doesn’t move much. Here at the marina several boats have
had bees over the years.
This year it is our turn. Barnacle had them and got rid of them with poison. Déjà Vu had them. Then Pamela Jean had them and paid an
exterminator to rid their boat of bees.
The next day the bees were swarming over the mast of Consort. When Androsian had them Carole put a
sign up with an arrow pointing to our boat, just before they poisoned their bees.
So this morning Bob from Barnacle came to inject our mast with
poison. Apparently the bees were forewarned
of my intent.
This note was taped to the mast.
The Note from the Bees
I will translate.
Please! Please! Please!
Do not kill us bee bees, This is our house, we live in the
mast!
Dear Queen of Dragonheart – please, accept this gift – the sugar
of our bodies and do not kill us!!
Bee Kind and bee nevolent!
With love,
The Bees
Of course there was the small gift of honey setting on the
deck. Still in all I do not want
the mast full of bees.
The honey for the Queen of Dragonheart
I told Bob to begin injecting the mast!
Thanks Jewels for making my day. To bad about the bees!
In my family there is a Cranberry Relish Jell-O salad that graces the dinner table at Thanksgiving and Christmas. My father's job is to grind the cranberries, apples and nuts with the grinder. The grinder currently has a place in the hall closet at my parent's home. It travels to my brother's home at Thanksgiving time so that Mom can make the salad. It is always packed in the original box in the center of the suit case.
The Original Box
So imagine our horror when on Christmas Eve Day the grinder was not in the hall closet! A room to room search ensued. Drawers and every imaginable location was searched. Even the most unlikely places were searched. Everyone was frantic...no salad. Impossible!
Before it turned nasty I texted my brother to see if the grinder had been left at his house. As soon as the text was received, he CALLED me back.He looked in the kitchen and even went out and looked on the porch as my parents had used the grinder there attached to an adirondack chair. But that is another story.
The Grinder
My brother, ever helpful informed me that the grinder would be in the last place we looked. He was not, however, able to tell me where the last place was.
Mom went back to the hall closet as she was sure that she had just seen the grinder. On hands and knees for the third time she stood up and then moved some blue towels. The grinder was there behind the towels. It appears that when she put up the Holiday towels the every day towels inadvertently were placed on top of the grinder. Crisis averted!
Cranberry Relish Salad
I did mention that perhaps we could use a food processor. Apparently food processors do NOT chop or grind the cranberries, apples, and nuts like a good old fashioned GRINDER. I won't mention that option again.
Once again the salad graced our Christmas Dinner table. It was as delicious as always. The grinder is in it's box and in the hall closet. Life is good.
I am a cradle Catholic. I do not have a single memory of a time of when I was not Catholic. It is a part of the fabric of who I am.
Sure I haven't always been a practicing Catholic, but in time of trouble I find my rosary in my hand and Hail Marys falling from my lips. I grew up when Mass went from Latin to the vernacular. I missed so many things when we went to English Mass. Nuns in Habits, my big missal with all the colored ribbons, the tradition of Latin and the priest's back to you. It was all a mystery, but a mystery that I was part of...I grew to love the new Mass. I sang at the Guitar Mass, taught CCD and was happy with the changes.
I fell away from the Church. Now I am trying to come back. It is a struggle. It appears that there are more changes on the horizon for the Liturgy of the Mass. It has been 40 years and now they want to change some of the wording. Okay, I can learn new versions of prayers. It will take some time I am sure, but I know that I can do it.
Here is the fly in the ointment. I know in my heart that church is more than a building and more than the priest. It is suppose to be my relationship to God and how I live my life. So I move to a place where there is this new monstrosity of a church. It sits on a mesa and overlooks the entire town. It is so tall that they had to get a permission from the City Fathers to build above the approved height requirement. It has taken them 19 years to complete the church and they still have a shortfall of over $237,000. In my humble opinion they should not have built a church until they had all the money needed. It is fiscally irresponsible! I also believe that they didn't need this big a church. A smaller building would have served the Parish and they could have clothed and fed a lot of poor people with that money. But even the building itself is really not the issue.
The real issue is...the place feels cold. Not just the building, it is the priest and the people. I never have felt welcome. I never feel that I have been to Mass. The whole environment feels negative. For example, when the Choir Director comes down to help the congregation learn some of the new Responsorial Psalms, instead of introducing them with a positive outlook he says, " I have to teach you these new responses." How about this instead, "As you know the Church is changing some of the Liturgy and I am here to help you learn the new responses."
