Having Ourselves a Happy Little New Year

   
     When Bill started flying back in the late 1980s for USAirways he was often gone on Christmas. In fact, since he was a junior pilot, for many years he flew on all holidays. For people in the service industry, every day is Wednesday. There is no distinction unless those serving make it, like wearing a musical Christmas tie with his uniform, or reindeer antlers in place of the cap. Back in the day when flying "non-rev" wasn't so hard, I could join him on a holiday layover. We've spent Christmas Eve at a candlelight service in a small Lutheran church somewhere in Connecticut (or was it Massachusetts?), Easter Sunday at a church in Toronto, New Year's Eve in Boston (that was a neat "First Night") and once in Tampa (or was it Fort Lauderdale?).
     Then after Bill's mother couldn't make the annual Christmas trip to Pittsburgh we would go to Sun City, AZ instead, spending Christmas Eve at her church, followed by a late meal at Mimi's -- a really great French bistro chain in the southwest. The day after Christmas we would fly to Chicago and have a late Bouman family Christmas with my parents and sisters and their families, usually arriving back home in time for New Year's Eve.
     Since we are not late night revelers -- we've only done one "hotel style" New Year's Eve party in 31 years of marriage -- we've made that night our gift exchange night. Since neither one of us have been able to keep a promise to keep the gifts to a minimum, we can usually draw out the evening nearly to midnight.
     This New Year's Eve we're recovering from a vicious 24-hour stomach flu that -- fortunately -- hit us after we got home on Thursday evening. I shudder to think of two of us trying to cope with that on an airplane, even though it was a direct flight! Alfie is also a little worse for the wear after his stay at Pet Paradise; he came back with a cold and has been sneezing quite a bit. I had hoped we were finished with vet visits for a while.
     This past year had -- as they all do -- pluses and minuses, gains and losses, but overall we feel really, really blessed. We both have jobs we truly enjoy. Bill has always liked a) working with his hands and b) working outdoors, so getting the marina maintenance job in April when another employee quit unexpectedly was a godsend. After losing my job of 24 years in early September, I started freelancing as a reporter and proofreader for a community paper and in another case of being in the right place at the right time, was hired on as the editor in early December when the previous editor left for another job.

     We also rejoiced in the birth of twin grandsons, Hudson and Porter Smith, in March, adding to the four grandchildren we already have: Brogan, 6 and Griffin Smith, 3 (in Los Angeles) and Devin, 16 and Ally Shelton, 14 (in St. Louis). We mourned the deaths of Bill's nephew Matt Hallock (in July) and of my uncle Ray Schwab (in December).

     So this little blog at the end of the year isn't anything special or particularly funny or insightful. Just an opportunity to round off 2012 with one last wish for friends and family: May the Lord bless you and keep you. May He look upon you with favor and grant you His peace. Amen.

Having Myself a Merry Little Christmas

In a few short days we’ll take down the 2012 calendar and put up a new one. We’ll look at 365 long days stretching before us and wonder what 2013 will bring, ‘cause we sure had no clue that 2012 would end up like it has! When Bill and I ushered in the New Year, I was still gainfully employed and he was actively seeking a job. We started making friends with boaters who were here for the winter season, and joined a not-so-nearby Lutheran church, where I recently accepted the position of council recording secretary.

In late February we adopted a young cat, Alfie, who promptly battled a chronic urinary tract infection for the next six months. I didn't like having to put him on antibiotics every 4-5 weeks, so I did some research on homeopathic remedies. A combination of a daily dose of a cranberry powder plus three eye droppers full of water every day seems to be doing the trick as he's been "clean" now since September. Alfie’s a character and has quite a range of snorts, chirps, wheezes and grunts, especially when he’s sleeping.

At the end of March my sisters Beth and Patti and brother-in-law Daryl came to Florida for spring break, and we enjoyed a week at a luxury condo in Ponte Vedra Beach (courtesy of Beth’s employer) with several forays into Old St. Augustine and the outlet malls. I also joined a fitness club that month and started a lunch hour workout four days a week. In September I added a 3.5 mile walk every other day and finally started to lose weight in October, dropping 13 pounds and a size and a half in eight weeks.

In April Bill got hired by the marina as a handyman, for whom no project is too large or too complex to tackle. He started by power-washing the docks, of which there are four, but barely finished the first one when he was re-directed to other projects. It took nearly six months before Docks A, C and D were clean and the fourth (ours) is still waiting for a lull in his projects.

Summer in Jacksonville was quite unrelentingly hot, which Bill enjoys, me not so much. [We did make use of the pool, which is where I got to know the publisher of the local community newspaper.] I think Bill lost 20 pounds through sweating as he built a pergola, a garbage corral, a bicycle parking lot and tackled numerous repairs inside and out of the condo units that were on the market. [Aside: the marina has an 8-unit condo which was built in 2007 and never completely finished. As buyers were found, Bill got punch lists a yard long that needed to be addressed before closings.] Here Bill is painting the deck posts for Unit 301; he also had to replace a window in the front of the unit.

Shortly after Labor Day, my boss of 24 years flew down with the unhappy task of having to lay me off. The company had lost some major business and as a remote employee, I was easy pickings. I immediately created Pure Grace Consulting, registering it in Florida as a limited liability company. A former co-worker, Kris Praskovich, designed my logo. I've done a few small jobs here and there for my former company and for a Lexus dealership, and applied for almost a dozen jobs in marketing and communications here in Jacksonville, to no avail.

