Feeling Overwhelmed

It wasn't until I got home from Sailing classes that I realized the turtleneck I wore all week was one of my mothers. I wish I'd thought about it, made a conscious decision to wear it, but I didn't. It was just in the laundry and I grabbed it because it was convenient.

That's what so much of life is really — convenience, not thought out, not considered. There's really just no time. That's my excuse. When I started looking at all I had to do to make this happen I realized, "I don't have the time."  And that scared me. It's how regrets are born.

This week I've gotten dozens of emails, from friends, clients, strangers. All of them want something, none of them want to pay me for it. And I feel guilty?! What's that about? There's a woman in Africa I send money to when I have it. She buys chickens and livestock and food. Her church needs a roof. It will cost $6,000. I've been there, photographed the church, seen the roof and am amazed that's all it will cost. I promised to try to help her, but I don't have the time. I'm working on a proposal for a client who already has two best-selling books, but doesn't want to pay in advance for a proposal. I'm writing on spec because I believe in the project, but I'm a fool for doing it because that means more bills, no income.

The people who want to see this project happen are insistent and pushy, and I finally said no to them all. I am not an ATM. I do not have the money to buy a boat, insurance, equipment and pay my bills. I am feeling resentment and anger. This is not what I wanted this to be about.

I am having my own regrets - regrets at having told anyone about my dream, regrets at not saying no to the never ending stream of takers, users and losers that funnel towards me like ants to spilled sugar.

Maybe this whole project is about pointing a finger (the middle one) at everyone and just leaving. I want to scream "NO!" to everyone. Maybe that is why we have regrets. We can't say no to life and yes to us.

Cast Off The Naysayers!

One of the most disturbing things I'm encountering on this adventure is people who are jealous, critical, uninformed and toxic. They don't come right out and say, "This is crazy." They dig and drip and make offhand comments like, "Are you sure you can afford to do that?" or "Shouldn't you be spending your money on your retirement?" These are not caring comments. They may think they are, but the truth is, it is NO ONE'S BUSINESS how I spend my money, the money I earned, or the money I've raised. As one of the women in my sailing class kept repeating when people tried to tell her how to do something, "You don't pay my cell phone bill."

People who claim to be "well meaning" or "caring" can be the biggest dream killers of all. They are usually retired, living off a spouse's money, or have no life of their own. They are afraid to risk, to take on achieving their own dreams, so they destroy the dreams of others. They may not consciously intend to, but that's what happens. Ignore them. If they don't get the picture, confront them. If they still don't get it then file a restraining order if you have to - but GET THEM OUT OF YOUR LIFE.

Ways to tell someone is toxic:

• You feel slime'd after being with them, like you need a shower to wash off their energy.
• They drain your energy. 
• You feel anxious or apprehensive when you see a text, email or Facebook post from them.
• They bring nothing to the table. They don't encourage or support you. They merely express doubt about everything you do. 
• They gossip to others about you - making sure everyone knows THEY don't think you do whatever it is you are wanting or planning to do. 

Toxic people will destroy your dreams before you even realize they've undermined your foundation. Be vigilant and pay attention to your emotions. Take action the instant you realize a toxic person is dripping their acid on your dreams.

Set strong boundaries and enforce them. Don't worry about hurting their feelings. They sure aren't worried about your feelings, so why should you care about theirs. Their primary goal is to drag you down into their misery. Don't let them.

Graduated from Sailing School

The first day of sailing school was rainy, cold and the rain was horizontal to 45 degrees most of the day. My $30 Walmart rain gear kept me dry, but not warm. I layered and was fine until my hands and feet got cold. Then misery set in. Day two was rainy, but not as windy or cold. Day three was overcast, but warm enough to take off the foulie (foul weather gear) jacket. There was some sun. The last day (above) was sunny and warm and wonderful. I fell in love.

At first I thought I was too old, too slow, too cold and too weak to do this. I seriously contemplated giving up on my dream - for about five minutes. Then I kicked myself in the ass and got back to doing what I was doing - learning to sail. I passed my written test - 99 out of 100, and if I hadn't rushed the last question I'd have had a perfect score. Live and learn. Rushing was a small regret. But one that keeps popping up. I need to stop rushing things - including this adventure.

Remember, I have a boat to buy, insurance, a dock slip where I can at least sail, if not live aboard. I have repairs, more lessons, more school....it's daunting. I also have a new magazine I'm launching (with no money, only a conviction that it will succeed). And I'm paying bills....

Life, I tell myself, shouldn't be so hard. Then I think, "Why not?" Part of my mother's list of regrets goes back to dreaming, not planning. I see myself in her. I have the dreaming down pat - it's the planning that needs work.

Regrets are things we didn't do, rarely things we did do, although I have plenty of both.
"I wish I had, I should'a, could'a, would'a" are all mantras of those who go to our graves wishing we had acted on our dreams. In the days before sailing school, as excited as I was, I wondered if I was doing the best thing, the right thing. I doubted myself, felt a lot of fear, but did it anyway. Apparently that is the template for my life. Decide to do something, become terrified about doing it, then do it anyway. From going to Africa (Uganda) twice in one year, to sailing school, to imagining I'm going to be navigating this 400 mile stretch of river never having sailed before this summer...it's all fear based at first. But, I know from years, decades of this pattern, that once I step off of the cliff, I fly. I go from scared to exhilerated in seconds. It is the moment of stepping into space not knowing what will happen, that transforms us.

Do it Now

"If the highest aim of a captain were to preserve his ship, he would keep it in port forever." 

~ Thomas Aquinas

I think the pneumonia is, for the most part, gone. I'm not 100%, but feeling better. That's another reason I'm so committed to doing this. None of us knows when something like pneumonia, or cancer, or an accident will happen and shut down our future. Whatever it is you want to do, do it now.

Regrets

"Twenty years from now you'll be more disappointed in the things you DIDN'T DO rather than in the things you DID."

One of the most painful parts of this journey has been coming to terms with the regrets I have for my own life/journey. And, like the quote says, my regrets are for NOT doing the things I'm thinking about doing now. I wish I had learned to sail 30 years ago when I had the chance. I wish I had learned to manage money better. I wish I'd thought about what I wanted in life rather than just crashing blindly through one thing after another. I had a great life, but it might have been a lot better if I'd been more focused and organized. I might have been better prepared to take on this challenge.

