Adventure 458: The Story of George, Eagle, 35

George, 1935

Real time finds George managing fairly well. He's had a couple of messy accidents lately, which goes to muscle control. Funny how we adapt. Our babies' "poopy" diapers present us with no issue, and certainly no distasteful after thought. It looks like the same becomes true at the other end of life's spectrum. Maybe the hardest part of this whole "bodily function" thing is that it's a window into my own future. It's time like these that make me realize that my outlook stating that "Life is good, especially today" means that I get to enjoy whatever the future holds. In the meantime, we'll provide George with whatever care he needs.

On another stinky note, the Eagle is scheduled to be raised like Lazarus tomorrow. Hopefully, all will go well. It's a tricky situation. The Lake City Marine crew spent much of today rigging the boat for the raising. Rigging meant that two divers spent about an hour in fifty feet of water so cold it was freezing their air hose, but thankfully, they solved that problem and were able to secure the float bags under the boat. The tricky part comes tomorrow when they have to move the boat from its catty wampus position to an upright position centered in the boat slip. Right now, she is twisted. Her stern is under one of the dock fingers. Her bow has slid forward under the main portion of the dock. Hopefully, winches, ropes, cables, and prayers will do the trick. All I know is that once the laws of physics take over, she's coming to the surface one way or another. We hope without any further damage to her, any damage to the docks, any damage to surrounding boats, and hopefully no lives lost. If all of that comes true, it will be a good day. Either way, we'll adjust. It's only a little stink after all.

 This cleat used to hold the forward dock lines. When she went down, the forces ripped this piece off like a scab.

 The mast is forty feet high from the top of the deck. The boat is lying in 48 feet of water.

 These  air bags will be pumped full of air slowly, but when buoyancy is reached, she will rise.

 Jake and Kenny entering the water. They worked in nearly total darkness for an hour securing the float bags to the bottom of the boat.

 The water temperature was thirty eight at the surface. Here Sam is clearing the ice out of Jake's air tube.

After an hour in frigid water, the divers had to be lifted out of the water mechanically. The cold made their own muscles inoperative.

Adventure 457: The Story of George, Boats, 34

March 11, 2018

Real time finds George unreliably forgetful when it comes to his pills, but otherwise his life seems good. We check twice a day. Today, a good day, found George  remembering his morning pills, up for breakfast, dressed in his Sunday best, alert at lunch, and on time for the bus when it left for the Ham on Regal performance at Ferris High School. All in all, a pretty good day. So good we missed night check, which  will likely mean he'll miss his night pills. We'll see.

As for boats, I meet with the Commodore of the Yacht club tomorrow morning to begin coordinating the move of several boats around me in order that they cannot possibly be damaged if something goes wrong when they raise the Eagle later this week. I also think that the diver will be there to make his assessment dive. At any rate, the process will begin, and hopefully proceed in a satisfactory fashion. But enough of this dreary dripping wetness. Let's remember a magnificent sailing moment. My second boat was called the "Guppy D". It was back in the days I told my Bunny that we'd never have a sail boat that couldn't fit into the garage (Should have kept that promise). The Guppy was a thirteen foot sloop with a fixed keel. She was comfortable, dry, sea-worthy, and quite fun. She was versatile and sturdy as well. Judy and I took her to Upper Priest on one of our wildest and best adventures. Later, when we had our fleet of three sailboats, two quite unable to fit in our garage, the Guppy was being neglected. We ended up gifting her to Angela. I have fond memories. She was a good boat.

 George, circa 1950

George cans literally full of what the labels say.

Good times in the Guppy D!

Our view of Upper Priest Lake. Few places more idyllic.

We had this protected campsite all to ourselves.

My Bunny.

The Guppy.

Adventure 456: The Story of George, Boats, and Grief, 33

March 9, 2018

Real time found George doing well, although he was a bit single minded and just a tad confused. Vina told him that Friday was "Sports" day at Harvard Park, which means if residents wear a clothing item with some reference to sports, they receive "Harvard Bucks" (Monopoly Money). Periodically, they have an auction where they spend these 'bucks" on stuff. It's a good way to keep people interested, and George and Vina are avid buck collectors. Anyway, George thought she meant right then, so when Judy and I arrived for dinner, George was sorting through his closet trying to find something with a sports logo. He finally found a worn out T-shirt that said, "I hate golf; I hate golf; Nice shot; I love golf." But all was good. We ate dinner, played dominoes, and generally enjoyed ourselves.