Fortunately my connection with The Resident News resulted in working as a stringer (aka freelance reporter), picking up several assignments each week. Getting back into reporting, writing and editing to use my journalism degree has been great fun, plus I’ve been getting to know the city very well. Many of the assignments were business profiles (aka  paid advertorials) for hair salons, gift shops, jewelers, bakeries and restaurants, an electrical engineering firm and a builder. I also covered social register events, and got to meet the former owners of the Jacksonville Jaguars, J. Wayne and Delores Barr Weaver.

Right before Thanksgiving the paper’s editor took another job and I was offered a full-time position on the editorial staff. I start on January 2nd as copy editor / reporter with a flexible schedule that will allow me to continue my morning walks and noon workouts. We are both so thankful that we have jobs we love!

Thanksgiving was a traditional turkey dinner with all the sides, as a potluck. Nineteen boaters came together to enjoy the day. Bill made his famous apple crumb pie and I assisted with setup and cleanup. On Black Friday Bill started the chore of putting up over 7,000 lights on the marina clubhouse for the holidays, and setting up trees in the clubhouse and in the condo lobby. Somehow I got roped into decorating both trees!

We are celebrating our second Christmas on Pure Grace; it’s hard to believe we’ve been full-time live-a-boards for 18 months now. Every now and then I’ll wish I had a kitchen item that’s still in storage in Pittsburgh but mostly we’ve made do with what we have. One of these days we’ll have it all moved down here and put into storage after culling out those items we can absolutely live without for the rest of our lives.

Be sure to look us up if you’re ever in northeast Florida. Jacksonville is every bit as lovely, interesting and historical as Pittsburgh! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

It's Outrageous!

Grace is very important to me. You probably think I fixate on it. But without grace, we would be miserable creatures now, and doomed for eternity later. Following is a great message from our senior pastor, Rick Engel, who shares why grace is so outrageous:

It is commonly said that Christianity is supremely a religion of grace. And that is certainly true. We sing about grace … we write poems about grace … we name our churches and sometimes our children after grace. If you ask us … we certainly believe in grace. But outside our worship services … the word is rarely on our lips. Think about it.

Part of our problem is in the nature of grace itself. Grace is hard to accept … hard to believe … and hard to receive. We all have certain skepticism when a telemarketer tells us, “I’m not trying to sell you anything. I just want to offer you a free trip to Hawaii.” Automatically we wonder, “What’s the catch?” … because we have all been taught that “there is no such thing as a free lunch.”

The truth is grace shocks us in what it offers. It is truly not of this world. It frightens us with what it does for sinners.

Grace teaches us that God does for others what we would never do for them. We would save the not-so-bad. God starts with prostitutes and then works downward from there. Grace is a gift that costs everything to the giver and nothing to the receiver. It is given to those who don’t deserve it … barely recognize it … and hardly appreciate it.

It doesn’t take me long to realize … God is a lot more gracious than I am!

You know how I know that? Because He saves people I wouldn’t save if I were God. He blesses people I wouldn’t bless if I were God. He uses people in His service I wouldn’t use if I were God. Is that true of you, too?

Which is why I’m glad He’s God and I’m not. The Bible says that He is “the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness,” [Exodus 34:6] … and that is good news for sinners like me. VERY good news!

The doctrine of grace may be the hardest doctrine in the Bible to accept. It’s not that grace is hard to understand. We know what the word means. Our problem comes in the application. Grace asks us to accept two things we don’t want to accept:

First … there is nothing we can do to save ourselves.

And second … if God doesn’t save us, we will never be saved.

Nothing more clearly summarizes the true meaning of grace than the simple phrase found in Jonah 2:9, “Salvation is of the Lord.”  There it is … right out in the open.

That statement is both striking and humorous because it comes from the world’s worst missionary. But that’s the beauty of the story of Jonah … because he is not the hero of the story. God is! At the beginning Jonah is running from God; at the end he is arguing with God. In between he is praying and preaching. That’s no hero! But it is a man of grace!

This book of Jonah is about God. It’s obvious when you realize the great fish is mentioned four times … the city of Nineveh is mentioned nine times … Jonah is mentioned 18 times … and God is mentioned 38 times. This book is really about God and how great His heart is toward prodigal sons and daughters who run away from Him. God never gives up on Jonah … not when he runs away … and not when he sits under a vine and pouts.

Here is the take-away lesson for all of us: We are so much like Jonah that it’s scary. There’s a little Jonah in all of us … and a whole lot of Jonah in most of us. That’s why we need … not just grace … but outrageous grace!

Have a great weekend in the Lord … basking in the sunshine of God’s outrageous grace!

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast.” [Ephesians 2:8-9]

Signing Up for Another Year

I actually meant to post a blog on November 2, the first anniversary of our arrival at the Marina at Ortega Landing, but I've been a little busy lately. How the tables have been turned from our respective statuses a year ago!

Then: I was telecommuting full-time, and Bill was taking care of everything: laundry, grocery shopping, Christmas shopping, cleaning (inside and out), and getting to know the area. I barely stepped out of the boat each day, and evenings often found me still at work. Bill was looking for work and not at all sure whether he would find anything.

Now: Bill is working full-time for the marina -- an lovin' it -- and I'm the one looking for full-time employment (maybe), and taking care of almost everything (I still resist waxing and washing the boat). I also spend a lot of time getting to know the area through my part-time reporting job and the long walks I take almost daily through the neighborhoods. And with some free time, I've been available to take on a project at our church and now serve as council recording secretary.