That's not to say I'm sitting around throwing a pity party for one. I'm not. I've hired people to teach me what I want to know. I'm learning the things I put off and I'm acting on things NOW. It's never too late to do most of what you want to do. The longer you put it off, the harder it gets. This journey is about regrets - and about making sure you THINK about what the regrets in your life are so you can take action now. Regrets are so uniquely painful....don't die with regrets. Just don't.

What's it Gonna Cost?

I subscribe to The Real Wayne's World Youtube channel. Wayne talks about how to find good cheap boats, what things cost, and how to make things like MY journey affordable. He's talking about the cost of buying a boat, insuring it, putting it in a slip, seasonal costs, cost of maintaining it and so on. Worth watching!

I'll be posting videos here myself as soon as I buy my video camera. I DID buy a GoPro4 Black, but need the editing software, audio input and some other stuff...plus I need to LEARN to use the darn thing. You need a freaking magnifying glass to read the tiny, tiny, tiny screen and with my old eyes, it's been a challenge. But, enjoy Wayne....

I'm still here!

What has me standing on a stage got to do with sailing? A lot. I was selected as one of ten people out of 40 applicants to pitch my business idea, The Virginia Entrepreneur, at TomTom Fest. It's a pretty big deal. The winner gets $5,000 and an office at the iLab at the Darden Business School at the University of Virginia. It means the winner also becomes part of their accelerated incubator project and spends 40 hours a week at the iLab working on their business. Lots of advantages there for me if I win. The big deal is I get to pitch my business to the community here. Prayers, crossed fingers and positive thoughts welcomed! The competition is April 13, 2016 - next Wednesday, so I'll keep you posted. It's a fantastic opportunity, win or lose, but I hope I win, or if I lose I hope it's to my friend David Durovy at the Post Institute.

GoPro Cameras and Technology

I bought a GoPro Hero4 Black camera yesterday. They are TINY. But they shoot 4K, which means cinematic film quality, something I want for my documentary on Sailing Wild Betty Home.  Now all I have to do is make another $350 or so to buy the the editing software I need (Final Cut ProX) and some sound equipment, and I think I'll be good to go. Just figuring out what camera(s) and technology to buy has been a challenge. The days when I got by with a Pentax camera my uncle brought back from Vietnam, are long gone. I love this camera. It DOES shoot film quality High Definition stuff, but the challenge is making sure it's on a steady tripod, or not moving around and shaking. The second part is facing the fact I am no beauty queen and look old on film. I've never been photogenic really...well, after the age of 30. So, there you go. Some days I think I should have just bought the boat and done all this after...but so many friends wanted me to document it that it just wormed its way into my head and set up camp. And it is a good idea...who better to tell a story of this magnitude than a story teller?

Time to lose 50 to 60 pounds

Today is Sunday, March 20, 2016 and I weigh .... too much — 196 pounds, according to my scale with the NEW battery. When I moved to Virginia from Colorado in 2007/2008 I weighed 273. That's a 77 pound weight loss in nine years. At least it's going down, not up!

I still have another 60-70 pounds to lose to be at my goal weight of 125, although my doctor would be thrilled to see me at 150. We'll see. Tomorrow the healthy eating begins in earnest. Just went to the store and loaded up on a week's worth of fish, salad, soups, veggies and fruit. I want to drop at least 20 pounds before my sailing class. (the green smudge on my left middle toe is where I broke my toe last week.) So, joining the gym today too. I'll keep you updated. And once I get my video camera, I'll post videos too. Funny how a decision to go on an adventure changes EVERYTHING.

I CAN do this.

Racing dinghy's at Lake Anna Marina in Virginia, USA

Apparently, according to dozens of sailing experts and long term/time sailors I'm talking to or reading about, it IS possible to do what I'm doing with only a couple of months of instruction and practice. It's not as much about the boat as it is about the sailor. A confident sailor with good basic skills can do this with few problems - so they tell me.

It's a matter of common sense, strong basic skills and a willingness to take risks and trust yourself and your intuition. Of course I can do this. The plan? Take the 4-day/4-night liveaboard class. I'm already signed up. Then, take the navigation class, the docking class and spend as many days aboard other people's boats crewing for them for races etc. all the while learning what I like, don't like about different boats, while raising the money to BUY a boat. I've been watching YouTube videos non-stop and really have learned so much already! At least now I know some of what to look for, what to consider and where to go look.

I still have to buy the cameras, computer and gear...like a rain suit for the trip. The Sailing School said it "didn't need to be the expensive professional models, just something for rainy days." Even the cheap stuff costs $150 and up. Then there are shoes, $30 to $75, gloves - $35 to $75, sunglasses (prescription $100-$300). It's a pricey project for sure. I may end up buying a $5,000 boat, praying it lasts the trip and then selling it when I'm done. I don't know.

1,001 Things I Need to Learn

I think the best grade I ever received in either high school or college algebra was a C-. Maybe a C, but lots of D's. I suck at math. Watching this video on navigation made me break out in a cold sweat. Not only is it math, but it's a critical thing I have to learn to be a solo-sailor.

Navigation skills are just ONE of the 1,0001 things I need to learn over the next six months. Other stuff I have to learn or do:

• How to sail 
• How to tack
• How to gybe
• How to tell what the tides are 
• How to dock a boat single handed
• How to get out of of a marina
• How to go through a lock
• How to cook on board a sail boat
• How to self-rescue if I fall overboard
• How to maintain and repair common breaks on a diesel engine
• How to dump the holding tanks
• How to set and raise anchor - including when anchor gets stuck
• How to tie about a dozen knots and when to use which knot
• How to operate whatever boat I get
• How to use a compass
• How to read a tide chart
• How to operate a GPS
• How to operate all the radios and gauges on the boat
• How to get my boat ungrounded if I run aground
• How to gas up in a Marina
• Marina etiquette and rules (showers, store, docking etc)
• How to find a place to anchor 
• How to set up and run a successful IndieGoGo campaign
• How to find sponors
• How to find and buy a good, safe, sound boat

Oh, but there's more. Being FAT, I also need to lose about 50 pounds and GET IN SHAPE. I could sail while fat, but it will be harder and more dangerous. Being in shape means I'm more likely to not only ENJOY the experience, but to be able to complete it. So, the next six months means lots of time in the gym, eating better and focusing on diet etc.