So I went across the river to Nevada and found a home. The priest met us at the door before Mass. All the people said good morning. It is a small well designed building but feels welcoming. Before Mass the commentator invited us to say Hello to the people around us. People are shaking hands, hugging, waving from across the way. Smiles and more smiles. They wanted us there and they wanted to be there. The sermon was uplifting and not condemning. When I walked out I felt that I had been to Mass.
I was at church last Sunday and about to attempt kneeling. My knees hate it! It is not something I do well on a good day and if it is a bad day well, I might as well not even try. I noticed the ladies in front of me and they have gray hair. The lady next to me has gray hair. Heck I have gray hair. All of the Knights of Columbus have white hair if they have hair.
So back to my attempt. The kneeler is down. My right knee is touching it. My left is screaming no way kiddo, so I rest my buttocks on the pew and half kneel half sit. Yes, I looked around and I wasn't the only one in this predicament. When did we get so aged? When did genuflection include holding on to the pew so the I could get back up? Three fourths of the Eucharistic Ministers had to use a handrail to make it up to the alter. Two had to use the handrail and a cane to make it to the alter. I wondered, was the slick polished marble floor a good choice?
There were a couple of young families in attendance, but most of us were old. My guess is that the majority are retired.
I joined a Book Club. I am the youngest member. I joined a writers group and I may not be the youngest, but it is aged. The Genealogy Society, you got it; old people.
But this is how I really know that I am getting older...I have lived long enough to see the third version of Charlie's Angels on TV and a movie! Dallas is back on the TV and the music of my youth now sells retirement plans and is played in elevators. The peasant blouses of High School are back in fashion. If they bring back elephant bell jeans with platform shoes then I will be sure that I am old.
But I am NOT old. My body that I have abused and not taken care of is aging. My mind is still sharp and I have a variety of activities that I love and still participate. I am still sometimes surprised by the reflection in the mirror, but I am YOUNG at HEART and that is what counts.
Here we are in the summer entertainment season. There sure isn't much out there that is new.
They are bringing back DALLAS! No I am not excited. I never watched it the first time around and have even less desire to watch it the second time around. There is a new movie out called the Change Up. Two guys who stand in front of a fountain and wish to have each others lives. Old idea. How many movies have been made based on this idea?
We can't seem to come up with anything that hasn't been done before. TV especially seems to have cycles. The season of Police Shows, Alien Shows, Medical Shows. The funny thing is that they start out about the police, aliens and doctors/nurses and before you know it, it is about who is sleeping with who. Who wants to sleep with who. I don't know how they sit around a dinner table. They have all slept with each other and everyone else around the table. Do they share? Right they all ready did!
Even books from authors are stale. James Patterson comes to mind. I liked him in the beginning. Now the font is huge, the chapters are two pages and I have figured "it" out by the second chapter. I am not even sure that he is really writing the books anymore. My theory is that he gives someone and outline and they fill it in. I must say not well. It is predictable!!!
I can hardly wait for Thanksgiving. We will have to learn all over how to cook that Butterball!
Being the water girl that I am I was unfamiliar with the term, Haboob. It comes from Arabic for strong wind or phenomenon. In other words, an intense sandstorm.
Phoenix looked like the movie set in The Mummy. I was expecting Anubis to jump out of the dust. It was eerie and beautiful at the same time.
Haboob
When ever we are driving in Arizona and I see the signs for Blowing Wind I get nervous. I am terrified to get caught in a sand storm. I am not terrified of 10 foot seas. Go figure.
So last night it got windy in good ole Bullhead City. We were out in the dark moving things from blowing down and around. We were on a landlocked "Anchor Watch". Everyone was up in the park. The poor guy behind us was in the middle of putting up a metal shed yesterday. It is gone, gone, gone. We heard in tearing apart and that woke us up. Yes, the RV was shaking and for a minute I thought it was a tornado. No just your friendly Haboob.
We were lucky. No damage and we are still in our site. We have all our chairs. So life is good.
I have become a volunteer photographer for Find-A-Grave.
I received my first assignment the other day. There was a request to photograph a headstone in Needles, California. That is about 20 miles from me so I said okay. I found out there were 13 other request for the same cemetery so I accepted them also.
Print out and camera in the car off Michael and I head for Needles. Betty, the GPS got us there without a problem.