Who'd a thunk?

I ponder that had I lost my job much earlier in the year I would not have yet made friends with the newspaper's publisher that would result in this opportunity. The assignments range from photo coverage of 5K races, celebrity readings at the zoo, wine and food tastings at an art studio, an outdoor dinner in a park to business profiles (advertorials) of restaurants, jewelers, gift shops and salons. Most of the readership for this community paper are in the wealthier areas of Jacksonville. In Pittsburgh, it would be places like Fox Chapel, Sewickley, Edgeworth, Mt. Lebanon and Upper St. Clair. Although my reporting gigs barely pay for my monthly COBRA health insurance payments, I'm creating a new network here. I guess you could say I'm putting down roots and the branches are starting to bud.

On the advice of our accountant I created a limited liability corporation and a former co-worker designed an elegant logo for me. Pure Grace Consulting is open for business -- anything that has to do with words. Writing, editing, proofreading, fact checking. Check out the Facebook page, where I post writing samples.

So, I've signed up for another year of river living and waiting to see what new and exciting things God will put in my path. Who'd a thunk?

Do or Done

One of my favorite hymns is one that a lot of people don’t care for, but it’s usually only sung once a year so I make the most of it with gusto. Martin Luther’s “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” is particularly rousing when sung with a lot of male voices, as it was at my grandfather the Rev. Dr. Herbert J.A. Bouman’s funeral in 1981. I don’t choke up as much as I used to, but the hymn never fails to make me think of him.

I like the observance of The Reformation of the Church, which falls on the last Sunday in October. It can be a majestic worship service, especially if the parish is lucky enough to have a pipe organ and a skilled organist. This past Sunday one of our two pastors preached on Sola Fide (Faith Alone), which Luther felt was the doctrine by which the Church will fall or stand. I really enjoy Pastor Rick’s messages as he has a style and sense of humor that reminds me very much of my father and grandfather. Pastor Rick has a gentle “tell it like it is” approach that provokes thought even while making you squirm. I usually get a lot of notes from his homilies and this Sunday was no different. 

I want to share some of his points because I care about you, the reader of this blog. (Disclosure: If you don’t believe there’s a heaven and a hell and that you’ll be in one place or the other eventually, then you probably don’t need to bother reading further.)

Did you know that basically we human beings are “good works” people? Despite what seems to be a lot of bad news and evil in the world, most people prefer to try to treat others fairly, with kindness, and to be helpful. Unfortunately, all those good works can’t save us.

Good works cannot save us because:

* Good works can’t cancel our sin, but sin will ruin our good works. Rottenness ruins goodness every time. Any farmer will tell you about that one bad apple…

* God doesn’t grade on the curve. He demands absolute perfection. Because our sins are so many, no amount of good works will cancel that sin to make us perfect in God’s sight. Let’s say we each only commit three sins a day and live to 75. That’s over 82,000 sins per person jotted down in the Book of Life. We could, perhaps, try to cancel that liability with an equivalent of three good works every day but a) we already know we sin much more than three times a day and b) it’s far harder to consciously do a good work than it is to commit a sin.

* We can never be good enough long enough. It’s physically and mentally impossible to never, ever think, say or do something mean or wrong. Refer back to the point above.

* We can never be sure we’ve done enough or are good enough. Because God’s holiness is the standard, we will always fall short of meeting it. Because we’re human.

* We wouldn’t have needed Jesus to die on the cross. Salvation is either won all by Jesus or all by ourselves, there is no in-between. Refer back to points one through four if you think you can do it by yourself.

So, are you pretty depressed right now? Or have you simply rolled your eyes and thought “your truth is not my truth, Kate”?

The good news…no, the Good News… is that our salvation is completely outside of our doing. As Pastor Rick said, “we’re going to heaven on the back of a crucified man.” Christ’s suffering and death, and resurrection, changed our F grade to an A grade forever. When Martin Luther realized this, it became a game changer for him. He was so passionate about sharing this news that he posted a list of 95 statements on the cathedral doors in Wittenburg, Germany on All Hallows’ Eve to let people know that they didn’t need to buy their way into heaven.

Sidebar: There is a published thought about why Luther chose to make the posting on October 31^st. He did so for maximum exposure when crowds would come to the city to worship and observe All Saints Day the next day and to purchase indulgences from the church to guarantee a place in heaven.

Anyway, one last take-away from Sunday’s sermon. The difference between religion and Christianity is just two letters. Religion is D-O – things we think we have to do to be saved. But Christianity is D-O-N-E – salvation is based on what was already done for us. We just have to believe and trust in what Jesus did for us.

God is fully satisfied with what Jesus has done for us, even if we doubt. When we believe, He takes us just the way we are – washed clean by Jesus’ blood – and given an A. It’s that simple.

My Energizer Bunny

On the recommendation of a friend, another boater here at the marina, I just finished reading a "self-help" book called Younger Next Year: Live Strong, Fit, and Sexy--Until You're 80 and Beyond. It's co-authored by a former lawyer (now in his 70s) and his forty-something internist. The primary premise is that exercise -- daily exercise -- will help reverse the decay of aging. There are a lot of common sense statements about nutrition, work/play balance and social life that are boiled down to seven "rules":

1. Exercise six days a week for the rest of your life.
2. Do serious aerobic exercise (at least 45 minutes) four days a week for the rest of your life.
3. Do serious strength training, with weights, two days a week for the rest of your life.
4. Spend less than you make.
5. Quit eating crap!
6. Care.
7. Connect and commit.