This is NOT a small undertaking. It would have been much easier to FedEx half of Wild Betty's ashes to Florida and DRIVING the other half to North Carolina to her sister's lake house and being done with it in a few days. But I think I need more. I need to do this for several reasons, the least of which is to put Wild Betty into a final resting place. What's most important is proving to myself that I can do this, that I'm still capable of learning, doing, going.

NOW It's Real

 

All the materials for my sailing class came today. I have several months to study it all. At first I was excited - you know, get a package in the mail, open it, all shiny new books and stuff...then I started looking at all I have to learn and panic set in. I felt stupid, incompetent and totally unable to process most of it because it all sounds a lot like MATH. There are angles and words, and terms and degrees of wind blowing, and rules - lots of rules. OMG there's a lot to learn. Buoys, and a whole new language. Funny how I'm not freaked out by the "How to Repair a Diesel Engine" repair book I just bought - all 1000 pages. But the thought of navigation, plotting a course, all the mental stuff...just slays me. The form I have to sign acknowledging I could die doing this isn't a biggie. But I am absolutely baffled about finding the best rain gear. God, I hope it doesn't rain. 

Sometimes it's good to be overwhelmed I guess. It makes you take a step back and reassess what you're doing. I'm committed to doing this, but dang, there's so much to learn in such a short amount of time. Besides sailing, navigation, docking, engine repair and cooking on a boat, there's film editing, controls on my new camera(s), a new professional recorder. Just a lot to become competent at before I hit the water. 

Thank you Pneumonia

Having pneumonia for the past week has been great for bed rest and watching sailing videos. It hasn't been good for getting much else done, but at least I'm able to read, and to sleep. It helps with both the grief and the infection in my lungs. I've been looking at last summer's sailing and kayaking photos and looking forward to getting on the water again. I've started working on my Indiegogo campaign. I'll post a link here soon!

Shark!

There are sharks, alligators, and snakes where I'm going. My chances of encountering any of them is good, but my chances of being bitten or attacked is slim. Still. The idea makes me pause. When I was four or five years old, and my brother was still in diapers, we went to Sea World. This would be in the 50s remember. Not the same as today. There was a huge tank there, filled with sharks. You could walk over to the railing and look into it, which my parents did. My father then picked up my brother, who was crying about something, and held him over the shark tank, threatening to drop him in if he didn't quit crying. My mother became hysterical, which made me cry. He looked at me and told me I would be next if I didn't stop crying. My next memory is me running through the crowd which was gathering, and the blue clad legs of a policeman in front of me. I don't know what happened next, but the incident became a story which my mother told repeatedly over the rest of our lives, and laughed. Maybe it was funny because she'd cry if it weren't. Maybe she was in denial. I just know that sharks, the idea of them out there...bothers me to this day.

Remember this feeling

This is a photo from the first time I sailed. I'm on the bow of a keelboat that's beginning to heel, or lean to one side. These boats can go to a 45 degree angle and dip the rails into the water and not capsize, so it makes for an exciting ride - as you can see. That day made me wonder why I hadn't sailed before. This picture reminds me to never forget that feeling.

Too many of us spend far too much time worrying about tomorrow, regretting the past and what we can't change rather than focusing on the moment and what is happening NOW. This trip will be a reminder to do just that.

I spend a lot of time on Youtube watching videos about engines and inspecting sailboats, but found this really nice documentary about a young woman solo sailor. This is the intro, but it's well done and I like it. Watch it. I think you will too.

Doing Due Diligence

I just love this photo, so expect to see it several times on this blog over the next few months. I like it because it's dark and stormy and you can't really see the end of the dock. There's a hint of discomfort, danger, and a sense there's safety at the dock. As I'm doing my due diligence and learning as much as I can about what I need to know, expect and prepare for I'm surprised at all the things I hadn't considered, and hadn't thought about. There is, for example, the incidence of hallucinations of people who solo sail. It's mostly ocean going trips, but apparently it can happen on any trip. There's the question of what to eat, cook and whether to spend money on marina food, or not. From learning about diesel engine maintenance and repair to navigation, there's a lot to learn before I set off on this journey. I've got classes lined up, but I'm also reading, watching a lot of videos and doing what I do best - researching every potential disaster. I've ordered brochures, books and maps. I've called sailing schools and talked with instructors. I've signed up in chat rooms and have lurked, reading all the questions and posts by other newbies. And I feel pretty good. I have a lot of the skills I already need. But that doesn't mean I'm taking it lightly. There's a lot of stuff that can happen that wouldn't be a big deal for a couple or a family. But for a solo sailor? There's a lot more risk. Still, it's exciting.

The Rarity of Risk

Apparently it is rare to be a solo sailor. Something, I am reading now, about how few people are truly able to be self-reliant and independent and alone for hours, days and weeks at a time. That is pretty much my life now. I have no friends I can count on to be there for me in a physical sense. Not really. There are a few who want to be, who might be there if they lived closer. But on a day-to-day basis I deal with everything myself - from a broken car, to having to move items from my apt. to my storage unit. I do it all alone. Some days I hate it, but I've learned that I'm the only one I can truly count on. I may cry, rage, vent, hate and scream, but I do it all by myself. I always have. I enjoy my own company. There are weeks where I don't venture out for days at a time. I am content in small spaces. I am happy to read, to sleep, to dream, to write, to just be. So I think this solo sailing thing will be good. Apparently I have the hardest part - the emotional strain of being alone and dependent only on oneself, down pat.

Several years ago I entered a contest to write a six-word memoir. This is what I wrote. My memoir was selected to be printed on the caps of Honesttea's drinks. Wild Betty had Alzheimers, as did her mother. I received several caps from the company, and as time passed I forgot about the cap.

