Nautical Wheelers

.”..everyone is just more than contented to be living and dying in 3/4 time.” Thank you, Jimmy Buffet.

The 3/4 time I get, and love that song. The nautical part is where I take issue. Ten years after taking off my sea bands (cloth nausea protection devices that touch pressure points near the wrists) and giving them to the crew on the Greek seas after 24 hours I thought I was immune.

Enter Lake Michigan and their version of Dramamine. We had five foot seas that day and were tossed around like fish in a barrel. My husband and I were both ill and he had to drive alone to the tip of Michigan to visit my family while I sat, nearly comatose, and only able to look straight forward when my eyes were open.

Yesterday, for our return trip, we decided early to drive home (we had taken a car on the ferry). While it was a long trip, especially driving through Chicago at 3:00 on a Sunday, it was worth losing the fares for us and the car to avoid being so sick, especially as it was raining, we planned to give up our seats to be above deck and I didn’t have the clothing to do it.

As it was, we left about the same time we would have to get to the dock and “stage” our car, and we got home 1.5 hours before the boat did and actually watched it come into the harbor from the safety of our home.

Sorry, Jimmy B and ParrotHeads, I’m no longer a sailor. I don’t mind joining you for the “occasional bottle of wine,” though.

Dad had me bring some music and other things back with us, lucky we had the car! Most of the music is too hard for a beginner to play on the guitar but I transpose in my head and can make some songs work. I tend to “see” a piano before trying the guitar so we have a keyboard to help out with that. My m-i-l even sewed a “keyboard cozy” of embellished denim to keep dust off the keys.

After all, we talked and dined very well, and it was nice to make breakfast with Dad once again after many years. He has one sunny side up, my husband has two over medium. Two slices of bacon, one piece of toast with jam. Then I make my breakfast. Usually just minus the eggs and jam.

When I was a kid Dad made pancakes and bacon or sausage every Sunday morning after church (we were made Catholic, he was Lutheran so did not go to church). I didn’t like pancakes until an old family friend up in the hills made me a crepe with strawberry jam inside and whipped cream and powdered sugar on top.

Then Dad started making one last pancake for me, and I loved him so for that, as I do now and forever. We are kindred spirits and he even likes my husband, which is a plus. We all fight for the right on whatever issue is at hand. We research, know the subject and go for it with gusto. I was too shy to do that until people started stalking me, taking photos, writing reports and letting the air out of my tires because of my positive activism in local parks.

Dad is always a presence, he can walk into the lobby of a hotel in Vienna and have someone call out his name. At 81 he is helping run a restaurant and a ballet company in two different cities. I think if one looks up fortitude in the dictionary, his photo is right there. He has rescued local, national and international organizations from no longer being able to maintain their missions.

He and I and my brother have helped with organizational missions and funds and events. I retired but still volunteer. No more boats, but we’d like to donate our return trip to charity and hope that will work out. Here’s to dads everywhere, we love ’em. Dee