It turns out that there isn't anyone there full time. There is no map of the cemetery so we decided to walk the cemetery. We did walk the entire cemetery. We looked at every headstone. Some were not readable. Most of the headstones were horizontal. You could see on some that the blade of the mower had taken chunks out of headstones. Some were sun faded. Some were fancy and some were plain. A few had photos of the individual were on the headstones. Some of the headstones were military issue. Some were out alone with no one else around them. Some were in the shade of trees and some in full sun. Some had full concrete slabs over the casket area. Most did not. Some were so sunken over the casket area that I was a little nervous about walking over them. Some were hand written in wet cement. Most were carved. Most were in English, but a few were in Spanish (I understood it), and one was written in I think Chinese. Wish I could have read that one.
There appeared to be sections. There was an area that the names were mostly Hispanic, or Irish, or English. You could tell family plots that must have been bought as a group.
The baby graves were the hardest. They had toys engraved on them. It made me think of all the children that had died and not been able to live out a life. It reminded me of my son and my brother who predeceased me.
But no matter what the headstone looked like some touched me more than others. If I saw a family name I wondered if they were related. I took a photo just in case.
Some of you know that we bought a Kia Soul in August. It was 2010 model and we loved it.
As we were driving, it appeared that there was a little more play in the steering wheel than when we first got the car. While in San Antonio it really got bad. So we figured when we got back to Tucson we would go to the dealer, Jim Click Kia and have it looked at while they did the routine oil change.
The Service Adviser let us know that the bolt that holds the steering shaft in the column was gone! Kia did not want us to drive the car. No problem. We didn't want to drive it. So they called and ordered the bolt. The next thing you know they are calling us and telling us that Kia is going to....drum roll please...replace our Soul with a new 2011 Model. This is at no cost to us.
Not only did they give us a new 2011 model they paid all the fees to transfer our plates, rental car, etc. This all happened in less then 48 hours.
The Service Manager at Jim Click and Kia Motors America really made us believers that some companies really do care about their customers.
Some of you may think that they were just trying to save a law suit. May-be, but they sure made it all painless for us. I don't know of many companies that would step up like this one did.
Heroes are interesting people.I am not talking about Sports figures or Hollywood elite.We do sometimes get confused and think that they are heroes.They are not.
Most heroes when asked about their heroic action will tell you that they were just doing their job, that there are others who did more, etc.
Recently while reading a wonderful book, Empire of the Summer Moon by S. C. Gwynne, I came across the name of Capt. Nicholas Nolan.I became interested because of my genealogy research.
I still am not sure if I am related to Capt Nolan, but he has touched me.He touched me so much that upon finding that he is buried close to where I am currently, I went to the cemetery and took photos of his headstone.I spent close to 2 hours with the dead that morning.Capt. Nolan is buried in the US National Cemetery in San Antonio, TX.Not the National Cemetery located on Fort Sam Houston, though they have responsibility for the management of the Cemetery.
Nicholas M. Nolan
March 10, 1835(1835-03-10) – October 24, 1883(1883-10-24) (aged 48)
Major Nicholas M. Nolan, 3rd Cavalry, formerly of the 10th Cavalry
As I walked among the headstones I was reminded of all the soldiers that gave their lives in the formation of this country, to keep this country free, and hopefully to bring freedom to others.
They lay next to each other, General and Private, wives, infants, friend and I am sure sometimes foe.Their headstones give glimpses of lives.Some have only dates of birth and death. Some have epithets worn by the rain, sun, and time.
Capt. Nolan’s reads: During the stirring event of a civil war and the hardship of the frontier Major Nolan’s character for honesty and honorable purpose remained untarnished.He was one of the bravest of the young cav. Officers of the Army of the Potomac and was always at the front.
The phrase, always at the front, has made me think.“To always be at the front”, you open yourself up for arrows, bullets, criticism, and praise.It means that you are willing to cross the line and stand up for what you believe is right and just.It means that you put others before yourself.
We have a new National Hero, Staff Sgt. Salvatore Giunta, Medal of Honor Recipient.He was at the front.He carried his fellow soldier on his back through bullets and being wounded himself.He will tell you that the other soldiers there were just as heroic and that he was doing his job.
Sex and lust are for young people. Love is forever. Love is NOT trains crashing in midair. Love is NOT birds singing.
Love IS when you get up for the umpteenth time and wipe up the bathroom floor after your husband’s catheter has leaked blood and urine more times that you can remember or count.
Love is wiping said husband’s back and giving him a back rub because he has been in bed for too long.