I kept writing and met the Myers family in Roanoke, VA about a 3-hour drive from me. While we have never met in person, we spoke often on the telephone and I feel a deep connection with their family. I had been assigned to tell their story — the loss of their son in a tragic automobile accident. Both of their sons had been in the accident, and doctors expected their younger son to pass within hours after arriving at the hospital, but he didn't. He survived. Now, two years later, he is back in school and doing well. We hadn't spoken in almost a year, but today I received an email from Norma , Steven's mother. She had attached the photo above and said, "Look at Steven's tea lid!     We don't believe in coincidences!"

She didn't know about my mother's passing, but the fact that this lid found its way into their family and back to me was like a sign from God to me. "I remember." This whole trip is about my remembering, and sharing. 

.

Samuel Willenberg, last survivor of Treblinka dies

JERUSALEM –  Blue eyed and non-Jewish looking Jew, Samuel Willenberg, the last survivor of the Nazi death camp Treblinka, has died in Israel at the age of 93. Only 67 people are known to have survived the camp, fleeing in a revolt shortly before it was destroyed. At least 875,000 people were systematically murdered at Treblinka before the end of WWII.

Willenberg has a story. Everyone on this planet has a story. Willenberg's story is about more than being a survivor of a death camp. It's about being a survivor of life after the camp. Because it's almost always after the fact that our experience becomes a story that changes us and touches others.

Earth is a library of stories, some written, some not. I make my living telling other people's stories because I know how hard it is for us to tell our own. My clients include sex workers — $500 an hour escorts. They include professional men and women who have been sexually abused, abandoned, beaten and wounded. They are doctors and lawyers, businessmen and single mothers. Even the clients who want a business book, or a technical manual, come to me with childhood pain that spills out into who they are and where they are.

A year ago a client came to me with his business book, and in the middle of it he ultimately railed and bailed on the book, angry, bitter and critical. I was baffled as halfway through our contract he began to attack me verbally at every phone call. "What is going on?" I asked. I was only met with more anger. I didn't take it personally. I've seen it too often. He was in pain and that pain needed an outlet. I happened to be the person standing in front of him. It would just take me a bit longer to discover what was going on. Then one day I found out.

His mother had cancer. She was dying. His millions and millions of dollars could buy the best doctors for her, but they couldn't buy her life. She was going to die. He could not accept that. In his 30s, just as his life was going well, he was going to lose his mother to a vicious disease. I learned this because he had to cancel yet another meeting at the last minuted and I demanded a reason.

"My mother has cancer. It's serious. I have to take her to the doctor and I can't be at the meeting today." He then exploded. He raged about how backward the doctors and the hospital were - how he had been forced to fill out paper forms by hand rather than on an iPad or tablet, how disconnected the hospital was regarding technology. He ranted about how stupid and incompetent everyone around him was. That was all he said, and all he needed to say. He was in the middle of his story about losing his mother and not yet willing or able to tell it.

We all have pain. Rich, poor, black, white, Asian, Indian, male, female, old, young... we have pain. When we are in pain the best way to find relief and healing is in telling our story. The problem is, that telling our story is painful because we must experience the pain to share it. I equate it to the debridement process burn victims must go through. They've been wounded and are in pain from their burns. To heal, the dead skin, the burned areas, must be scrubbed, washed and peeled away. It's incredibly painful, but necessary if the burn is to heal. Eventually it will heal. And it will leave a scar that is a reminder, but that no longer hurts. It may be tender, or numb, or feel nothing, but it will not hurt. Writing is how we heal. It is painful, but it is necessary.

Pain will find a way to express itself, but if you want to stop the pain and heal, the only way I know how to do it is to tell your story. How you tell it is up to you. Some people go into therapy. Some see prostitutes. Some journal. Some choose to write a book.

Sorting through Wild Betty's clothes

Mom's clothes smelt like a strange detergent and urine. It's the smell of nursing homes, not my mother. I wasn't there to bury my nose in her neck before she died, but I know what she would have smelt like — hospital. I didn't have the luxury of one last whiff of Betty. I found a great vest (we shared a love of vests), and it escaped the communal washing machine. There was still food dribbled down the front. I put it on, over a black turtleneck and wore it while I worked.

I cleaned out the van — it hasn't even been a month yet, because I bought groceries the other night and I barely had room for them. So I decided to sort through Wild Betty's clothes and start the process of unpacking the van. The overcrowding, and the fact that today was wonderfully warm and sunny got me out of the office. She had lots of red hats, purple boas and the clothing I'd given her 40 years ago. It amazes me that she held onto it for so long.

I kept about half of it, sorted out some things to send to her sister Fran, and the took two boxes to Goodwill. The stuff I gave away was mostly mom jeans, polyester she never would have bought, and tired old sweat pants and tops.

I took it to the local Goodwill. The man there said, "Spring cleaning?" in a friendly way, and I said, "No, my mother died and I'm sorting through her things." He was so kind. He'd been through the same thing recently with his parents. As I started to leave he said, "It's better to do it as soon as you're able. The longer you hold on, the more it hurts." I think he's right.

I can see the water from here

Marina 

Downstairs, from my bedroom at Candice's, I can see the lights of the marina. I am surrounded by water, boats, and the possibilities of life on the water this year. By day, from the main floor, there's the deck and the stairs to the water — muddied here from three days and nights of hard rain, but water none-the-less.

I'm watching the view, and typing. My phone has been ringing every hour and I'm ignoring it. I used to believe if it rang I had to answer it. I no longer believe that. Now I have more important stuff to do - like watch muddy water flow by. Or the woodpeckers at the bird feeder, or the dog chasing squirrels.

Grief is odd. It comes and goes and nothing else matters when it's in the room. Not phones. Not bills. Not clients. Not jobs. Not anything.

Where do I go from here?

I found a sailing class. 4 days and 3 nights onboard a keel boat. It's months away, but I'm pretty psyched. Now to join a gym and get fit. Sailing is going to be physically demanding and I need to get in shape.

The Cost of Healing

Grief is suffocating. One minute I'm fine, then with the next breath I'm crying. It makes it hard to find, buy and learn to sail a boat when you're feeling like you're five years old and helpless. I'm sure God had some divine reason for this complex hierarchy of parent, child, grandparent thing. He hasn't yet shared it all with me. All I know is that relationships are complex, and explaining myself and my plans to sail the TN-TOM with my mother's ashes to doubting friends and curious strangers is difficult. I'm beginning to thing the "coming of age" and the "journey to self-discovery" book era has died, but maybe not.