The authors also prescribe a heavy dose of having fun, in work or play, and it occurred to me that my husband has found a retirement lifestyle that does both. Many post-retirement 66-year-old men (and women) might feel they've earned a life of leisure at this point. Not Bill! Who else looks forward to hot, sweaty, manual labor day after day at that age? Other than the occasional cuts, scrapes and bruises (well, okay, almost daily), his job as marina handyman has been good for him physically and mentally. He's lost quite a bit of weight, has a terrifically positive outlook, and has made some good friends.

Here's a little gallery of some of his projects:

Powerwashing all the docks, slip fingers and sidewalks on the property.

Painting all the wood around the clubhouse.

Preparing the site for and constructing the garbage corral for the more distant docks.

Constructing this roofed pergola also for the more distant docks.

Foundation for the new bicycle corral.
Bill removed all the shrubs and bark mulch, leveled the plot with a screed, and added sand prior to putting in the paving blocks.

The finished corral, very much appreciated!

Along for the Ride

It’s been a while since I’ve felt inspired to blog. I suppose part of the reason is the time I’m spending coming to grips with a sudden lack of full-time employment and adjusting to a slower pace by filling my time with morning walks. I’ve been very fortunate to find freelance work reporting for our local community newspaper and the assignments have been varied, from sports (sailing, tennis, gymnastics and running) to hair salons, home décor trunk shows and adoptions. My first bylined article ran in October (along with a business profile and two photo ops) and the typo under my name in the article is not mine!

Whee! Whee-whee-whee! This weekend I had a little passenger on my car, who hitched a ride on the windshield wipers from the marina to the grocery store to the bank and back to the marina. At each stop the tiny lizard would peer up over the wiper, look around and decide “Nope, not home!” 

After over an hour of patiently waiting as I ran my errands, this little guy hopped off once safely back at the marina.

Sometimes in life we’re just along for the ride; other times we get to steer the course. At a time when most people would be looking forward to retirement I feel like I can finally take the wheel. I’m hoping to parlay this freelance business (Pure Grace Consulting) into enough work that I won’t have to let another company again do the driving. Last night at a party at our marina office manager’s home I met a woman who will be helpful in getting me contacts for editing and proofing work for Ph.D. candidates.

In the meantime, I'm letting go ... and letting God!

The Long Way Around

Statistics indicate that 60% of college graduates cannot find a full-time job in their chosen profession, according to Forbes. Armed with a journalism degree in 1977 I found myself working in public relations, a second cousin to journalism. At that time Mizzou only offered one course in PR and that was my one C grade. Now I believe you can get a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in public relations.

But while I “settled” for jobs in PR and marketing, my love was always for reporting and news writing. I didn’t go through the broadcast sequence because I didn’t think I was attractive enough to be on air, but I enjoyed the challenge of good old fashioned straight journalism. I took the reporting class during a summer semester when there were fewer students to compete with for the bylines. One of my most memorable interviews included a group of nudists at a local quarry swimming hole who were lobbying to make that spot a nudist camp. Yes, they were nude. No, I was not. The other interview that had me shaking in my shoes before I got there was one with a convicted felon who had been paroled and was earning a living repairing billiards tables. He turned out to be a nice, quiet guy.

Another course I took was for magazine publishing, where the articles were much longer, included more photos and we were also responsible for designing the layout. My highest grade was for the long article on the St. Louis Arch and Museum of Westward Expansion. A roommate worked as a park ranger at the Arch during the summer and was instrumental in getting me the contacts for the interviews. My “human interest” sidebar focused on the rangers’ overnights at the top of the Arch. They would forgo the cable cars and hike up 630 feet to the top inside one leg with their sleeping bags and backpacks. Of course, there were no restrooms up there, so “that” had to be taken back down in the morning.

 At my first job I learned how to write press releases, set up interviews for our company executives with industry publications, and publish the company’s monthly employee newsletter. After I left that job in aviation there was a two-year dry spell before I got back into newsletter editing and publishing, and for the next 28 years I wrote for and edited at least one and up to four newsletters at a time. All volunteer outside of my full-time job in marketing.

Now, unemployed for the first time after 35 years I am excited to have an opportunity to get paid for working at my first love. After the company I helped start 24 years ago decided to use “remote employee status” as a convenient reason to reduce force I contacted the publisher of the suburban monthly newspaper here in Jacksonville. Within one week I was given two story assignments, two photo assignments and proofing/editing of the next issue … all as a freelance “stringer”. I’m hopeful that this will work into something steady but in the meantime, I’m having a whale of a time!

Eternal Clout

In the old days, if you had clout you were a mover and a shaker, and probably you were more powerful than a speeding locomotive (but not more powerful than Superman). When you spoke, people listened or sometimes asked “How high?” when you needed someone to jump.

Now everyone has clout and it can be measured. According to the online company Klout (http://klout.com/understand/klout), everyone has influence. As long as you’re online, that is. And tweeting, blogging, posting, retweeting, commenting on blogs and posts…basically running your mouth via your fingers. No more “Let Your Fingers Do The Walking”; now it’s “Let Your Fingers Do The Talkin’”.

