It Shall Be So

The Christmas season officially began on Saturday, December 3 at 8 p.m. Although we start Christmas shopping on the day after Thanksgiving because that’s a box that needs to be checked as soon as possible, the season really doesn’t start until we’ve taken in a performance of Handel’s Messiah.

In years past, the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra and the Mendelssohn Choir would perform this beloved oratorio not until the third weekend in December. Oh, sure, we put the tree up a week prior and I decorated the house, sent out cards, baked cookies (back when I was actually interested in doing that), but in my heart, it wasn’t Christmas until I heard the Hallelujah Chorus. There were many years in the past 30 that Messiah was not performed at Heinz Hall, so we made do with recordings…but it just wasn’t the same.

So yesterday I purchased five dozen homemade Christmas cookies at a local church cookie walk, we put up a small tree and affixed a wreath to the bow window, and then we got dressed up and headed the five miles into downtown Jacksonville for the performance. We had perfect seats, eleven rows from the stage, right in the center. Not quite close enough to see the mezzo-soprano’s tonsils when she sang the recitatives from Luke 2, but close enough to watch the very expressive faces of the Jacksonville Symphony Chorus.

We found that we were seated next to the symphony’s development director, whose husband soft pedaled a subscription to the 2012 Masterworks series of performances. We do plan to take in another concert this spring, courtesy of two vouchers in return for bringing a toy for The Salvation Army’s Angel Tree Toy Drive.

I loved every part of Messiah, but my favorite is the final Amen Chorus, and not because it’s the end of the performance! Christmas has begun. It shall be so!

Thanks Giving Wherever You Are

Thanksgiving has not been a traditional family affair for Bill and me during most of our married life. On our very first Thanksgiving together he proposed to me in a seafood restaurant, having hidden the ring in a basket of rolls. We had just moved to Pittsburgh and our families lived in Chicago and Phoenix. Then over the next three decades we often celebrated the day with friends, at their homes or at ours. Our second Thanksgiving in Pittsburgh saw a nice gathering of my Mellon Bank co-workers at our first home; I think there were eight at that table.

One year we flew to Phoenix to celebrate the Thanksgiving Day 80th birthdays of my father-in-law and his twin sister; the flight was delayed so it was close to 10 p.m. before we could join Bill’s family at a restaurant in Scottsdale. Another very sad year we were in Chicago having held vigil at my father’s hospital bedside for four days when we got the 4 a.m. call on Thanksgiving morning that he died. Coincidentally, my paternal grandfather had also died that time of year; he had a fatal heart attack the day after Thanksgiving.

Some years when it was just the two of us Bill prepared the turkey and dressing; when it was my responsibility I bought turkey dinners from Boston Market! There were also many years when Bill was flying for US Airways. Sometimes I was able to get a free seat and spend it with him in another city; when I couldn’t manage to do that, I enjoyed Thanksgiving with our good friends the Kellys.

This year, our first Thanksgiving in our new hometown, we began it rather more traditionally by attending a Thanksgiving Day worship service at one of the two Lutheran churches we’ve visited. Very few churches in the Pittsburgh area would have the service on Thursday morning, opting to hold it the evening before, so this was a nice change. Later we took a 4+ mile roundtrip walk to a small community’s Main Street and peered into all the storefront windows. As Bill noted to another couple doing the same, “This is the best way to shop!” Later, we drove into south Jacksonville for a traditional turkey dinner at The Chart House, at a table with a river view.

 
So, even though Madison Avenue tries very hard to have you believe that it’s just not Thanksgiving unless you have braved weather and incredible flight delays to get home halfway across the country, don’t believe it! Thanksgiving is what’s in your heart and what comes out of your lips, whether you’re alone or crowded around the family table. Be thankful in all circumstance and above all, be a blessing to others.

So Much for the Scenic Route

After nearly three weeks of hard work getting Pure Grace back into shape, Bill announced this morning that we were going to take the day off and explore our nation’s oldest city, St. Augustine. Although the 39-degree temperature this morning may have had something to do with his desire to postpone tackling another bit of re-assembly work, I think he was also eager to see the campus of the Florida School for the Deaf and Blind.

We took Route A1A south from Jacksonville, with the Intercoastal Waterway on our right and the Atlantic Ocean on our left. However, except for one or two brief glimpses of the ocean, both views east and west were well blocked by barriers of local scrubby trees and bushes or house after house after house. It was only a 45-minute ride to St. Augustine and the day turned out to be sunny with a little breeze. We walked through historic Old Town, checking out the Old Colonial Day exhibits, the oldest wooden schoolhouse in America, and St. Photios, a Greek Orthodox national shrine dedicated to the first colony of Greek people who came to America in 1768.

A tanner's shop and home in the Old Colonial exhibit.

The altar at St. Photios, the Greek Orthodox shrine.



