Sailing Lesson 1: Practice the Tack

Today Kurt gave me charge of the lines. Now my hands are blistered but I am better at tacking. And bonus was no commute to the marina and when we tied up we are home! Perks of #liveaboard

Made it to Memorial Day

Seasonal clothes are changed out with winter clothes ready to take to storage. Silicone is drying on the leaky bits of the boat and Kurt is headed to get "the other sail". Guess I got nothing to do but pull out the living room chairs and read my book, if my eyes stay open. This is the good part of the adventure!

Money Matters (Or Talking About Things That are Scarier Than Public Nudity)

Alison says:

May 15, 2016

I haven’t written since February because I was stuck in the mire of long commutes and feeling overwhelmed by the never-ending school year. Today is sunny and only five weeks are left in school. Kurt and I meet with a mortgage lender tomorrow and there may be an end to this madness. So here are the posts I drafted previously, but just revised today. May they make sense to you. It seems that money has been on my mind.

Living Beyond Our Means

May 4, 2016

Alison Says:

On the radio this week I heard economists say we don’t save money and the credit card companies started that trend in the 1980’s. Who am I to disagree, but I really think are hiding something in or behind our big houses. Not sure from what we are hiding, but I do know that we value size. The size of our houses and our property do matter greatly to us. Here in the Mid-Atlantic it seems that the bigger the house, the better you are as an American. “My house is huge, I am successful” is the mantra. The family with one child and six bathrooms is very good. We don’t have royalty in this country, but we have space so let’s take all that we can. I rented a house from an Eritrean professor once and he asked me about our obsession with yards. It took me the longest time to understand that he was talking about the green space we treasure between our house and our neighbor’s house. Seemed kind of much to call it an obsession until I had my own house and watched how much time I spent cultivating that space.

The economists I listened to on the radio say the early 21^st century housing bubble also caused this. I really don’t know the answer, but I do know that I sold the house in which I raised my kids in part because I needed cash and I had taken out all the home equity loans I could. I lived higher than a single mom needed too or should have. I felt that I deserved it. I was a teacher in a small house in an expensive metropolitan area and I kept up with my neighbors rather nicely simply by borrowing off the equity of my little house. It was the housing bubble that increased the worth of my house far beyond what it was worth. I didn’t mind at the time, but now I am priced out of that neighborhood.

A few windfalls deepened my pockets after I moved out and I loved the way it felt to walk into a store and buy what I wanted. I wasn’t an idiot. I usually shopped the clearance rack, but I loved not having to wait till payday to do it. It is such a great feeling to have a thought about a want and buy it right then. My skills of stretching a dollar were well honed and I fooled myself into believing that I wasn’t wasting money. Well, sometimes I knew I was. But it made me feel more alive and more a part of my world. Costco, Whole Foods, Ulta (cheaper than Sephora, smart consumer), Bloomingdales, and most the beloved Nordstrom’s shoe department gave me things that I felt helped me fit in.

A few of my friends showed me the raw source of this. They taught me that as immigrants they study closely what the natives wear and then dress, do and behave just like them. Shop their stores. Wear their styles. Generations later Americans are still doing it. It helps us to not stand out. No one will know we are from somewhere else. My connection was not about being from somewhere else, it was from being from somewhere less. We want so badly to belong to the game. Please think not less of us.

Eventually my kids left for college and I sold the house rather than admit I didn’t belong. I paid off my loans and my ex and financed some stuff for my kids. I paid for acting school and headshots and wardrobes and I bought some expensive shoes. Then I hunkered down and looked for my next life. Funny thing was I found someone who wasn’t willing to play this game. Damn, because it was a fun game. A game which allowed me to not pay attention to the truth. Buying things to make me belong wasn’t working.

So I moved on to this truth teller’s boat to save money so I could buy a house. And instead of that, I am finding that I have a serious habit of hiding my working class ways by buying the things I think you will think are important. I still love my Apple products and my cashmere sweater from Bloomie’s. I love them a lot because it reminds me of the days I pretended I belonged. But I am worn out from the game. I grew up with less money than my neighbors and tried desperately to hide that from them. Not sure how good I was growing up, but I actually fooled some folks when I was an adult and loved that feeling!

So for today, aside from buying too many books, I will try my best to consume only things that are needed, mostly food and comfortable shoes. And then maybe I can make do with what I already have. Consuming less is good for me and beats the mind games I like to play. It’s also good for our earth and she needs some help right now.

Postscript: If my Adam son is reading this, there is a student loan that was all a part of this madness and needs to be attended to. Seems as good a time as any to get started on that. No more hiding, right?

My Love Affair With Stuff

From March 12, 2016

I miss stuff and I don’t think I am ashamed to admit it.

Choosing to live a tiny living life for a bit has changed my perspective. No judgment whether the change is good or bad. I am just clear that I see stuff differently today than I did maybe even six months ago.