The last thing I want to do right now is make decisions. I want to lie in bed and weep and sleep and eat fudgesicles.  I want to hug my cats and peel string cheese and eat junk food and argue with strangers on the Internet and play video games and do whatever it takes to ignore how I'm feeling.

The more I learn about what I'm about to do, the more it intimidates and scares me. It reminds me of the Wildland Fire Fighting course I took - the training I needed to have to get certified and insured so I could go fight forest fires back in the 80s. After I spent 40 hours in training to "fight fires," my editor at the time, Tom Dekle, asked me what I'd learned. "Mostly how to stay alive, not a lot about how to fight fires," I said. It's true. About 10% of the training was in learning how to use a Pulaski (see below), and our fire tent - the thing you crawl into and hope you survive in when a fire passes over. They were called "Shake and bake bags" because mostly people cook inside them, like human baked potatoes. All you have to know to fight fires (at the basic entry level) is how to use a shovel, a Pulaski and assorted digging and scraping tools. The other stuff you learn is how to avoid snags (dead branches hanging in trees waiting to fall on your head and kill you), holes (usually filled with fire, coals and stuff that would burn you if you stepped in them, and a lot of escape techniques. Fire fighting is less about fires and more about survival. I'm beginning to think that the same is true of sailing, that it's more about being prepared for the worst day you can have on the water, than on the sailing.

It's not that sailing is dangerous. It can be, but it's the safest sport (so I've read) that old people and idiots can engage in. You're almost always within eyesight of the shore, you're wearing flotation, keeled boats rarely flip over. They can...but it's not usual. File the times they do under "preparing for the worst day you can have."

At worst I can keep the sails rolled up and use the engine to motor my way down the river. I had considered a houseboat, but learned that to navigate certain portions of the trip I need an "ocean worthy" boat and that, as a rule, this does not include houseboats within my price range. The sailboat has a couple of things going for it. You can use the sails, or the engine, to get places. It's the cheapest form of boat if you're going to spend a lot of time on the water, and not so much in port. It's stable, affordable and there are a lot of models to choose from. Get the right kind and you can take it on the ocean. The cons, there's not as much room on a sailboat as there is on a houseboat. It takes longer to get places because you're sailing, not power boating. You have to furl and unfurl sails, hoist jibs and do a lot of sailboat stuff I haven't learned to do yet. It's physical. You steer while sitting in the rain and wind, not from inside a protected, and dry cabin house.  House and powerboats burn a lot of fuel, and at $6 to $9 a gallon (and a gallon an hour), it can get pretty expensive to power up and down a river. Sailboats make about 50 miles max on any given day. Powerboats can do double that or more.

The romantic notion of "sailing wild Betty's ashes to the sea" sounds great, but the reality is pretty sobering in terms of "funeral costs." Consider this:

Buy a boat = $3,000 to $15,000.
Make sure boat is water worthy, painted, outfitted etc =$2,000 to $5,000
Insure boat =$500 to $2,000
Supply boat = $1,000 +  for water, fuel, food, bedding, radio, emergency gear, maps, etc.
Learn to sail = $800 plus cost of practice

I also have to take and pass a class to get my powerboat license. Then there's the driving to and from the marina every weekend, additional classes, books, and so on.

I'm essentially devoting at least 6 months to a year to do this. It's not like I've always sailed. I haven't. I could kayak the whole trip, but it would take me a year to go 400 miles.

So why bother? It's like I tell my clients, the ones who want to write a book - you don't do it so you have a book. you do it so you heal. If you have a book at the end of the writing, that's great. What's more important is that you're a different, and hopefully better person, at the end. And that's why I'm doing this. It's for me. Yes, I'll scatter my mother's ashes at the end, but this is all for me - to come to terms with what I know, what I don't know, and my relationship with both Wild Betty and Mommy Dearest, because she was both.

Driving Wild Betty

 Me and Wild Betty and my Dodge Caravan crammed to the roof with all of her stuff. Now the task is to sort through it all. Many people take years to do this, but I don't have a place to put it all, so I will spend the next month doing that.

Wild Betty rode in the back seat - not her usual place, but the front was piled with boxes of photos and notebooks. There was just no room. Tennessee had tornadoes, and the winds hit the house before I left. I passed tractor trailer trucks blown over by the winds, and I pulled off the road for an hour to escape the gusts myself. I had to wait for a lull to get the van door open, and the car rocked side-to-side as I sat there. No way I was driving in that. I was super glad for the added weight with those kinds of gales. Even now, at home, the wind is hammering the outside of my apartment.

I got home okay, and am now looking at boats, reconnecting with clients and feeling overwhelmed with all that has to be done. I have learned that:

• The perfect boat would have an unrestricted height above water of less than 15'6" to get under all the bridges on the trip.
• It will have a full load (water, gas, food,  people and stuff) of no more than 5 feet and preferably 4 feet.
• The beam (width) of the book will be at least 13 feet
• It will have a cruise range of at least 500 miles without refueling because of the distance between marinas.
• It should be an "ocean capable" vessel so when I cross the Gulf and Great Lakes I don't sink in even moderate (11 knots creates 4 foot waves that send 4+ tons per square yard of water crashing down on your boat) winds. 
• The Loop is 5,800 miles long, but there are 24,000 miles of navigable detours and side trips. Fuel is $6 to $9 a gallon. So, you want something economical as well.

It's going to take some time!

Took Wild Betty's Ashes to Krispy Kreme Doughnuts

Mom loved hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Since the funeral home was right across from Krispy Kreme and the hot doughnuts sign was on, I took her inside. She would have laughed until she peed herself at this and definitely would have approved. I'm not so sure Krispy Kreme would have liked it, but no one said anything and there were no signs banning photos of dead mothers anywhere I could see.