We also walked along the oldest street in the country, Aviles Street, narrow, cobble-stoned and lined with old buildings and homes. Since Bill isn't much of a tourist-type shopper we left those for another time when friends and family visit next spring.

After lunch at an Irish pub (well, I did have a blackened mahi mahi sandwich) we toured Castillo de San Marcos, the oldest masonry fort in the U.S. constructed in 1672, where we watched a cannon firing out over Matanzas Bay before heading home.

It was a good day to be away from the marina as we discovered a Yamaha boat engine “open house” was taking place on our dock when we got back. And yes, Bill couldn't resist working up on the fly bridge some more, motivated no doubt by the lack of antenna and resulting erratic cable television feeds.

Home Sweet Berth

Pure Grace arrived in Jacksonville on Friday morning, October 28th. This photo shows her in the sling getting a bath after coming off the truck. Next she was put up on jackstands in the boatyard and we spent the weekend sanding the hull and putting on two coats of a special brackish water barrier paint. I was mostly Bill's go-fer and I did a lot of running around Jacksonville, learning where the closest Home Depot, West Marine and Napa Auto stores are...not to mention Chick-Fil-A for lunches!

Bill was totally blue from head to toe on Saturday from the sanding so on Sunday I plopped a plastic shower cap on his head and he tried to be careful with the paint roller. Even so, we had to use some nasty paint remover on his head and face to keep him from looking like a member of the Blue Men cast.

This was the view from the starboard side in our temporary slip on Wednesday night. The winds were so strong that day neither Bill nor our dockmaster wanted to attempt bringing Pure Grace into her own berth. We listened to the fenders rubbing up against the boat most of the night, but that sure beat the racket we listened to every night from our extended-stay hotel. I was so glad we could get out of there a night early!

The next morning I slipped outside in my bathrobe with camera in hand to capture the first of beautiful sunrises here. The river was much calmer; there was actually some guy in a small boat cruising at 7 a.m. Around 9 o'clock we moved Pure Grace into slip B49. The angle of our slip is such that anyone coming down the dock gets a wonderful view right into the pilot house, where I have set up my office.

This is my view from the pilot house down the dock looking toward the security gate. The slips on either side are empty right now so we're not cheek-to-cheek with other boaters. That building in the background is a 16-unit condo, minimum price well over $1 million. It was originally part of the marina but the 2007-2008 recession put a halt to buyers so the marina was sold off and is doing well on its own. I can't wait to use the pool!

Most of the boats here are sailboats; this is the view from our aft end. So pretty! And below is the city of Jacksonville in the distance, just 6 miles or so away.

This weekend the Blue Angels are putting on an air show so we've watched them practice high-speed fly-bys right overhead. Our marina is hosting a three-day party so we have guest boaters here for the weekend. So nice of them to throw a welcome party for us, ha ha! I'm excited to meet the permanent residents at the pizza party tonight.

It's Always Something!

IAS: Act One

“It’s always something!” Bill said the morning of our departure. While he was inside the convenience store paying for gas someone sideswiped his car and left the driver side mirror dangling. As some of you may know, earlier this year the right side of Bill’s Ford Focus was ripped open like a sardine can when an 18-wheeler decided that “bigger” meant the right to be a road bully. “Get out the duct tape again, honey!”

IAS: Act Two

The entry into the well is not for the faint at heart. Since marina help managed to scrap the side of Pure Grace last fall when pulling her into dry dock for the season, Bill decided to drive her into the well himself. We left the fenders hanging to provide cushion against the concrete, however, against my protestations, the marina help pulled them off, citing the possibility of getting them tangled in the lift straps. Cr-u-nch! Here we go again! That little mishap was good for $350 off the $800 lift fee but we’ll have to replace a couple feet of stainless steel trim.

Bill takes Pure Grace over to the well for the lift out.

The point of impact going into the well.

On the travel lift.

Being lowered onto the flatbed. The young man in front is the travel lift operator,

which is maneuvered remotely.

It took six men to lift the fly bridge wall down to the main deck.

IAS: Act Three

Barely a few miles from the marina it happened. As I followed Bill and the 8-foot U-Haul south on Route 28 toward downtown I saw a woman in a Honda CRV merge from the left into Bill’s lane. As he jerked to the right the U-Haul started to swing and hit the jersey barrier. Unbelievably, the woman kept going so I hit the gas and followed her, honking and screaming “Pull over!” Even as I drove along side her, she was oblivious and kept going. Some guy in a pickup truck in front of me saw what was going on and moved in front of her, slowing down until we boxed her in. By the time I got to her my adrenaline was up and, ashamed to say, I gave her a tongue-lashing (although, curse-word free) until she was in tears. Bill finally caught up to us about the time I had my arm around her shoulder and was apologizing over her apologies. Luckily Bill’s car escaped further damage but there was a little bit on the already road-worn U-Haul.