Love is walking together, be it hand-in-hand or with you beside a walker, quad cane, or wheelchair.
Love is when you sit in the OR waiting room and wait for someone, anyone to tell you that, yes it is taking longer than expected, but the doctor will be out soon to talk to you.
Love is accepting the reality that an erection is NOT the most important thing in a marriage. Companionship will last a lot longer. A sunset or sunrise will last a lot longer. Sharing a good book will last longer. Almost anything that you can thing of will last longer than an erection!
Love is lying in bed with your Mother and trying not to cry about your Dad, who may not make it through the night. Love is telling your siblings that it will be okay, even when you aren’t sure, but they need you to be strong.
Family is talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Family is quiet when you want to scream, “I can’t handle this!” And then a hug that lets you know you are not alone and yes, you can handle this and so much more.
Family is, “Call me as soon as you hear something. Once we know something we can make a plan.”
Family is looking at black and white photos with your parents and asking, “Who is that? How are we related? Tell me a story about them.”
Family is knowing that even though you haven’t talked in weeks or months, that they are in your corner.
Family remembers; the first Christmas, the first camping trip, the first time you got up on water skis, the time you were told that Santa lives in your heart, when you came out of the closet, when you cried because you disappointed them, and they forgave you before you asked. Family remembers all the firsts and celebrates them.
Family is learning that you have the coolest brother-in-law. That he would do anything for you. And that could include a day at the Spa.
Family is a free massage from a professional and no charge.
Family is rotating to the blow-up bed at the lake when all you desperately want a good night sleep, but it is your turn… so suck it up.
Friendship is sacred and rare. It is the call that says I need you, but please ask no questions. It is acceptance of your warts and the flashes of brilliance that others may miss.
Friendship is taking an hour out of their day to speak Spanish or just listen to you vent when speaking Spanish is the last thing on your mind.
Friendship is an invitation to a lunch of homemade burgers, salad, cold beer or wine and a view of the river that leaves you wanting more.
Friendship is the people that will take your cat for an indeterminate time and make sure that it is loved and cared for while you are doing other things.
Friendship is the quiet touch and, “We’ll be thinking of you.”
A good book can and will take you away from whatever is tearing at your heart. It is a friend that asks nothing of you and yet gives you more than you wished for…
Love is holding a baby for the first time and counting fingers and toes and thanking God that they are all there.
Love is your husband holding you while you identify the body of your child and together you stand and give witness to the life that could have been.
Hope comes in many forms. The unconditional love of your parents. The knowledge that your siblings will stand next to you and never doubt you. Hope is the baby or grandbaby that you hold in your arms and dream about the future. The quiet knowledge that no matter how bad you mess things up it can still turn out all right.
Love is learning to trust a child again after they have broken your trust. It takes small steps. It is a dance, it breaks your heart, and yet it can restore your faith in humankind.
Life is not what you think it will be, but it is more than you could ever imagine. It is full of things that take your breath away and things that make you take an extra breath.
And this I know…I am what I am because of all of you. To all of you who have believed in me, all of you that have questioned me and made me look deeper into myself. To all of you that have held me up when I thought I couldn’t take another step, to all of you that gave me hope when I felt my most hopeless. To all of you who loved me, even when I was my most unlovable. To all of you that told me I could do, whatever, it was that I was sure I couldn’t. Thank you.
On our latest flight to the United States there were several occasions when we needed, "Social Police".
I am willing to take on the job. You may be wondering in what occasions would you need Social Police. Let me enlighten you.
Carry on Bags: All the signs tell you the dimensions of the approved size. If you look around there are several people that have bags for carry on that exceed the size limits. That's right...time for the SP. "Excuse me sir/madam you are correct the rules do NOT apply to you. Go right ahead and break the rules."
Sitting in the waiting area. Our carry on bags have been inspected and we have been wanded twice. But we are flying out of Guatemala so 30 minutes prior to boarding you have to get out of your seat and let them go back through your bags and wand you one more time. Oh, and you can't have any drinks in the seating area after that last inspection. Now is when you need a SP. Someone always goes under the radar, gets a drink and sneaks it back in. How can this be? Because the employees are so busy chatting that they are not doing their jobs. I got so upset when I watched two women sneak two drinks in that I went up to the employees and asked why they could have a drink and we could not. It is amazing how fluent my Spanish is when I am pissed off.