Clout – whether you have it or not, how you use it or abuse it – is as old as the earth. Just ask Adam when you get to heaven. Or, hearken back to childhood to hear those threatening words “Because I said so!” or “Wait until your father gets home!” Usually, the people you associated with having clout were either older and wiser, or just a whole lot bigger than you.

Clout is pretty handy to have in some places. Like advancing your career. Getting a table at a nice restaurant. And, um, getting a table at a nice restaurant.

Sure, it’s great to be someone who can make things happen and it’s nice to know people who can do the same. I would put God (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) in the first category. Other than that, I can’t think of a single person who would, in the eternal long run, have enough clout to set me up for Life.

I do a lot of reading about social media for my job; some days it’s hard to keep up with all the articles about online “do’s” and “don’ts” or social faux pas. I recently saw one (and posted a link on Facebook) about the 12 Things You Should Never Post On Facebook. I took exception to some of the “don’ts” because a) I never did like other people telling me what to do and b) one simply just needs to use common sense and courtesy and c) if you don’t like what you see, then unfriend the uncouth idiots…er, friends.

But then you’d lose clout. Oh well.

Dearly Beloved

This weekend we were back in Pittsburgh for a wedding. The oldest daughter of my own matron of honor (over 30 years ago) was married at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Oakland. Not every church building can be a cathedral. Some are smaller and simpler, like my former church in Pittsburgh; I am sure that when it was built over 50 years ago, it was what the congregation could afford at the time and it probably embraced the architectural trend of the Sixties, but the feelings it evokes are more along the lines of God as friend…familiar, comforting.

There’s just something about a cathedral that puts you squarely in the presence of the majestic, awesome God. Soaring ceilings, long aisles, pulpits that rise above the congregation causing you to crane your head upward and focus your eyes on the cross. The beautiful pipe organ (no, Bill, it will not fit on the boat) is part of the grandeur. It’s easy to get lost in the crowd in a cathedral but more importantly, it’s a place to lose your “self” and let God fill you up.

The reception was held at the Edgeworth Country Club, where our friends Cathy and Charlie Kelly have been members since they moved back to The Burgh in 1987, and where I’ve enjoyed quite a few Kelly daughters' birthday parties and plays.

We were honored to be seated at the same table with the bride’s parents and grandparents and the Jesuit priest who conducted yesterday’s wedding ceremony and that of Cathy and Charlie 32 years ago.


















Caitlin and Bobby also made the New York Times! How about that! The photo used in the article was taken by Cathy last year upon Caitlin's engagement in Naples, Florida.

Sisters Courtney and Erin were co-maids of honor.

One Down...

One year ago today we waved a temporary goodbye to most of our possessions as the moving van carted them away to long-term storage in Pittsburgh. We spent that night (June 16^th, a Thursday), our first on Pure Grace as full-time live-a-boards (or cruisers, as we’re called down South). Our goal was to try it for a year, but by December my husband talked me into a two year trial. Aside from the occasional hurricane and tropical storm, it's no hardship, by any means! I can already see two years stretching into three...

There have been a few trade-offs between our former land-based lifestyle and what floats our boat today. It’s not the lifestyle for everyone, as I recently told a reporter from the suburban monthly newspaper. Her eyes opened wide as she took in our home, and her jaw dropped when I mentioned how little time I spend cleaning. “But my husband can easily put in 16 hours on the weekend washing and waxing the boat,” I cautioned. "It's his idea of fun."

Prior to moving out of our Bradfordwoods townhouse, I spent about 20 hours a month housecleaning, between daily "licks-and-promises" and the bi-weekly top-to-three-floors-bottom cleaning and Bill always had a home improvement project in the works. Then, while living onboard at Fox Chapel Yacht Club in Pittsburgh, although cleaning was reduced to less than an hour a week, my commute ratcheted up to 6 hours each week, and I sacrificed almost an hour’s sleep a night to battle rush-hour traffic. Hats off to anyone who has to drive more than 30 minutes to work; I was really spoiled for 20 years with a 10-minute commute.

Now, a full year later, with a commute no farther than a few steps from stateroom to home office in the pilot house, I’ve gained back that hour’s sleep, and every day is "Bring Your Pet to Work Day" for me! Bill built that nifty worktable; the legs screw off so that it can be stowed away on the weekends and at Christmas shorter legs allow it to double as our tree stand. A printer/scanner/copier sits on the upper ledge and Alfie loves to watch it spit out paper. (Note: The Garmin radar is only there until the new radar arch is installed.)

Bill's commute is just a quick stroll down the dock to the marina office, where he confers with the marina manager and the dockmaster for the day's projects. In any given day he will be a landscaper, electrician, carpenter, cleaner, painter, plumber, groundskeeper and dockhand. He absolutely loves being outdoors and finds chores to do in the condominium on rainy days. The condo was built in 2008 with 8 units and none have sold; the contractor left a lot of work to be done to bring them up to "show" quality; that's high on the marina manager's to-do list for Bill.

Above, Warren (marina manager); Georgette (office manager & accountant); Bruce (dockmaster) at the June Luau.

Our dockage and weekly pump out fees are nearly a trade-off with the annual townhome fees and real estate taxes. But we pay to have barnacles scrapped off the running gear once a month and the hull once a quarter. We’ve had to purchase a chart-plotter for navigating the St. John’s River and the massive radar dome that came with it requires a sturdier radar arch. Stay tuned for a future blog showing the before-and-after photos of that installation.