Wild Betty wasn't just a cute nickname. She loved the irreverent, the crazy, the outrageous. She worried about what people thought, but she hated the fact she did. She would have gotten a kick out this...and the fact she got to ride in a Miyati, even if it was in the trunk because there was no room in the front seat.
 Roses Mortuary is pretty solemn looking. We actually went through the Cremation Society of East Tennessee (www.cremationset.com). When I asked about the difference in cost in cremation from the cremation society vs. Roses, the guy at Rose's told me they had a million dollar building and "nice environment" to pay for. The Cremation Society was "just a nice office in a strip mall." So, for all of the 3 minutes it took to walk in, sign a paper and leave, it's just another marketing ploy where someone makes money off of the dead. Obituaries are obscenely expensive. And they shouldn't be.

 The Krispy Kreme across from Rose Mortuary. The Hot Doughnut sign was on. It just made sense to go by. Mom got to ride in the trunk of Candice's Miyati. She would have loved to know she got to ride in a hot car (even if the top wasn't down) to Krispy Kreme.

The Rose Mortuary gal preparing the certificate I had to sign to pick up the ashes.

We got a "shopping" type bag with the Cremation Society of East Tennessee on the bag. Since they want to advertise, I obliged. Here you go Krispy Kreme and CSET. Mom on the counter.

LOVE me a chocolate glazed doughnut. Mom loved glazed, then chocolate glazed, and a hot, black cup of coffee. We NEVER passed a hot doughnut sign when it was on and we were together.

 The funeral home had a brochure..."Fifty States of Gray." They handed us a copy as we were leaving with Wild Betty's ashes. She would have approved. Rather than an expensive urn, a $5 Krispy Kreme tin seemed fitting. Don't worry. I'll find something more solemn.

Surrounded by Wild Betty

I am surrounded by Wild Betty. The van is literally packed, wall-to-wall, with her clothes, her knick-knacks, shoes, plastic flowers, the detritus of lives that end in nursing homes. Her favorite onyx ring is missing. Nursing homes, even the good ones, are infamous for theft. It is the one ring I asked her guardian, and the nursing home director to lock away after it went missing the first time. The first time everyone claimed there was "little to no chance of getting it back." I had to get ugly, threaten a lawsuit and go crazy lady on everyone, but the rings reappeared. Sarah Malia, her guardian, has still not produced it. And I think she never will. It will be the one ring that matters most, that Sarah will keep. And that angers me most. My grandfather's pocket watch, is missing. There is a small gold watch, a woman's pocket watch, in its stead. They are not worth money, but the emotional value is priceless.

What I do have are mom's sheets, her bedding, her clothes, and jackets. I weep when I realize at least a third of what she has are the things I bought or gave her, or that we shopped for together. I almost forget to make room for her ashes in the front seat with me. It will be a long ride back to Virginia.  I got everything but a small filing cabinet and a tub of books and assorted other items I may need to return for. The van is overloaded. I worry whether it will make it back to Virginia.

I am angry.

Like most people, when I am scared I get angry. I am afraid the van will break down. I am afraid I will cry. I am afraid I won't cry.  I am afraid that Sarah has my mother's ring and will never return it. Sarah Malia is, in my opinion, demon spawn. I am afraid my anger will eclipse my grief. It is a half-dozen hot doughnut day. I am emotionally eating — three chocolate iced glazed doughnuts and three regular glazed. I pick up an iced coffee instead of 2% milk by mistake and I feel the world is ending. Every little thing, every forgotten thing is the end of the world. This must be grief — to cry because the toilet paper in the gas station bathroom is installed under, not over — a running argument Wild Betty and I had. I would go to her condo and flip her toilet paper over, she would come to mine and flip mine under. It was a thing we did...until it became a joke. So I turned the paper in the gas station restroom over...one last time.

And with each bite of every doughnut, I remember how much she loved hot doughnuts, black coffee, Egg McMuffins with grape jelly and the McRib sandwich. I wonder if anyone at the home knew that.  Does anyone ever care? Or remember those things about us? I have, and it makes me all the angrier that the onyx ring is gone, that her guardian did not protect her, and that she is gone.

I don't know if I can do this

 

I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I should have driven down to see my mother before she died. I don't know if I can get through this. I don't know if I can go through all her clothes and all the photos. I don't know if I can pick up her ashes. I don't know if I can get the few meager pieces of furniture into my van. I don't know if I can cry. I don't know if I can stop crying. I don't know if she loved me, truly loved me, or if the times she told me she wished I was dead and had never been born were how she really felt. I don't know if I can decide which side of her to believe. 

When I took this photo this morning I thought, what will I find at the end of the dock? What will I find at the end of the journey? Am I going to want to learn what I'll find out about myself, and her? Or will I find out anything at all?

I don't know if I can do this.

Looking at Sailboats

Fog. Rain. Drizzle. Cold. And sailboats. It's Sunday and what better way to ignore what I'm feeling than to go to the marinas and look at sailboats? At the first stop there were two Herons...huge birds, distrustful of me...nervously pacing and watching, ready to take flight into the fog at the first thought I might be stalking them.

Last night I got to Candice's house and after dinner I settled into sorting through a box of old photos, mom's jewelry and odds and ends from the nursing home. I find personal letters from her court appointed attorney, Sarah Malia, calling her "Betty Boop," and a birthday my mother never sent telling me everything Sarah and/or the doctors are saying about her are all lies.  It's emotional. I can feel the panic in her letter, the fear, the knowing she's going to lose everything. The guardian and the courts are going to come in, take everything and sell it. And they did.

It's bad enough to lose a parent to dementia, but losing one to a court appointed attorney she tells me she does not trust, and that her best friend does not trust, is all the worse because it's after her death I'm reading these letters. What would I have done differently had I known?

I pick up her ashes tomorrow and I am feeling waves of grief. They come and go. Candice drives me around Knoxville and the University of Tennessee. The student union has been leveled, nothing is the same. Building are gone, memories are just that - since the buildings and places I knew so well in college are gone. There is no permanence. Photos, letters....everything changes. Everything.