We finally left Pittsburgh during rush hour and only made it as far as Beckley, WV by 9:30 p.m. (about 250 miles). Wednesday evening we stopped in Savannah and will be in Jacksonville sometime Thursday morning, with Pure Grace arriving on Friday morning.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye!

So, after blogging about this move since March, departure day is almost upon us. The farewell parties are over, the boat is being dismantled little by little and my dreams about my cat Ocie are increasing. Yes, there’s where the five stages of grief are occurring…missing my furry friend tremendously!

It’s said that you never really know who your friends are until you die, but I think a major move like ours is also revealing. The goodbyes started in late May with a neighborhood farewell party; we’d lived in the Village of Bradfordwoods for 16 years but there’s been a lot of movement in that community in recent years. When we moved in it was a community of mostly retirees but in the past five or so years there have been more than a few young couples with small children moving in, changing the dynamics of the neighborhood.

Next up was a couple of farewell lunches from the two churches where we have been most active the past 18 years: Ascension Lutheran Church on Peebles Road and Trinity Church of the Deaf in Wilkinsburg. Both of those congregations were family to us and the goodbyes were hard. We both appreciated the opportunity to serve our Lord in those congregations and now we look forward to where He will place us next. Bill, of course, is eager to find a church that has quality organ music and a good choir!

Our places of employment also acknowledged our imminent departure. Bill’s co-workers at Goodwill of Southwestern Pennsylvania held a small lunch for us at Del’s, an Italian family restaurant in Bloomfield, acknowledging his 7+ years there. Communefx, where I’ve worked for 23 years (coincidentally having started there this very same week in 1988), hosted a happy hour at Uno’s in Cranberry Township this past week. While any excuse for a company-sponsored party is welcomed, I was touched that more than a few of my co-workers were sad that I would not physically be in the office for the majority of the time.

I do plan to return to Pittsburgh monthly and already have my tickets reserved for December. Although I am as prepared as possible technologically, including video-conferencing, I am already missing the 40-minute morning commute listening to K-LOVE and being in the office on a daily basis. But the associates for whom I am directly responsible are also the most senior in longevity with the company; they are well positioned to be supervised virtually!

I was also touched that one of my clients came to the office farewell and one of my local vendors stopped by on Friday with a gift. I’ve known both for nearly 25 years...such good people! Love you all!

Readin', 'Ritin', 'Rithmatic and, Oh Yeah, Droid!

The skills that were taught and learned in schools just two generations ago were oh, so much more basic. You learned your ABCs, how to write in cursive and how to put two and two together. Then sometime in the 1970s the curriculum started to change. Hooked on Phonics replaced Dick and Jane. Now that lessons in cursive have been dumped in favor of keyboarding instructions, perhaps we’ll see more Xs in place of the handwritten signature! As for basic math, if you’ve ever waited for a cashier to figure out your change when the register doesn’t do it for her, you have to wonder how many checkbooks go unbalanced or worse yet, overdrawn.

Now I’m the first to admit that I’m a perfectionist bordering on obsessive compulsiveness about good old fashioned grammar, including punctuation and spelling. Text messaging makes me twitch. Instant messages that lack capital letters are bad enough and getting an email typed in all capitals makes me want to scream out loud. I try to be forgiving when I see Facebook posts and tweets that don’t meet my standards, but it’s a little harder to extend full grace to business emails that are peppered with misspellings.

Enter the Droid. Earlier this week I posted on Facebook that I was nervous about upgrading from a simple clamshell-style cell phone to a smartphone when I bought the just-released Motorola Bionic. Now that I’ve tried texting for the first time I realize just how hard it is to be letter-perfect. I spend more time backspacing than keystroking! So to all of my social media contacts, I hereby offer a public apology for the less than generous thoughts I’ve had about your written language skills!

The smartphone is a necessary evil in order to successfully work virtually from Jacksonville. I need the mobile hotspot to connect my laptop to the Internet and thus to my company. I need to be more accessible (yeah, more than my normal 10 hours a day) to prove to company management that working remotely will indeed work. And so it goes.

Since Bill and I both acquired these new toys, er, tools, this past week, we’ve made five trips back to the Verizon Wireless store and have called customer support at least that many times. We may not be techno-savvy nor are we helpless idiots, but in this burgeoning love-hate relationship with Droid, we are definitely not feelin’ the love!

The young (very young) woman in the Verizon Wireless store was patient and kind as she helped us transition email accounts and learn more than the so-called online user’s guide offered. If we lived closer to our 2-year-old grandson, I’m sure he would have this figured out in five minutes! Our son-in-law Steven recently posted that as Susan left for work one morning our 5-year-old grandson Brogan said, “Goodbye, Mommy!” while Griffin yelled, “Bye, iPad!” Huh!

I’ll get the hang of it soon, so bear with me when your phone calls go to voice mail while I figure out how to unlock the phone! Droid!