So, while we're celebrating the first anniversary of being a full-time river liv-er, we still have five more months until we can celebrate our first full year in Jacksonville. We’re looking forward to the marina party the first weekend in November!

Just Call Me Tevye

Some of my favorite memories of growing up were the times my grandparents took us to the movies and to the outdoor theatre, the Muny Opera, in Forest Park (St. Louis). After gazing wide-eyed at performances of My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music, and Fiddler on the Roof, my sisters and I would stage our own versions of the musicals in the basement of the parsonage where we grew up in Arnold, Missouri. Some of my favorite piano pieces came from those movies; I remember my Grandmother Schwab always wanted to hear Edelweiss when she came to visit. I played Sunrise, Sunset until I practically drove my mother out of the house, but as strange as it sounds, I really liked stomping around and flinging my arms out to Tevye’s If I Were a Rich Man. There was just something so satisfying about that.

I don’t know how anyone can not like a musical.

So, in the spirit of Tevye, tradition! Tomorrow, May 20^th, is Confirmation Sunday at my former church in Pittsburgh. It feels odd to miss the first one in nearly 20 years. In the Lutheran church, this rite marks the move from our baptismal faith (bestowed by the Holy Spirit when He called us by name) into the beginning of enlightment and sanctification in the One True Faith that we profess. So it's not an ending at all!

About ten years ago, while participating in an adult Bible study, we were asked if we remembered our Confirmation verse. Sad to say, I did not. Although I did remember my Confirmation hymn – Let Us Ever Walk With Jesus – if that counts for anything!

So they would not do as I did and forget, I decided to create remembrances for the Confirmand class that year and designed plaques with each of their verses, an appropriate image, their names and the date. One year led to another and it soon became a personal tradition to present the plaques on behalf of the congregation. The year there were nine in the class was a real challenge but I found the images (thank you, stock.xchng), mattes and frames and it all came together with a lot of prayer. One year I paired Joshua 1:9 (Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.) with a photo of a space shuttle just before launch. I found out later that the young man had battled a lot of childhood illnesses but always dreamed of adventure and greatness.

I thought for sure that the class of 2011 would be the last to put up with my creative efforts, but while on a visit back to Pittsburgh just before Christmas dear friends Jim and Cindy Vasil asked me to create a plaque for their son Justin, who will be confirmed tomorrow. Since I also knew the other two young men in Justin’s class, I decided to design one for each of them as well (really, how could I not make one for the pastor’s son?). It turns out that the tradition was going to live on, with or without my help! My apologies to the chairman of the Board of Christian Education, who was handed the baton, but I’ve got your back this year, Mary Lynn!

These are three, unmatted and unframed, plaques I created for the class of 2012. Each matte/frame combination was unique and complemented the plaque; I was particularly happy to find a pebble-textured/colored matte for the last one, and used an oval matte for the one in the middle. Justin loves to fish and his family enjoyed a vacation at the Outer Banks a few years ago so I thought this image was perfect.

Shortly before I was ready to ship, I got word that another person was also being confirmed so I quickly put a fourth plaque together for a young woman:

 

 

 

Tradition!

Good Genes, Jean!

Thirty years ago I received my first Mother’s Day gift. I still carry that silver monogrammed compact mirror that Bill presented to me as a new stepmother to 9-year-old and 7-year-old girls. Now those gals are mothers, and Bill and I are blessed with six grandchildren. Today I got a beautiful, custom-designed Mother’s Day card from my California grandsons, Brogan, Griffin, Hudson and Porter Smith. I love the card. I feel old.

On Mother’s Day, Alexis, the youngest of my four nieces and two nephews, is graduating from college. It just doesn’t seem all that long ago that they were precious little babies and now the oldest two, Shannon and Kelly, have children of their own. I feel really old.

Next month, if my father were still alive, my parents would have celebrated their 57^th anniversary. I was with them when they celebrated their 1^st anniversary in Miami, Florida. (Lest you think anything naughty, I was born 10 months after their wedding!) Yep…I feel really, really old.

But, I come from a line of long-living women on both sides of the family. Great-grandmothers and great-aunts lived into their late 90s, while my father’s mother lived to 92 and my mother’s mom was 89. God willing, I may live as long in good health. All of a sudden, I feel young!

For most of my life I’ve been fairly active, walking, biking, working out at home or at a fitness club. After my most recent club in Pittsburgh closed I became lax about strength workouts and was shocked at how quickly I lost muscle tone. So early this spring I joined a fitness club just a few miles from our marina and have faithfully worked out four days a week, one day with a trainer. Although it would be nice to lose a few pounds, my motivation is to gain bone density through stronger muscles so that if I live another 40 years I won’t be bedridden or wheelchair bound…God willing.

I also worry about Alzheimer’s, although again, many members of my family tree were pretty much of sound mind when they died so I hope genetics again wills out. I read a great deal, work crossword puzzles and jigsaw puzzles, and enjoy Jeopardy, all in an effort to keep the brain cells healthy. I’d say, so far so good…except when I can’t remember something…

This Mother’s Day 2012, I give thanks to God for the blessing of my mother, Jean Rose Schwab Bouman, whose great genes I’ve inherited and who encouraged me, always, to be the best I can be with the gifts God gave me. I love you, Mom!

Insurance, Anyone?

