Down the Lazy River

Last week I had the pleasure of accompanying Jerry on a business trip to Amelia Island, Florida.  The area is gorgeous and April was the perfect time of year to see it.  With the Atlantic Ocean right outside our window, the sunrises would be spectacular.


There was an opportunity to join a kayaking excursion one afternoon, but since we have our own kayaks it seemed silly to pay for the privilege. Jer hoisted ours atop the car and we drove south. The wind gusted into the kayaks and it sounded like we were riding inside the cab of a semi. Ambiance! Steering seemed difficult and we stopped often for readjustments but weathered the adventure without incident.

The day prior to our privately scheduled "fun on the water," I started to get antsy.  I remembered this is alligator country.  Visions of alligator death rolls filled the movie screen in my mind.

The spouses went on a cruise along the coast that morning and I learned all kinds of fun facts which upped the fear factor exponentially.  "There is a convergence of three rivers here," said the captain, "and one of those is the Okefenokee Swamp.  Every time there's a storm," he said, "snakes get washed in.  There are more rattlesnakes on Tiger Island than anywhere else in the U.S."  It doesn't even matter if he was telling the truth.  That there might be a possibility is enough for me.  Now, my mind movie features alligators AND snakes.  Nice. 

The final nail in the coffin was when I read a local newspaper headline entitled, "Counting Great White Sharks off the Coast of Amelia Island." Kayaking here is clearly a dumb idea. I'm amazed I consented to it! Although I'm questioning my intelligence, peer pressure being what it is, I'm keeping quiet about my misgivings. And, if you believe that, you don't know me. At all.  No, I'm telling everyone, even strangers we pass, what a dumb idea kayaking here is. Jer had to drag me kicking and screaming out to the parking lot.  I was not a happy camper and he knew it.

When we arrived at the boat ramp into the ocean, there were white caps on gigantic waves crashing onto the shore. No way am I entering the ocean - not here with the sharks lurking nearby - especially when I know the rattlesnake holiday destination is just a rock-skip away.

Jerry, undeterred by my protests, could also see that conditions were not right for ocean kayaking.  He was disappointed.  After all, he had struggled  with these kayaks many hours and, dang it, intended to use them.  We got back in the car.  I heaved a sigh of relief because I thought I was home free, but then we drove over what appeared to be a creek. He pulled into a bait shop parking lot.  "We'll put in here," he said.  

Honestly, there were little white caps on this river too and the current seemed fast, but my protests fell on deaf ears and in we went.  I requested -- no demanded -- that we paddle upstream because I wasn't sure I'd have the strength to fight the current on the way back.  Jerry agreed. 

My husband, who weighs more than I do, was sailing smoothly ahead while I was way behind, paddling like a maniac, getting nowhere.  As I inched forward, the wind turned me sideways.  Try as I might to avoid hitting the gigantic sailboats that were lining the waterway, my kayak was now perpendicular to the current. Never have I capsized while paddling in my own kayak and I was determined that today wasn't gonna be that day either.  

Occasionally, Jerry would yell, "We can turn back whenever you want to."  I wanted to turn back before I got in, but I kept struggling because that's what wives do.  Then he shouted back, "I just want to get to that opening ahead."  That was when I had the horrifying realization that the "opening ahead" was the ocean and directly in front of us was Tiger Island!  

The wind became my best friend about now because it began blowing with gusto and even Jerry started having problems paddling.  It was a losing battle; we turned back.  Jerry made up the distance between us in a heartbeat. "Don't paddle," he hollered.  "The current is so strong I'm afraid we'll miss the boat launch and I don't know how we'll get back if we do."  He has a knack for knowing exactly what words to say to reassure me.

We struggled into the boat launch but the tide had gone out.  I didn't even know that was possible in creeks, but obviously it is.  The water was at least a foot lower than when we got in. What that meant to me was I had to drag the kayak up a slick incline and I'd have to get out of the boat to do it.  When I did, I sank up to my knees in muck.  Smelly muck.  Think "sewage" smelly.  The kayaks were covered in muck too and when we hoisted them onto the car top, the stuff flew everywhere. It was even in our hair. How attractive.

A half hour later, just as we were turning into the hotel parking lot, my sweet husband announced, "The bus we need to catch for our supper destination is leaving in fifteen minutes.  I don't think there's time to shower."

That just goes to show you how wrong a man can be.  Given a choice between going to a fancy dinner smelling like sewage and taking a shower in under fifteen minutes, most women can probably rise to the occasion.  

I did.

www. StillSwimmingUpstream.com

The Lists

Jerry was telling our friend Mary Ann about how strict his mom was when he was little.  I'd heard this all before - how he got up every single Saturday and helped clean the entire house, not just pick up clutter but do real cleaning like dusting,  vacuuming and stuff involving soapy water.  He used to squirm into his bed dressed in his next-day's school clothes and try not to roll over in the night so his clothes would stay unwrinkled and his bed would always stay made.  This got me to thinking.....hmmm.....maybe I could use some of this early childhood training to my advantage.