Last night I finally took up an offer from a friend to stay in town for the evening and sleep over to avoid a late night drive back to Southern Maryland. I slogged from work through Northern Virginia traffic and remembered how much people hate NOVA for its traffic alone. Dinner was ready by the time I arrived but I couldn’t sit down to eat as I was immediately struck by all the stuff, mostly big box cargo store stuff. I took a moment to run my hands slowly over the honey pretzels and extra large plastic container of cashews. I miss honey pretzels.

My eyes jumped from package to package and then lingered on the open door to the pantry. I didn’t walk in it, but I couldn’t look away. To break the spell, I turned all the way around to look at the whole kitchen and adjoining family room. It was probably as long as the boat, and most definitely two to three times wider filled with lots of cozy, overstuffed furniture.

She asked me to reach into the island cabinet and pull out two plates. In the lower cabinet there were two shelves filled with plates. One shelf was the white every day plates in dinner and salad size. The other shelf held a pattern with a lovely design, dinner and salad sizes again. I was completely overwhelmed by all the plates. Not that I haven’t in the past had my own cabinet with various purpose plates. I know that it feels necessary and satisfying to have enough plates to feed my whole family of origin and their offspring should they drop by on a Friday evening. That’s not even including the dishes in the china cabinet reserved for Christmas and Thanksgiving.

The plate situation on the boat is different. We have four plates and four bowls. If family or friends slog through beltway and Southern Maryland traffic on a Friday evening we’ll be eating sandwiches wrapped in foil or someone will need to bring some paper plates. Depending on the season, we (not Kurt) can also do crabs spread on butcher-paper-covered tables. Beer and sodas will be served in their original containers. Cole slaw will create trouble.

When I woke hours earlier than Maureen, I crept downstairs and worked hard to figure out the coffee maker that comes with lots of stuff. After finding the switch in the back, I brewed my cup and headed straight for the comfy chair I had spied the night before. I missed comfy chairs next to windows that look out at backyards. Curled up on that chair, drinking coffee, I watched robins and crows and even a pileated woodpecker being chased away from a rotting tree stump by a gray squirrel. Nature in the ‘burbs through a window while drinking coffee, I miss it!

After she woke, we chatted about families and stuff. How people deal with stuff when other people die, to be exact. How families get torn apart by people dealing poorly with the distribution of loved ones’ stuff even when wills are written or verbal agreements are clear. Even how people get offended by deeply sad mourners and spend years being offended because stuff wasn’t distributed fairly by those who couldn’t see straight enough to make sure egos were not injured. Stuff adds complications and people care enough about stuff sometimes to let the complications wedge irritations between the ones they love.

As I drove to my new home on the boat, I remembered how important stuff was to my mother who grew up poor. She wasn’t exactly a hoarder, but she did keep lots of stuff. I remembered how purging her house after she died was a delicious catharsis. We threw out cans of tomato sauce and old make up, we sold books and 1970’s craft supplies and finally took home pieces of furniture that reminded of us her. Her chair and mirror are stored safely in my brother’s garage and will be treasured in my new home some time soon. It was this catharsis that started me on the road to reduce my footprint. I have never been a huge keeper, but things matter to me. Just ask my sisters to tell you about the time they threw away my large bowl of North Carolina sand.

On the boat, I do have a few relics from my home of stuff that I kept from storage.

Sun Catchers (to be removed when sailing)

I love to see them and be reminded of the people or memories they represent. If this boat life extends past summer, I definitely will need to find/buy/make some extra fluffy throw pillows that will mimic an overstuffed chair for my leisurely weekend mornings. Kurt gave us gravity chairs for our one-year anniversary to create a feeling of living room at the grassy end of our pier.

Current Living Room

Naps are marvelous there and will be until it gets cold again. We store the chairs in our cars as there is no room on the boat! The car storage thing is a whole other story.

Kurt assembling a new bimini in our "work room".

Maybe it’s just an American thing to gather up stuff to make us feel satisfied and accomplished. I have been told more than once that throw pillows on the master and guest beds are directly proportional to personal wealth. Is that true elsewhere in the world? Seems like Europe would agree with holding onto stuff. People in the Middle East do like to prove their worth with high quality items of stuff. I saw that in the movie House of Sand and Fog. But it seems to me that East Asia or most parts of Africa and Scandinavia would think twice about hoarding.

So, for now, I’ll stay content with this pantry

Pantry unlike anything I have had before!

 and my homemade afghan. Not having room to put newly acquired stuff keeps me on my money saving path and allows me to go travel to see my kids without breaking the bank. I do know that when this grandma house plan becomes real, there will be some serious stuff acquisition. Who knows if I’ll go crazy about it, but I doubt it will be neither necessary nor satisfying. It might just be limited to that which is comfortable and useful.