Late Spring Potpourri
As I thought about what I would write today, I nearly called this “Late Summer Potpourri”, as the past two days have been gorgeous, sultry, affairs. I was in the mind of late August, obviously jumping the gun by two-plus months. I am of the opinion that while the mid-Atlantic has generally dogpoop weather in March, April, and most of May, June is when this beautiful patch is at its incomparable best. The Lady of the Manor works like a one-armed paperhanger to make our place into a delight of flowers and bees and frogs, and when I stand next to my grill with a great slab of ribeye and survey all that I enjoy, I am a Colossus, I am the Tom Bombadil of Talbot County.
Which is why it makes perfect sense that I will once again alight on extended (professional and personal) travel later this week, a planning and scheduling calamity completely of my own making. As I sat in my little slice of paradise this morning with the authoress of much of my good fortune, enjoying Italian coffee and good conversation, I made a promise to myself that after I return from San Diego in May of 2025—where I will witness Dash-1 achieving her Master’s Degree—I will hunker down here for an entire summer without scheduled travel. Should opportunities arise, they will be considered, but they will not be the result of planning and scheduling on my part. I will luxuriate in all that the Eastern Shore has to offer, things that I have not only taken for granted for my sixteen years in residence here, but also which I have ignored.
To Germany
As I alluded earlier, I am off this week on some travel, which begins in Germany. Germany was the first foreign country I visited, joining a group of German language students in high school as a sophomore. I recently had dinner with a guy who was on that trip with me, and his memories of it were far more clear than mine. I do remember our tour bus operator—who I think we called “Eddie”—and how he’d join us at the end of the day at whatever spot chosen for Abendessen and kick a few back with us. Yes, my parents did in fact grant permission for me to drink while I was in Germany (and below the legal US limit), and so Eddie—who spoke precious little English but who knew how to handle a large motor-coach—would eat and watch all of these precious American teens eat and kvetch. We decided that it would be funny to toast (constantly) with the word Schweinhund or “pig dog”, which Eddie thought hilarious, and he would join in.
I’ve been back a few times since exclusively on business, and this time is also for business, as I’m attending a naval conference in Kiel. It won’t be all work, as I’ll be attending along with some US colleagues of whom I am quite fond, and a few European friends will be there also.
It will be a good opportunity to get out of the echo chamber I inhabit in the insular world of US navalism, and I’m really looking forward to getting some thoughts from my Europals on Ukraine and what happens next.
Schweinhund!
On Owning a Boat
I do not own a boat, but I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking that I should. By a “boat”, I do not mean our Boston Whaler, Cat’s rowboat, or any of the other small watercraft that can be found under trees and in bushes throughout our yard. I mean a proper boat where people can cook and sleep and stand watch.
My sweet Catherine is a sailor, and I am a Sailor. This distinction means that she is a devotee of “sailing”, and so if she had her way, we could get some manner of sailing vessel, were we to get a boat. This would be unfortunate, as it would lead to her doing all the work and me sitting in the cockpit with a cold drink waving at other boaters. I am an inept sailor, my U.S. Navy AQD (Additional Qualification Designator) of “Inshore Skipper” notwithstanding. At some point in the summer of 1983 when I reported to UVA NROTC, we all headed out to a local lake and received a day of “sail training”, which I am led to believe created this trumped up qualification in my record. On the honeymoon of my starter marriage (May, 1989), I manfully reserved a Sunfish with my new bride and proceeded to collide with another sailboat that happened to be at anchor. That cured me of the sailing bug. I love being a passenger on other people’s sailboats, and I am a great galley slave in those circumstances, but I would never own a sailboat.
No, I would like to own a boat with at least one engine, a trawler preferably. As I am a Sailor (retired USN damnit) who commanded a destroyer on active duty, I have some skill in the operation of motor vessels, although I’ve never been much around the pier. Whether by sail or by motor, those with experience around boats (and who in most other senses, are HUGE fans of boats) are the worst people to talk about owning a boat with. To a man (or in this case, woman, who lives with me), all they talk about is what a pain in the ass owning a boat is. And yes. I can imagine that owning a boat can be a pain in the ass. I also imagine that it can be a good bit more expensive than one bargains for.
To be honest, when I daydream about that 41 foot Beneteau with the Flybridge, it is always in retirement, and after I’ve attended the the junior college course on marine engines and auxiliary systems. With no other job to get in the way of my boat mania (save to adore my sweet Catherine), I believe that while there would of course—be frustrations—I would have the time and energy to work through them. We could pack a bag and fill the larder for a fortnight of cruising around the Chesapeake, we could work our way up to Maine for the summer, we could spend a winter or two in the British Virgin Islands.
I think one of the attractions of owning a boat like that beauty above is that my ideal leisure activities involve a whole lot of not doing anything. And where better to not do anything than on the flybridge of your boat with a few friends and libation? Then, we’d move down to the salon where I’d whip up a gourmet meal in the “galley down” configuration (something all my dream boats have, as I will not be exiled below decks).
Alas, it does not appear that this dream will spring to life, not unless I hit the lottery. But if I do, you’re invited to join me.
Happy Fathers Day
Bill Maher has some Fathers Day wisdom for all of us. Not safe for work, or for tender ears.
A Few Weeks Off
After travel, we’ve got some friends and family coming in over the course of a few weeks, and so I’m going to put this splendid use of my time on hold for a bit. I wouldn’t expect any new editions in your inbox until July 8th at the earliest. Enjoy the summer, friends.
"and proceeded to collide with another sailboat" --> I burst out laughing, not that this is a laughing matter. Ahem. As for sailing, I have one small weeklong experience with it. On one of my favorite trips we've made, before we had kids, we went with a group of friends on a sailing trip around the BVI. We rented 2 sailboats because we had two sailors (not Sailors) who were quite adept at it back on Lake Michigan (UMich engineering faculty-sailors.) We were all good friends and did what our two captains told us to do. It was work but so interesting. At night, we sang songs in the galley to guitar music one of the others played for us. We swam among the bioluminescence. I loved that trip. Safe and happy travels!
Trad Dad here. Bedtime negotiations never got a toehold in the house. For each child, my wife and I established the kids’ bedtime routine early on by asking them what they would need to do to get ready for bed. Pajamas? Done. Drink of water? Done. Single bedtime story? Done. Kisses? Done. I love you, good night.