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!