Monthly Archives: December 2011

There were indications, clues that this would be no ordinary Saturday, as we made our way back to Annapolis. We noticed the Navy zeppelin circling over town and thought there must be a game today, but we were intent on making our second boat appointment. Ok, traffic was bad, even for Annapolis, but all the kids and families pushing double-wide, sidewalk clearing strollers really made an impression.

I bat about a 75% success rate in finding a lucky, close proximity parking place. Tonight was no exception. After mocha and a muffin at the City Dock Cafe we decided to leave the crush of humanity and head over to the Chart House for crab cakes and a lit-up Christmas view of Annapolis. Forty-five minutes later we finally made it the four blocks to Eastport and found the place booked solid. We gave up and went back to the Historic Robert Johnson Inn (not that one) gave the car to the valet to park and finally learned the reason for the throngs: not just a football game but the Army/Navy game, for God’s sake, and in this boat crazy town, the annual light up Holiday Boat Parade. Madness! Gave up on crab cakes and had a fine dinner at an Italian restaurant.

Great suite of rooms, overstuffed bedding. This sure beats the Econo Lodge. Tomorrow onward to Virginia.

We’re in the absolutely charming and fanciful town of Lewes, DE. We’ve just seen our first boat and it had a lot to recommend it. We’re learning with every catamaran we see and we hope eventually our body of knowledge will lead to a good decision on our new floating home. Now we drive back across the Delmarva peninsula to Annapolis, MD for our next couple of boats. And yay for good coffee at Cafe Azafran across from the little gazebo in the center of town. Plus we got here in the middle of the Lewes marathon. Now that’s a cold and windy 26.2!

Homeless
Homeless

Nothing can focus the mind like that word. Closing went very well, no surprises, smiles all around. Got into the faithful Hyundai, obligatory photo, one last stop at our home away from…see what I mean? Bled off some excess stuff at the storage unit, dropped off the check at the bank and nothing seemed more important than getting to the East Coast ASAP! Sitting up in bed facing the TV writing this in an Econo Lodge in Rehoboth Beach, we begin to fathom what a difficult logistics problem we have on our hands. Several boats to see tomorrow, several sets of schedules to coordinate, just finding the marinas is difficult enough. We need sleep. Watch this space.

This is our last day in the house I bought in 1987. I figured Drew and I would be here five years, until he finished high school. Then we met Jack and he added his Wassily chairs and his grandfather’s hall tree and Victrola to the Southwest style we had established. Right away he built a little deck and a curved wooden walkway in the garden. Later he built closets in the bedrooms, installed a gas fireplace in the living room, tore down the walls in the third floor and cathedraled the ceiling. Together we renovated the kitchen and bathroom, tiled the front porch, built bookcases then took some down again. We ripped the paneling off the basement walls and scraped off the crumbling parging, cleaned and painted the basement walls and floor a couple of times. We added crown molding, sanded the hardwood floors, and installed more square feet of tile than I can calculate.

At the beginning of every project Jack complained loudly and often that he didn’t want to do any more work on the house. He considered home improvement projects an interruption of his life, time wasted. Yet he worked hard, did things well, and in the end, took great pride in what we accomplished. The house sold as easily as it did because of Jack, and I can’t wait to find our next home and go through the Schulzifying process again with him.

OK, I wasn’t going to write about this but I find I must, so please forgive.
About a year and six months ago a major life force came into our lives, through the back door. She had to. We had steeled ourselves against this sort of thing. We knew this would complicate our lives.

It’s funny thinking of her as a major life force. Tiny, shy, frightened of her own shadow. Trembling with exhaustion and fear, nearly crushed beneath an SUV in Trader Joe’s parking lot. As Marce held this filthy trembling puff of fur to her heart she seemed to melt into ours. It was already too late. Izzy Katzenbaum was part of our life. There would be no more impromptu road trips. What would she do on a boat? Taking an animal into foreign countries is a problem. She was terrified of shoes, unusually sensitive to light, and hid under anything she could get under. But when you held her close, she calmed down and melted into you in a way that you just knew she felt safe. This is a compelling trait.

Slowly she came out of her shell and is the funniest, most spirited cat we’ve ever had.

She knew something was up when all of her furniture started to disappear. You could just see the disturbing effect of all this was having on her. The old fears started to creep back into her behavior.

Izzy doesn’t travel well. She hides her head in the crook of Marce’s arm and tries not to look up. It’s all too much input. The car trip to my brother’s house went well enough, but as soon as we put her down she did four small quick circles and hid behind the dryer. We had to leave her cowering there and return to our dying house. It never felt so empty and foreign. The life force is gone. Even pizza on paper plates with “Survivor” didn’t help.

Hang in there, little Izzy, we’re off to buy you a boat.

Things are getting desperate. Two days ago we sold our dining room table and chairs so we set up a folding table and folding chairs. This morning we sold the folding table and chairs. In a few minutes people are coming to pick up our two sofas and our bed frame. We’re left with two bar stools and a futon on the floor, which is funny because when I met Jack I was sleeping on a futon on the floor. He insisted we get a bed and for the last 21 years he’s boasted, “I got you up off the floor!”

And here we are, back on the floor for a few days, and with nowhere to sit and a dwindling number of lamps. Still, there’s an awful lot of flotsam about and much more to do. We’ll get there. We have to.