Growing up in Miami, I remember geckos (lizards, we called them then) skittering across the concrete porch and up and down the screens. Our cat, Blackie, was fascinated by them but I don't think he ever caught one. I also remember scorpians in the bathroom, fire ants in the yard, termites in a nearby neighbor's home and webs of freaky large yellow and black spiders in most of the trees. It's any wonder we ever played outdoors, but we did. Miami is where my sisters and I tried to catch a glimpse of the Mafia wife's capuchin monkey next door, where we first went trick-or-treating around the block, had our first birthday parties, and where I learned to ride a bicycle. My father found this secondhand, heavy blue and black bicycle that was just built for crash landings. It moved with us to St. Louis in 1964, where my sisters Patti and Beth learned to ride "Old Blue" too.

We have a lot of geckos here in Jacksonville, too. They are usually too swift for me to get more than a glimpse but I was lucky today to find and get a close-up of one sunning on the top of our dock steps. He didn't bother to ask me if I needed any car insurance.

A pair of white herons, or great white egrets, are daily visitors, usually fishing for breakfast around 8 a.m. and then again in the evening. They are raucous and seem to call for an audience shortly after landing on our slip. Our cat is happy to oblige, chattering back and, were it not for the screen door, would launch himself straight at the big bird.











Bill was recently hired on at the marina where we live and I believe he thinks he'd died and gone to heaven. Although the dockmaster said hiring him was a matter of self-defense. "We had to give Bill a job so he wouldn't clean his boat so often and make the rest of us look like slugs!" And, yes, Bill does complain that he only has weekends now to keep Pure Grace pristine. Although his title is dockhand, thus far Bill has done some landscaping, repaired or replaced dozens of dock lights, is powerwashing all four concrete docks and their fingers, does a daily trash patrol of the grounds, opens and closes all the umbrellas at the pool every day, and not once has he been put on pump-out duty.

This morning while we were getting ready for church (well, Bill hadn't quite started his morning routine yet, enjoying a cup of coffee watching Sunday Morning with Charles Osgood) when I heard a knock on the door. "Is Bill around? A boat is sinking on the dock!" The young man who owns the Boston Whaler had left the seacock open in his bait box yesterday afternoon, in a hurry to get to work. (He and his wife publish a local, suburban newspaper and he had three events to cover for Cinco de Mayo.) The bilge pump struggled all night to keep up but eventually the battery died. Someone out walking a dog at 7:30 this morning discovered the listing boat and sounded the alarm.

After trying to use the marina's sewer pump out and not making much headway, a professional salvage company arrived mid-morning and an hour later, it was dry and ready to be hauled out for a look at the engine. The Ortega River is dark brown due to tannin from cypress trees. Not too many people ski in this river.

Heaven Is A Place On Earth

What’s your idea of heaven? A (boring) eternal lifetime of singing hymns and praise songs? Continual bowing to our Lord and Savior (a good exercise for the abs!)? A literal interpretation of Scripture verses: lions and lambs lying side by side without the slightest bit of salivation on the lion’s part and adrenalin-induced fear from the lamb? Or, streets paved in gold (a la the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz) and crystal-clear rivers?

I just read an intriguing article in the April 16^th issue of TIME magazine, entitled “Rethinking Heaven” by Jon Meacham. There were a couple of statements in it that I subscribe to:

First, the author asked “What if the authors of the New Testament were actually talking about a bodily resurrection in which God brings together the heavens and the earth in a wholly new, wholly redeemed creation?”

Then, Meacham adds, “It is not paradise in the sky but acts of selflessness and love that bring God’s sacred space and grace to a broken world suffused with tragedy until, in theological terms, the unknown hour when the world we struggle to piece together is made whole again.”

I don’t know about you, but I think this suggests that Jesus’ two commands (Love your neighbor as yourself. and Love God with all your heart, soul and strength.) points to what heaven really is: the place (conceivably, here on earth) where our relationship with Jesus is tightly entwined with how we treat each other.

For many reasons, people view heaven as that final resting place where everything, including themselves, is perfect. No more physical suffering or imperfections. Everyone is rolling in riches and everyone lives a life of leisure.

I’m not sure that “heaven” means there will be an equal distribution of wealth and material goods, sort of like the promises of Communism. Jesus himself said that the poor will always be with us and He also commanded us to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, tend to the sick and visit people in prison. Those of us who reach out and follow that command here on earth today will, undoubtedly, be in the same position in heaven. We, who have been blessed with more, will be expected to give and do more … and that brings us closer to Jesus and the heavenly kingdom He promised. “For whatever you do for the least of these, you do for Me.”

So you can’t quite sing like an angel or play a heavenly harp. You worship Him every time you love your neighbor (next door, under the highway viaduct, in that remote village in a poor country) as you love yourself: with assurances of food to eat, a roof over your head and clothes on your back. I believe that’s true now and in eternity.

From a physical perspective, does heaven mean that we’ll be blemish-free, with the perfect physique and a face of jaw-dropping beauty? Will my body morph into a Barbie-doll, hourglass figure? Will I magically lose all my scars and moles? I think not. I think we will meet Jesus with the bodies we have but the heavenly part is that we won’t care about ourselves and others when it comes to looks. The blemishes that we will lose will be the stains of sin on our souls and that will be heaven on earth, because only then can we meet Him face to face!