Talk About Your Project

 I started following Seth Godin years ago. He has a knack of making every reader think he's shadowing you, watching your life, and then writing about YOU. He's really writing about, and to, ALL of us. This morning (Friday, Feb 19, 2016) he wrote:

How to talk about your project

Not in a marketing sense, but strategically, to yourself, your partners, your coaches, your investors:
What is it for? When someone hires your product or service, what are they hiring it to do?
Who (or what) are you trying to change by doing this work? From what to what?
How will you know if it's working?
What does it remind me of? Are there parallels, similar projects, things like this that have come before?
What's the difficult part?
How much of your time and focus are you spending on the difficult part?
What part that isn't under your control has to happen for this to work? (Do you need to be lucky?)
How much (time and money) is it going to take to find out if you've got a shot at this working out?
What assets do you already own that you'll be able to leverage?
What assets do you need to acquire?
After the project launches, what new assets will you now own?
From which people will you need help? Do they have a track record of helping people like you?
Is it worth it?
Successful project organizers are delighted to engage in a conversation about all of these questions. If you're hiding from them, it's time to find out why.


Oddly enough, I'd been thinking about just these things. As I set up my "Go Fund Me" and my "Kickstarter" funds I've thought about, "Why would anyone want to support me? What's in it for them?" Even the people I tell about it ask that. "What's the reward for a backer?"  It's obvious to me, but then I like to support every cause I can simply because I believe in people. Then Seth posts this, so, for those of you who are interested, here's my answer:

What are you *hiring* me to do? I like to think you're hiring me to do the thing you would do if you could. I like to think you're investing in a vicarious experience. You're wanting to see if I can do it. It's entertainment, enlightenment, curiosity and more. If you had the time, the courage, the chance you too would do this, but for whatever reason you can't. But you'd like to see if I can.

What does it remind me of? It reminds me that I did something equally as stupid 10 years ago when my dad died. I bought a van, quit my job and struck out thinking I could survive on my freelancing. And I did, only I did it living in a van with my Rottweiler and my cat! I failed, but ultimately succeeded, ending up at TED GLOBAL, speaking at Oxford. It didn't make me rich, but wow. What an experience!

What's the difficult part? Courage. I'm old. I stumble. I don't have the physical strength. I see ads from people selling their boats on Craigslist that say, "I'm getting too old for this shit" and they're my age and I wonder, "Am I too old?" Then there's the money. In my heart I KNOW I will do this once I raise the money. If I don't, then Wild Betty will simply be strapped into the front seat of my van and I will drive half of her ashes to NC to scatter them in the river there, and FedEX the other half to my brother in Florida to scatter in the ocean there.  Seems like an anti-climatic end for her.

How much of your time and focus are you spending on the difficult part? Right now, about an hour a day. Some days more, some less. I have bills to pay. And I'm just getting ramped up. This spring and summer I'm sure I'll be consumed by it all. There will be classes, studying, and being on the water practicing.

What part that isn't under your control has to happen for this to work? (Do you need to be lucky?) The fundraising. Do I need to be lucky? I don't know. I'm not a believer in luck. I need to work hard enough and prepare long enough that when luck comes along she's enamored with what I've accomplished without her, and intrigued enough to join forces with me!

How much (time and money) is it going to take to find out if you've got a shot at this working out? Wow. At least a year or more of my life and $25,000. Just the classes alone will cost $1,000. Then there's the boat, the safety equipment, driving to and from the coast to practice every week thereafter in the Chesapeake Bay, food, gas....bills while I'm gone. Yeah. It's going to get expensive even if I do it on the cheap.

What assets do you already own that you'll be able to leverage? I'm actually cleaning out my storage unit and selling all I can to put towards the project. I'm thinking I'll be able to throw $3,000 towards it if I can land a new client.

What assets do you need to acquire? At this point I don't even know what I don't know. I know boat, safety equipment, depth finders, gauges, small engine know-how (another class). I'll be acquiring stuff, but knowledge. I need to know how to fix a small engine if mine dies. I need to know how to fix broken stuff and how to maintain working stuff. I'll be on my own out there. I'll need a radio, maybe a satellite phone, a way to reach the Coast Guard. It seems like a lot of what I'll need are the tools and skills for failing, not succeeding. Funny. Success does take care of itself. I mean, who prepares for succeeding? Something to think about.

After the project launches, what new assets will you now own? Wow. The project has launched and already, in the first 24 hours, I've had 53 visitors. I tend to think in terms of people. After the project launches the assets I will own will be fans - I hope. Ultimately I want a book that profiles what it takes, what it means to try, fail and overcome. I want people to read my thoughts and think, "I can do this" whenever they're facing hard times - simply because they saw I did. If I can do it, then they can. It's not about the boat or the skills, but is about the boat and the skills. I once told an eighth grader who wrote me about my TED talk that everything that happens to us in life is a lesson. We should embrace every failure and set-back and learn from them. So that's what I'll own - a more developed and engaged sense of my place in the world, among other things.

From which people will you need help? Do they have a track record of helping people like you?
Is it worth it? I'll need help from all kinds of people. I'll need financial backers, but then again, I'll need people writing me and saying, "You can do this!" and cheering me on. I learned from living in a van that people who help are few and far between, but those who do, will rock your world with their gifts of time, information, help and yes, even money. Most of it is on me to do. Not all help is $$. I'm going to need a lot of mentoring and tutoring as well.

Successful project organizers are delighted to engage in a conversation about all of these questions. If you're hiding from them, it's time to find out why. I'm never one to hide from questions! This is the biggest undertaking I've ever conceived. The scariest thing is I'm thinking, planning and doing it right - not just buying any boat and hoping for the best. I learned from the van. These are short answers to complex questions, but they're a start.

I CAN Do This

I spent hours last night watching YouTube videos of old people sailing ships by themselves. I thought it might be inspiring. It was terrifying. All of the videos I watched were mostly of men in their 70s who seriously looked like they should be on walkers in nursing homes. Yet, there they were, dancing, farting, laughing and cooking themselves meals a dog wouldn't eat. And they were smiling and laughing through it all. Sailing, apparently, either kills you or it doesn't.

I emailed the sailing school and told them I was 60, and while not a fitness freak, I could walk unaided. Would that be a problem, age and all? They wrote back, "Age is not a problem. Keeping your balance is - and we tell everyone of any age that. Crossing Albermarle Sound might be a bit challenging alone."   I looked up sailing Albermarle Sound on Youtube and it looked like a classic, "74 ways to die on the water" compilation.