As much as I've tried to rationalize the loss of the Eagle, it's been winding its way into my psyche. I've decided it's grief, which I know enough about to realize that it's a painful passage (Ooh, that sailing reference hurt). I do hope that because this boat is just a "thing", the grief period over it will be less intense, and hopefully not long lasting. Human grief sure lasts, at least it has for me. Even after thirty years, time can stand still staring at the loss of Annie. These days Anne grief, while rare, comes suddenly, out of the blue as it were, and stands there shuddering like a lost child. The reminders are usually as unwitting as they are sudden, even though I should be more aware. For example, last Christmas we started talking about "prom' pictures, and just like that we were rummaging through the attic. The unintended consequence was  that a gush of Anne memories poured out of the boxes like rain water. Or like the time we watched the movie "Beaches" for family night. I probably should have read the plot summary instead of choosing the movie as a "pig in a poke" ; instead, we were all blubbering like salt foam on surf at the end. So it goes. I know this much about grief. It hurts. It hurts in the present, the past, and the future. It's not a voyage I enjoy. I'll miss the Eagle. I'll be forlorn about the cost. But I'll realize that every sad memory is buffeted by a breath of fair wind that implores me to be grateful, lifts my spirits, and allows me to welcome a new day. So, despite any angst I may feel, I must nonetheless conclude that life is good, especially today.

George, reaching for his sweetie's hand after dominoes.

 Sail away, old friend.

Adventure 455: Boats, 32

March 7, 2018

Real time finds George doing pretty well. He's healthy, active, and back to a modicum of normal life. He's still hanging around with his main squeeze, Vina. His memory is spotty, but we're managing with regular monitoring. So all is pretty good in George's world.

As for us, we've had a bit of excitement. Our sailboat, The Eagle, sank last week in her slip at Panhandle Yacht Club on Coeur 'Alene Lake. It's a sad story, but pales on the tragedy when compared to life threatening disease. for example. So, while unwanted, the boat problem is fixable. All it takes is a little good fortune, and several thousand dollars. She sits in forty feet of water. The diver will make his assessment next week. He'll take video of the entire running rigging to determine if it has been damaged in any way. He'll also attempt to find the breach in the hull. Then, he and his partner will make a plan to raise the Eagle. It's not only expensive, but extremely dangerous. The method is to tie inflatable bags under the hull with straps, sort of like a saddle around a horse. The bags are slowly filled with air, and the boat rises. If the bags stay directly under the boat, she will rise straight up, assuming the guys with the lines around the mast can keep her vertical. One problem when she went down is that her bow slipped forward under the dock. Once she's at the surface, they'll pump the water out of the cabin. Once that occurs, the righting action of the keel will return. At that time, it will also be obvious what caused her to sink in the first place because water should be coming into the boat from the same place. The mostly likely culprit is one of the thru hull fittings froze and burst, which of course the insurance doesn't cover. They will pay $5,000 toward raising her. The job will likely run triple that. After she's stable in the slip, another expensive piece of equipment will be needed - a barge with a large crane. This crew will safely cut the mast from the boat so the boat can then be towed down the Spokane River to where another expensive piece of equipment - another large crane, this one on land. This crane will lift the boat out of the water onto an expensive large specialty trailer which will then transfer the boat to the landfill where another expensive piece of equipment will crunch it up with its powerful jaws. Eventually, the Eagle will suffer an ignominious death, it will likely cost between $30,000-$60,000. Hopefully, it all goes smoothly, no one dies, and in a year it will be a distant memory. So it goes.

 George doing his bridge exercise. He's really improved.

 He's does a little band work, too.

 Here's Joel helping George with his "clam shell" exercise.

 I'm thinking about putting a sign on the the mast that says, "Free for the taking."

Adventure 454: The Story of George. 31

February 23, 2018

Real time found George looking sharp, feeling fine, and marked absent during pill taking class. He went from taking both A.M. and P.M. yesterday to none taken last night and this morning. Here's the kicker. "Did you take your pills, George," we ask. "Yes, I did." he replies.  The pill box tells another story. So, we've decided that we need to be regular with our checking time: 7:30 A.M./4:30 P.M. George reminds me of teaching seventh graders. Seventh graders, who sometimes do moronic things like ask to visit a teacher for help during home room, but fail to show up (The moron part being trying to play this trick). I'd say, "Yes." However, in short order, I'd email the teacher to see if the kid arrived. It's not that I didn't trust the kid; rather, it's just that I liked to check and verify. This is where we are with George. It's not that he can't be trusted, nor is he really a moron. He wants to do the right thing, but he's a little like a politician in that respect. He's forgotten what the right thing is. So do the moron check.