* Image courtesy of http://www.picturesofheaven.net/

Just Say No

That’s what my Romanian friend Daniela told me today while we were enjoying frozen daiquiris by the marina pool. I had just finished telling her that since moving here to Jacksonville, Bill and I have done more socializing in the past four months than we did in any four years in Pittsburgh, and part of it was due to her husband’s fondness for impromptu happy hours, pizza parties and potlucks. “Just tell Basil no,” she said, “if you really don’t want to participate. He can be very persuasive!”

I have no intention of passing up a get-together with fellow live-aboards or the transient boaters who are here for a short time! I’ve always loved a party, small or large, planned or impromptu but my introvert husband has, in the past, struggled with non-stop socializing. Boating friends back on H Dock at the Fox Chapel Yacht Club became used to, and understanding of, Bill’s need to slip away from a gathering while I was good for another hour or two. We have a running joke that he’ll do just a certain number of social events each month. So far we’ve calculated that he’s used up his allotment through May!

But seriously, Bill has good naturedly participated in, and even instigated a few of, the many restaurant dinners, marina-sponsored parties, dock get-togethers, cookouts and boat trips that seem to materialize every couple of days. Every once in a while at one of these events someone will look around and ask “Where’s Bill?” and we can usually find him puffing contentedly away on a cigar out on the clubhouse deck or by the pool. Especially on a warm, clear night.

The majority of our friends are boaters from other places, including other countries, and the average stay at the marina is about three to four months, as they winter in Jacksonville before heading home for summers on the Atlantic Seaboard, or south to the Keys, the Bahamas or other islands. So knowing that this may be the only time we have to spend with them serves to increase the frequency of our fun times. It’s also great to trade boating stories and we learn a lot from people who have done this far longer than we have. I have a great respect for sailors; there’s way too much going on with those boats for me to ever be comfortable as a first mate. Daniela and Basil have two cats aboard their 42-foot sailboat. Every morning Squeaky and Lucille are allowed to wander along the dock with Basil and his water pistol close behind to make sure they don’t jump onto other boats…especially the ones with dogs!

So this Thursday Basil has planned a rib cookout and has decided that he and Bill will spend four hours slow-cooking them and smoking cigars by the pool. I’m going to miss that guy when they head back to Toronto next month!

DIYers Never Really Retire

Recently Bill mentioned that after 40 years of home ownership and maintenance he was so ready for this move to our boat. Major improvements to four homes, inside and out, left him a bit weary of non-stop DIY challenges. But, as you know, Bill isn’t one to take a well-deserved rest. He has consistently looked for opportunities to modify our living quarters on Pure Grace. Although most of the improvements have focused around storage, including a clever five-bottle wine rack in the entertainment console, he recently engineered a well-fitting and good-looking solution to our screen-less aft door (below).

Harbormaster, a premiere builder of river yachts, provided a standard screen door for the forward starboard side entrance. But to enjoy fresh air circulating, the odd L-shaped aft cabin door had to be left open. Over the years I’ve battled dirt, dust, pollen and, of course, stink bugs in the cabin but could put up with it for boating weekends in Pittsburgh half a year at a time. Now that we live in an area of the country which has more (and bigger) bugs, I wasn’t looking forward to waging continual war. The addition of our cat, Alfie, was a more compelling reason to find a solution. Alfie’s former owner had his front paws declawed so he would be somewhat defenseless outdoors.

After much pondering and sketching, and a trial run with off-the-shelf screens, Bill worked out a simple two-part screen that can be easily put up and taken down. Although it doesn’t allow for egress from the salon while installed, it’s easy enough to take the external stairs up and down to our aft deck. Velcro straps hold the smaller top screen and larger vertical screen tight to the frame of the open aft door.

Hum With Me: What's It All About, Alfie?

Eight months is long enough! Long enough to be without a furry companion and long enough to get over the ones left behind (well, maybe not…maybe never), and long enough to get a feel for the best fit “boat” pet.

We’ve been deliberating the pros and cons of dog vs. cat for a couple of months. Dog: forces you outside two or three times a day for a walk – good exercise! Forces you outside even if it’s raining – ugh. Dog: can be trained to stay within the confines of the boat – good. Apt to take the occasional swim – not so good.

So, then, cat: doesn’t matter what the weather is, the litterbox fits nicely in the forward shower. The litterbox is in the shower. ‘Nuf said. Cat: unlikely to take the unexpected swim – thank goodness. Not easy to confine inside unless we create barriers – this, fortunately, could be a plus as I’ve been dreading the onset of insect season with wide-open doors. While we do have a standard screen for the forward door, Bill would be forced to engineer something for the very odd-shaped aft door.   

So today we did it. We adopted Alfie. It’s a good thing Bill knows Russian because Alfie's former owner was a young Russian woman who chose boyfriend over furry friend. The only Russian I know is the equivalent of “to your health!” and Nyet (no!). Alfie (formerly named Adolph, then renamed Alford by the rescue shelter) will be two years old in June and is the first orange tabby (including his eyes) that I’ve owned. I’ve been lucky to have a calico, a gray tabby, a tortoiseshell, two white, one black and one tuxedo cat, but never a marmalade.

I had found Alfie online at Lucky Cat Adoption earlier this week, with a note that he would be available at a PetSmart-sponsored cat adoption event today, so we went out to meet Alfie. Two hours and over $200 later we left PetSmart with a cat and all the accoutrements necessary.

He is currently being sequestered for a couple of hours in the forward head to get acquainted with his toilet and to give Bill time to construct the rear screen. More to come on that!