Now we are getting ready for take off. The announcement is made that we ALL must turn off our electronic devices. That's right...time for the SP. "Excuse me sir/madam you are correct the rules do NOT apply to you. Go right ahead and break the rules." If we crash because you couldn't wait a couple of minutes to start your movie/music/etc that's okay.
If you must use the forward toilet the Flight Attendants make several announcements that you must line up behind row THREE. It is against the LAW to line up in front of row THREE. Someone call the Social Police! It seems that everyone believes that that rule/law does not apply to them. Even when they are reminded.
I must tell you the final event that really put my panties in a twist, it is as follows:
We land and there is applause. (I am not sure when that started...applauding the landing. In all my working years no one stopped and applauded me when I did a good job. But that is a different Blog.) So we are taxiing down the runway and people are standing up and taking down their luggage. The flight attendants start making the announcements. "You must stay seated we are on an active taxi way. All luggage must be returned to the overhead bins." Someone please call the Social Police. Some people sat down. Not one of them returned their luggage to the overheads. The flight attendants had to do that little job.
Enter the drunk. In the seats behind us was a young family with two small children. One of the children was in the mother's lap so the aisle seat was vacant. The drunk sat down and began to be extremely profane at the top of his voice. The mother asked him to move as she had paid for that seat and now her two year old son was now parroting the "F" word. Half of the plane laughed at this. Now the drunk takes up repeating, "Get back to your seat, you made my little boy say the "F" word. Oh, how horrible." At this point I pushed my attendant light since it appears that they did not want to be involved. Finally he was asked to get back to his seat. In the mean time his buddy came and sat next to me. He is hitting on the girls across the aisle from me and now he is talking loudly about how up tight the young mother was...and he starts up with the chant. At this point I ask him to go back to his seat. I even said please. His response, "You sweet, sweet woman" As he was leaving, my response, "And you young man are a jack ass!"
The first young man again became loud and belligerent for a second time. He was escorted to the front of the plane and I can only hope that he was met by the police. And I am not talking about the Social Police.
I could go on and on, but it is time to get off my soapbox. Cynthia and I are working on our uniforms.
P.S. Before the young mother left the plane I told her that she was the one that deserved the applause. She stood up for her child.
When cruising I have found talented people at most of our stops. On the Rio Dulce, Jennifer of Gringo Bay, is one such person. Jennifer can paint on almost anything. She does passport covers and canvas rugs, and she paints turtle shells. She also makes belts from snake skins that the locals sell to her and she then sells to the gringos.
So one Saturday morning at Swap Meet, Jennifer had a painted turtle shell. I bought it and it has lived on boat for over a year. It is in hot pink and purple colors. I love the thing and the good news is that it is not an endangered species. It is just a plain old river fresh water turtle that the locals catch. I think that they eat them.
Since we are thinking of selling the boat we decided to have Michael take some things back to the RV. Now we were a little concerned about putting this turtle shell in Micheal's suitcase. We were concerned that it might get confiscated. How do you prove it isn't an endangered open ocean turtle. We couldn't figure that one out so we asked Bob and Trish off SV Barnacle to take it back with them. Right, they were going to drive to the States from Guatemala. They agreed and stowed the turtle shell. We got word that they made it across all the borders without problem.
Not wanting to carry it across the country they were going to ship it to my parents in Tucson. Michael could pick it up and put it in the RV.
Emails confirmed addresses and phone numbers. Turtle sent, insured and tracking number sent. And then it happened. Tracking site said turtle delivered, however, my parents do not have the turtle. Emails are sent back and forth. Unknown to us Bob and Trish are in the wilds of Idaho and do not have INTERNET!
Here is my fathers story:
It's amazing how a simple thing can become a nightmare.
This is the Saga of the Turtle.
I had used the UPS tracking system last Tuesday just to see if I could locate the package. No problem - it indicated that we would receive the package on Thursday the 24th of June.
On Thursday I checked once again and found that everything was on schedule. worked me shift at the VA on Thursday morning and Mom called Bingo that afternoon and I went to Adoration at Church from 1500 to 1600 hrs.
No package had arrived yet. Just prior to going to bed at 2230 I realized that the package had not been delivered. So I went back to the tracking service and found that the package had been delivered to our front door. Went to check, but did not find a package. Went out to the driveway and looked for it, but no luck. Friday morning I called the office here at Sonoran Terrace to see if the package might have been dropped off there. No such luck.
Call UPS headquarters to see what I could find out. They were adamant that the package had been delivered. When I told them No it had not, they said all I could do was have the shipper submit a lost claim. Not very helpful.
