The Dog Days of Summer

Today brought difficulty in subject matter choice, as very little this week was either newsworthy or annoying enough to create inspired commentary, and that which was important had already been treated. Not wishing to leave my readers hanging, I thought deeply about what needed to be discussed. I stared out the window of my office for a bit, the window that looks upriver toward some of the historic estates that house our neighbors here. I thought a good bit about the beauty of this little spot (Miles River) and how much I love it in the summer.

Summer, where the livin’ is easy

I’ve not always been a fan of the summer, spending a good bit of my younger days proclaiming allegiance to fall and winter, sweaters and corduroy, etc. I suspect climate change (dang, what can’t it do) has made mid-Atlantic winters milder, and in the process has helped me move on from my youthful preference. You see, it is cold and rainy here more than it is cold a snowy, which is what I would prefer. Additionally, when I cast my lot with the mistress of Ferry Bridge fifteen years ago, it was to a summer wonderland, lush and green and watery. The first few years (before the renovation brought air conditioning) were tough, but since then I have come to love the summer here.

I thought about the phrase “dog days of summer” and realized that I hadn’t a clue what that phrase meant—so I consulted the Google Machine and found this. I hadn’t the foggiest that the name was astrological/astronomical, but I suppose that makes sense. Whatever they are, we are in them, and their arrival has corresponded with a serendipitous break in my travel schedule (no overnight business gigs from 12 July to 8 August). Additionally, Lady Catherine has abandoned me to go sailing in New England with friends she accumulated thirty plus years ago while teaching sailing to teenagers in the Caribbean, something our younger daughter is now in the midst of the second summer of. Said daughter is the product of the great love between Catherine and Chris that began in the program, and ended (at least in this world) with his death when his children were but 2 years old and four months old. My women are creatures of the summer, and their fierce dedication to wringing the most of it is notable.

My relative solitude (daughter one has been about, but she’s been working on a paper so I haven’t seen much of her) has been nice. I am splendid company for myself, and I have have a seemingly infinite capacity not to be bored. There are books (current), there is Netflix bingeing (latest, appropriately) , there are kayaks, there is a (newly serviced) bicycle, and there is a fine ice cream shop in town. Catherine is occasionally doubtful of my ability to gainfully fill sixteen hours of consciousness each day once I retire (in two years, ten months, and 26 days, but who is counting), but I have no fear. Besides, it will only be fourteen because of the two hour nap each day.

Saying Goodbye To An Old Friend

USS VELLA GULF (CG 72)

In a few days, I will drive to Norfolk to participate in the decommissioning of my third ship, USS VELLA GULF (CG 72). There is a ceremony in the morning that I will be unable to attend, but I will make the evening bash. A goodly number of my shipmates will be there, and it promises to be epic. I was the Operations Officer for three years. Just about the time that I started Department Head School, the Surface Navy changed its policy—which had been that Cruiser Operations Officers would be second tour department heads. Cruisers are commanded by full Captains with considerable external (to the ship) duties, and the thought was that a more experienced Operations Officer was warranted. In the go-go 90’s of let’s make everything in Surface Warfare less professional, we changed it to a single, long tour, and probably about ten guys were detailed . Our track record was apparently not great, as they switched back to second tour Operations Officers by the time I was relieved.

I was the second Operations Officer; in fact, the ship had only been in commission for a few months when I took over, so she still had the “new ship” smell. During my turnover tour, I walked into the helo hangar and it was chock full of bicycles. I asked the guy I was relieving why they were there, and he said that that’s been where the crew has been storing them. I made no new friends when I required all of the bikes to be removed and stored on the pier where the bike racks were. I saw no helicopters down there taking up bike space.

I made up a little ground on another front. During that same turnover tour (get out of the way, man, I got it), we walked around Operations Berthing, which was pristine (cleaned for my inspection and brand new). The only thing was that none of the racks had curtains on them. When I asked, the guy I was relieving told me that while they had been in “Post-Shakedown Availability” (PSA), they removed the curtains to repaint the space, and that the curtains had disappeared (been stolen). I asked when the new curtains were coming, and he said he wasn’t going to spend money replacing them. I said something like “You can’t be serious. A man needs SOME privacy—” and he said “you buy them if you want to”. And I did. Immediately.

I learned a ton on that ship, and I had three great Captains and three great XO’s along the way. Dudes from that wardroom are my close friends to this day. We went mixed gender halfway through my tour (1995 or so) (the XO made me “Women in Ships Officer (WISO)”—when I bitched about having plenty to do already, he said— “you’re the OPS Officer, this is an operation” ) so I also have non-Dudes from that wardroom who are close friends to this day!

As Surface Warfare is a finite world, little coincidences happen along the way. The final Captain of VELLA GULF was my Weapons Officer in BULKELEY (where I was CO). Small world.