We've been married thirty-some years and Jer's been darned good carrying his load (and then some) around the house.  He can fix anything, cheerfully does, can cook, do laundry, vacuum and loves to play with kids, too. We never established a regimented ritual like his mother had during his youth though.  My bad. 

Last Wednesday I remedied this oversight by make lists.  I made myself one and anything that I didn't want to do I put on a list for him.  I will admit I was kind of goofing around; I never intended to do anything with these lists. They were still fun to write though.

My list: pay bills, do laundry, bring down winter clothes from storage, straighten bookshelves, put away left-over junk from our move, hem two pair of pants, alter another two, clean out fridge, clean upstairs. 

His list:  seal the wardrobe in the laundry room, install a threshold in the basement closet, wash the windows, repair the tub, clean out the garage, hang a picture.

These lists were in no way equitable.  Mine was a powder puff, Barbie list and his was a macho, Stretch Armstrong one.  One was everyday ordinary and one was unusual over the top - requiring skill, specialized knowledge and stamina. Writing them really was just entertainment for me, a way to avoid paying bills for a little while.  (Bill paying was supposed to get easier with the advent of computers and online banking but now it takes me way longer than writing out the checks and mailing them used to.  Convenience?  I think not.) 

Jerry got up Saturday morning way before I did (I'm not going to rehash that stupid early bird vs. night owl thing again), found the lists and started working on his.  By the time I was alert and aware, he'd already removed everything from the wardrobe and had tackled sealing it inside and out.  He was busy trying to fix the closet floor.  Hey, I'm not dumb...I left him to his own devices, rationalizing that it probably felt comforting to him to be productive.  I went on my merry way, squandering more time goofing around online paying bills (or looking at emails and facebook, to be brutally honest.)  Of course I got distracted, well duh, so when lunch time arrived, I realized that Jerry was just finishing up washing the exterior windows.  I stopped what I was doing, went around inside and removed all the screens. 

While I made him caprese salad, he washed all the interior windows.  Let me repeat that for emphasis.  While I was making him a salad, he washed all the interior windows.  All.the.windows.  All.  How could it take me longer to make a salad which contains only four ingredients than it takes to wash an entire house full of windows?

There is only one explanation.  My mortal husband had somehow morphed into a combination of Wonder Woman, Batman and every other super hero you can name.  Seriously, how can anyone clean that many windows so fast?  We had purchased a soaper dealie and a squeegee on the end of a long pole a couple of weeks ago which might have seemed like a new toy to a bored guy, but still.  He washed seventeen windows inside and out in under an hour.  Like he said, they weren't perfect but they were so much improved that I didn't want to put the screens back on.  It would have lifted my spirits had it not been for the crushing guilt of watching him work like a maniac while knowing I had not crossed one thing off my list yet. Now all the junk from the wardrobe was on the family room floor and all the screens needed to go back in.  They were going to take precedence over my list items and, btw, the bills weren't finished yet.

The rest of Saturday followed suit.  Jerry: work, work, work.  Chris: starting to pay bills, getting distracted.  Sunday came.  In the  early afternoon we went for a lovely kayak ride followed by a relaxing walk.  When we got home, I started to clean the laundry room (not on my list) and Jerry piddled with something in the garage.  Around three o'clock he announced, "I'm finished with my list.  Come see the garage." 

The garage had been totally transformed!  You could actually walk on both sides of the car and he'd installed a little ball on a rope so I could pull in and park perfectly every time without getting out to check to see if the rear of the car was actually inside then pulling up until I hit the wall, which was my habit.  It was a Better Homes and Gardens garage.  Jerry went off to do what people do when they have leisure time and I went back to the bills. 

At 12:15 a.m., I called it a night.  Half my list was crossed off.   The house was (mostly) clean and the laundry room looked terrific.  We got a lot of small projects accomplished too - and the bills are paid.  It was a win for the team.  The idea worked so well (for half of us) that I think we'll do it again.  Next time he can write the lists.

A Perfect Summer Afternoon

Yesterday was a perfect August afternoon, sunny, mid-seventies.  The humidity had dropped slightly and I could finally wear my blue jeans with a light weight tee shirt and feel almost comfortable again. 

We decided to go kayaking to enjoy the wonderful weather.  A slight breeze was blowing, making the waves a little choppy which translates into more kayaking fun.  Lots of speedboats were out and when their wake rolled by, we felt just like we were on the ocean riding on boogie boards.  Life doesn't get better than this!  It seemed odd that not a single person was tubing though - our guess is they think the water is too cold.  Obviously, they never did a "polar bear" swim in any of the Great Lakes.  Your lips wouldn't even turn purple in this water. 

After boating, we went for a walk around the neighborhood.  That's when I noticed all my southern friends were wearing their sweatshirts.  In my mind, it was a perfect August afternoon.  In theirs, it was a chilly October day.  I guess I still have a little more acclimating to do.