Later on after lunch we got a phone call from a man named Rob who said that he had our package. Wanted to know where we lived and when I told him, all he could say was "Way up there!" He lives at 730 N La Cholla which is West of the I-10 Interstate and as far South at Speedway. He works for Qwest and got our phone number from them. The package was addressed to 787 N LaCholla Blvd, apt 2188. He said he would call UPS and have them pick it up and deliver it to our address. I said "NO" and that I would come after it. By the way, there is no such address as 787 N La Cholla Blvd. La Cholla ends about 100 feet from his home and you have to drive in on a dirt path and through a deep wash to get there. He came out when I got there and showed me where he had found the package. It was out in the road [path] just before the path becomes his driveway. His is the only place there.
Called UPS Headquarters after I got home and convinced them that the package had not been delivered to the front door and that I wanted the driver to be reprimanded and counseled. They said they would check into it and have the local supervisor call me. He did and I explained what had happened. While we were talking the driver returned to the facility and the supervisor told me he would be talking to him.
So, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Love, Mom & Dad
And now for page two...I went back and reviewed my emails. Guess who screwed up? Yup, it was me. Got to check for typo's especially when sending an address.
So that is our story. The Turtle Shell is were it belongs. As for Bob and Trish...they got all the emails after the story ended. Thanks again to everyone who helped in this Saga.
For the first time since we moved on the boat almost ten years ago, Michael and I will be apart. I can't believe that he will be in the States and I will be here in Guatemala on the boat with only Cynthia.
Part of me is looking forward to not listening to Fox News as I sleep and spreading out in the V-berth, the other part of me is not sure that I will be able to sleep. Part of me is envious that he gets the walk around queen size bed in the motorhome all to himself. He will now have his TV to fall asleep too. I won't miss that!
I have lots of projects planned for while he is gone. Cleaning out lockers and giving them a new coat of paint. Catching up on Algebra is high on the list of things to do. Starting once again to go through our stuff and pitch and toss. That can be a very satisfying exercise, plus you clean out a locker and have SPACE!
I am sure that with internet and phones we will talk daily. Need to know what is going on with him. So he takes care of his health issues and I take care of Cynthia's Orthodontist Appointments and we should hook back up in late August or September. Then a nice long visit in the States together with some serious road time and family visiting.
Soot and ash on the streets of Guatemala City. This is in front of the Biltmore Hotel.
Guatemala is certainly getting their fair share of bad weather events. First Pacaya erupts. This causes the International Airport to close. We are not sure when it will open again. They are talking about next week. There is 2 inches of soot and ash on the runway. Reports are the volunteer street sweepers are literally hand sweeping the runways. That could take some time. Even when they get it swept up where do they put the stuff?
Now TS Agatha has made landfall on the west coast and has brought life-threatening floods to the country. Morales a small town close to us is flooding. The river is higher there than it was during Hurricane Mitch!
We have been asked to have our water tanks on the boat full and to ration water. The Rio Dulce is on the rise. Not sure how long we will have electricity or if we will have to move off the dock. We will see what happens.
There are reports that bridges are collapsing between the Rio Dulce and Guatemala City. This could cause even more problems for people that need to get to the city to fly out.
Even with all of this we are safe. No boulders are falling on the boat. The boat floats and is self- contained.
There are hundreds of Guatemalans that have been evacuated from their homes and have lost everything. Currently there are 14 Guatemalans that have lost their lives. We are simply inconvenienced.
The rainy season is now upon us. The down side is that the boat gets a little green and you definitely want to carry an umbrella with you. Trips to town are timed between showers and if you are lucky you can get back dry.
The good news is that it will hopefully end the terrible drought that Guatemala has been suffering from, this last year. The down side is that there is a Pacific Low that will cross the mountains and there will be flooding rains. The concern is that there will be mudslides in the mountains and entire villages may once again go down the mountain. It has happened before. Entire villages were covered and declared cemetaries.
The good news if that everything is flowering and every morning the sidewalks in the marina are covered with flower petals. As you walk down for a free cup of coffee you feel like royalty. The down side...it is raining.
More good news. There were fresh flowers for sale by the post office in Morales. Only Q25 ($3) for a dozen fresh long stem roses. Makes the boat pretty and it smells great!
The good news...hot showers, bar on the premises, a restaurant on the premises, a pool, laundry and last but not least...Good FRIENDS!