At this point any sane person would re-evaluate their decision, but fortunately I'm not sane. I'm both terrified and exhilarated. I'm convinced God had run out of common sense by the time he got to me. Well, common sense and boobs, and a knack for numbers. I've done okay for myself. Fortunately sailing doesn't require boobs. Common sense, judging from the Youtube videos I watched, is optional. Highly optional. The lack of a knack for numbers could prove deadly, or simply expensive. There's an app (several in fact), for that.

Blame it On Old Age

You don't a lot of chances to do things like learn to sail and then tackle the open water once you hit 60. Most of my friends would never think of getting in a kayak on a pond, let alone sailing alone for 400 miles. And that's kind of the point.

I'm not a thin, young, blonde that anyone is going to pay attention to because I bought a boat. I'm probably going to be rather invisible. I'm kind of dumpy, old, wrinkled and I sag a lot. Lots of women my age can identify with that. And they can also understand it when I say, if I don't do this it's like saying, my adventures are over. Nothing left but tour buses, 10% off Senior diners at 4 p.m. at Denny's or iHop and maybe a ripping good Square Dance Meetup group. Not for me. Someday maybe, but I want a last hurrah. Maybe one that turns into another 10 years on the water. I don't know. I just know I want to do this, and in releasing my mother, maybe release some of that fear that I can't do it.

Seriously. Age is scary. Your mind thinks you're 30, your body thinks you're your great-grandmother. It's not pretty. There's got to be more to life than sitting around discussing the best hemorrhoid cremes, your latest surgery or what your doctor said about your cholesterol levels at your last visit. I can't go around worrying about my skin being "crepey" or some man leaving me because I have crow's feet and laugh lines. Life is too short to worry about what other people think of me. I wasted too many years doing that. I may move slower and have to make accommodations, but I'm doing this.

Friends of mine, Pete and Betsy Wuebker, of PassingThru.com, sold everything, car, house, furniture and whatever, and took off a few years ago to become *homeless* and travel the world, write a travel blog, and house and dog sit along the way. They're running their online businesses and staying in some of the most beautiful places in the world! They've done well! They're my age, or thereabouts. And they inspired me to step out and take a risk. So I am.

Wild Betty was independent until the courts forced her into a nursing home. I had thought I'd be able to actually get mom on a boat 10 years ago, but her court appointed guardian, Sarah Malia, made sure that didn't happen. But she can't interfere with Betty's ashes...so better late than never.

Inspiration is Where You Find it

Photo courtesy of Luke Montgomery

Inspiration is where you find it. I found mine, some of it, in 73-year old Tom McClean, who is sailing a steel whale across the Atlantic. It's not too unusual. At age 44 he went across the Atlantic from New York in a boat the shape of a beer bottle. Sponsored, oddly enough, by Typhoo Tea. He's made a life of crossing oceans by himself. But he's 73.  If he can cross the ocean in a beer bottle and a whale, I can float a 400 mile river and then some, right? The 65-ton whale has a blow-hole that spouts water. McClean designed it himself.

He's used to challenges.

"When he set off in his small fishing dory on May 17, 1969, no one at that time had ever successfully rowed alone across an ocean. He had never rowed in open seas and knew almost nothing about ocean navigation. When he first decided to do the crossing, the only rowing experience he had was a couple of afternoons on the Serpentine in Hyde Park." ~ Joe Banks writing about McClean.

Banks, by the way, does a great job of capturing McClean's personality and life. And I feel a kindred spirit in McClean. We're both crazy, but he's crazier. I'm doing this.

I'm not sure how, when or why the idea hit me. But it did. Kind of like the decision to quit a new job 10 years ago, buy the first van I could afford, and then hit the road. Something about parents dying I guess. Anyway, I'm barely scraping by financially. I couldn't even afford to go to Tennessee to see my mother when she was dying.

So now I want to buy a sailboat (I can't sail. I've only been sailing a couple of times and then I was a passenger) and sail 500 miles down a strange river with my dead mother's ashes, reunite with my brother and spend a week arguing and whatever with him before dispatching mom to the waves. At least it's true to the Southern character of bizarre and dramatic. Do you really think Flannery O'Connor would have been famous had she lived in Colorado? No. They've have pegged her as crazy and locked her up.

Here in the South this kind of thinking is normal. I'll be criticized for not having a gun, a dog and a pickup truck in the story. But someone will write a country music song and include those for me I'm sure.  

Here's my wild-ass plan:  

Start a Go-Fund me campaign and depend on the curiosity, generosity and compassion of strangers to help me raise the money for the boat, the trip and the training. Apparently sailing, unlike living in a Walmart parking lot in a 30+ year-old multi-green-hued van named Booger, can kill you pretty fast if you don't know what you're doing. I have no desire to personally deliver my mother's ashes to Davy Jone's locker somewhere along the Tenn-Tom. So I will need my powerboat license, and at least four days of hands-on training and six weeks of practice before I can take the boat anywhere outside of the Chesapeake Bay.

I'll need to find a sailboat, or a decent houseboat that will hold me and my two-cats. What's an adventure without animals right? I'll have to buy maps, plans, safety stuff, an inflatable dinghy thingy to take me from an anchored boat to shore or a dock. There'll be budgets and planning and stuff. Unlike the van I can't just whip into a parking lot, lock the doors and crash for the night. After looking at all I have to do, I figured out if I had enough money I could just throw money at the problem.

But I don't have that kind of money. I still have bills and a life, such as it is, that must stay on track for at least 2-4 weeks while I'm sailing Wild Betty's ashes to the gulf...That's why I started this blog. So you can see what it takes to do something like this, and what comes out of it along the way. In a nutshell: Learn to sail. Buy a boat. Practice. Save, beg, borrow or raise the money to do all I need to do. Get to Memphis, or wherever this river journey starts. It may need to be the Intracostal Waterway. I don't know yet. Set sail. Cry a lot. Arrive. Release. Return to my life. Write a book about it all. After all, I'm a professional writer (meaning I consistently make enough money to keep me off the streets), and that's why I do. Sounds simple doesn't it. We'll see.