Speaking of morons. I must rant for a minute. I can't think of anything more moronic that arming teachers in the classroom. If the logic is that arming teachers would act as a deterrent, it would make just as much sense to arm everyone. Arm the teachers, the administrators, the custodians, the cooks, the kids, the parents, the pedestrians walking by, those in cars driving by. And why stop at high school? Arm the kindergartners, too! Absurd. But what can we expect when our American value system is so entrenched in a military paradigm. Take, for example, America's budget. When Mr. Trump came into office, military spending amounted to 54% of the discretionary spending, or roughly 650 Billion dollars. Mr. Trump's new budget proposes to increase that amount to 61%, or roughly 750 Billion dollars. Most of us operate on some kind of budget. That budget reflects the various things we value. Our values are measured in direct proportion to what we decide to spend our money on. If we accept that premise, then America values war and war mongering at a significant rate. This begs the question: Does our national security truly require this expenditure? It's no wonder that we Americans, bathed as we are in the second amendment, comforted by our role as righteous nation builders, and motivated it seems, by unfathomable greed, continue to kick the can into newly opened graves. Absurd.

Caveat: Judy in no way has colluded with this opinion.

 Sure,

 I took 

 my pills.

Adventure 453: The Story of George, 30

February 21, 2018

Real time this morning found George as bubbly as a city park fountain. He was effusive in his response to Joel, asking him questions about this muscle and that ache. He rated his improvement at twenty percent better. He took last night's pills, this morning's pills, and yesterday, he went on the field trip to the Buck Knife plant in Post Falls with seventeen others from Harvard Park. Last night we played Bingo. It's good that he's doing well. We'll take it as long as we can get it.

I've come to realize in recent posts that this story of George is becoming more the story of Tim with a little salting of George thrown in. I'll explore that part of the story later, but first, there is the story of George Sr. and Rosa. Both of my grand parents were born to immigrant parents. Their six children were born in the pre-dawn of WWII. Even with America's attempt at neutrality, this must have made for an anxious time. Yet grandpa and grandma raised six fine children, all of whom became good citizens, and most of whom lived lives as professionals. It's interesting that their middle child, George Jr., was the only one of their children who did not aspire nor acquire an adult life as a professional. Even then life was all about choices. But the important part is that when George's early adult life fell apart, his mother and father stuck with him in the form of emotional, financial, and practical support. It may be common place nowadays, but I doubt that many adult children lived at home in the fifties. This says more about my grandmother than anyone else. She stood firmly behind all of her children, but clearly she had a special place in her heart for George. That idea of enduring heart, that idea of unconditional love, that idea of everlasting hope defines my grandmother. She was and remains the ever fragrant bloom of love in the Williams' family. And remember, even though George Sr. came from a time of stoicism, he too, fell under the spell of my grandmother's love. The rest of us are better because of their example.

 George learned how to love from his mother. Here, Vina, his current love, knits away.

 Bingo!

To this day, the work ethic taught to George by his mother still dominates. He makes his bed every day just as he was taught, and he's always the first and last to help make things work. Here, he, Vina, and Jangle clean up after Bingo. The twenty others merely melted into the night.

 We Williams' come from a strong gene pool. We all take after George Sr.

 George Sr. and Rosa, strong and vital in their early retirement years. This is where the love started.

Interestingly enough, George stayed married to Margaret for something past fifty years as did my mother, Chris, to her second husband, Jack. They both learned good lessons from their practice marriage.

Adventure 452: The Story of George, 29

February 21, 2018

This morning it was 4 degrees. Judy stayed snugly warm by the fireplace.. I checked on George. Real time found him dressed, calm, and collected waiting in his usual spot for Vina to come down for breakfast. He'd taken his morning pills, voiced no complaints, and seemed in good spirits. I asked him if he did his exercises, and he said, "A little". Who knows what that means, but if yesterday's performance with the physical therapist is any guide, he must be doing something. However, it's becoming clear that the new normal will be a twice a day check, but since every day brings a new adventure, we'll see what this evening brings. I"m scheduled for dinner and Bingo. Wish me luck.

One oddity that George practices when eating is to cut all of his food into bite sized pieces before he eats them. For example, if he has a stack of pancakes, he asks for the egg to be put on top. He then criss crosses the whole plateful with his knife and fork, cutting the mass into cube shapes. He does this with everything: chicken, steak, pork chops, etc. The really odd thing is that for most of my life I've done the same, especially with the pancakes or waffles. I must have seen him do it. The strange part is why I would copy it. The old argument between Nature and Nurture surfaces at this moment, not that I argue much. I believe both have influence. What amazes me is the natural similarities that appear in any gene pool. Mannerisms, voice inflections, gaits, postures, and so many other "clone like" examples make me wonder at the power of creation. It's just another of the many mysteries that cannot be contained by definition.

Selfie of the day.

Way back in the ideal fifties.

 Stack.

Cubed stack.