"The best people are the ones that understand content. They’re a pain in the butt to manage but you put up with it because they are so good."

-- Steve Jobs

Time Travel, High Fidelity and Casablanca

I went time traveling last week, back through the years where I encountered a younger Luke just on the cusp of becoming an honest-to-goodness adult and was able to see some of who he’d become in the intervening time.

It all started when I was in Florida in April. There to play in USA Hockey’s over-50 national tournament, I was in a condo watching TV alongside a dozen or so other puck-brained dirtballs when I checked my phone for email. What I saw stopped me cold.

It was an email from a woman I’d been involved with more than two decades earlier, one whose departure out of my life became one of the most prominent events in my life. It still stung. She was known to a mutual friend as She-Whose-Name-Shall-Not-Be-Uttered. Seriously. It hurt me that bad. Hell, I even had a playlist of songs I’d been compiling over the years comprised of “why not me?” types of tunes. Good songs, sure, but it also pretty pathetic. And, as evidenced by the film “High Fidelity,” all too common.

She dumped me on the day after Christmas 1996 and we hadn’t had any real contact in more than 21 years. None. Zero. Zilch. Oh, I’d noticed two separate comments on posts on this blog in recent years that could only have come from her, but rather than lash out in response I bit my tongue.

And yet here she was. I was dumbfounded and stewed over how to react. I chose to wait until the next day to reply, and opted for respectful and courteous: everything was cool; there was nothing to forgive; she’d made her choice way back when and gone on to have a life and a family; I’d gone on to create my own life, too.

But again: here she was. Our correspondence continued through the spring and ultimately grew to include text messages and phone calls. And then the prospect of a face-to-face meeting arose. And that occurred last week.

To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect from any of it: the correspondence, the get-together. It had been a long time and we’d both changed. Yeah, I was hurt in 1996 and yeah, I let it color my future relationships. But that was on me, which I think I knew all along but never wanted to admit. I think I relished embracing the victim mentality. And now I was an older, wiser and, I hoped, kinder man, right? So why not stay in touch and even meet? It’s not like rekindling anything was really an option, right? You can’t resurrect something that’s been dead for 21 years.

Or can you? I didn’t know and neither did she. So we agreed to meet. And given how things had gone way back when, it was she who traveled, flying east to Boston where we spent a couple of days at my home on Plum Island. I had rented a car and driven up from Annapolis, to which we returned for another couple of days before she flew home to Utah.

How did it go? It went fine. We had both changed in obvious and not-so-obvious ways: physically, emotionally, psychologically. And we both had — and have — our lives to live. But it was good to reconnect; at least it was for me. It was good to carve out and discard that anger that I’d carried for two decades.

From my perspective, it seemed as though we lived our own version of the film “Casablanca” and, like Rick and Ilsa, had gotten Park City, our version of Paris, back. It was a comparison She-Who-Had-Returned hated (mostly because she felt Ilsa was a weak woman who would following either Rick or Laszlo like a puppy), but I still believe it’s apt. Like Rick, I’d kept things bottled up inside ever since that fateful day in the past. But now, with the opening and cleansing of that old wound, I could finally get on with a life that hopefully included an open and loving heart.

We spent a few days starting to get to know each other again and it’s possible we might find ourselves in sync again, but that’s a long ways off. Life, in the form of distance and different paths, might preclude further exploration of that possibility. And it’s very possible that we’ve just become too different over the years. I know I’m WAY different from how I was in 1995 and 1996. But a cloud has been lifted from my heart and for that I’m grateful. I’ve even deleted that sad-sack playlist.

Navel Gazing, Personal

Concert (and Venue) Mini-Review

Dave Alvin and Jimmie Dale Gilmore
Ram’s Head On Stage, Annapolis
13 June 2018

Wow. What else would you expect from two legends? Guitar virtuoso Dave Alvin and Texas singer/songwriter Jimmie Dale Gilmore teamed up to make an album after 30 years of friendship. And, as it turned out, having found their musical roots in the same place(s) way back when.

The album, “Downey to Lubbock,” which is currently at the top of the blues charts AND at No. 41 on the country charts (prompting Alvin to wonder, “What kind of music do we play?”), is a wonderful pairing of skills, with Alvin’s guitar and deep voice setting the foundation for Gilmore’s airy vocals and harmonica counterpoint.

And last night’s show highlighted all that — and the storytelling skills of these two road warriors.

That it took place in such an intimate venue made it that much more amazing. For you friends in San Diego: I’ve seen both Alvin and Gilmore at the Belly Up and boy oh boy, did last night’s show point up just how shitty that venue really is. Yes, it’s a great location and a great vibe, and I loved being able to walk there (which I can do for Ram’s Head shows too, which is nice) but let’s be honest: the acoustics flat out suck. You know this. And even worse, no one in any Belly Up crowd EVER shuts the fuck up, so you can’t hear the music you paid to experience.

None of that at the Ram’s Head. It’s a seated venue with waitstaff, so there’s an order to the place. As a result, people are focused on the performers on stage so there’s none of the din. And the physical attributes of the room (unlike the quonset hut that is the Belly Up) make the sound warm and rich. That said, the vocals could have been mixed a bit more prominently last night, but that just meant a lot more of Alvin’s precise, screaming guitar — an okay trade-off in my book.

Alvin and Gilmore continue their tour throughout the U.S., even stopping in at the Belly Up in late July. Check the schedule and if there’s a show near you, don’t miss it. And if you’re ever in Annapolis and the Ram’s Head is hosting a show you might like, don’t hesitate to enjoy this wonderful little venue.

Uncategorized

I Bit. Now It’s Time to Chew

Here we are, a third of the way through the month of June, and I’m still in Annapolis. Not that that’s a bad thing — Annapolis is a great town and I enjoy being here. But the plan has always been to take Further and head back home to Plum Island for the summer, and to sail on the Atlantic as opposed to the Chesapeake. So why am I still here?

Well, a couple of reasons. And in the spirit of open honesty, I’m here to admit that those reasons are procrastination and fear.

I’m still checking off items on Further’s to-do list, and a lot of those things I really should have — and certainly could have — taken care of over the winter. But some of that procrastination was based on misguided faith in the boat and systems that I purchased.

For instance: I was under the impression that the dinghy that came with Further was in decent shape and just needed a few patches. But I couldn’t make those fixes during the cold weather of the winter so I waited until spring, at which point I realized I was not having success fixing the dinghy. I took it to the folks at Annapolis Inflatables who let me know that no, the dinghy was in sad shape. So finding a decent used dinghy took a while (and thanks to Jesse at Fawcett Marine who hooked me up with an Apex inflatable in great shape).

Similar situations arose with many other to-do items, and compounding my procrastination was the island-time mentality in the sailing community here in Naptown. Seriously, if you want to get that “mañana” or “soon come, mon” vibe without going to the tropics, just come to Annapolis and get involved with the boating industry. “I’ll be able to look at it this week” means they’ll get to it in two-plus weeks. And even the seemingly honest accounts — “We won’t get to it for three weeks” — means you have to chase them down after three-plus weeks so they’ll look at it. A lot of this is due to the fact that the marine-related companies around here are swamped with work, but some of it is definitely due to a laid-back attitude that surprised even laid-back me.

The other factor delaying my trip north is the challenge in finding experienced crew able to make the journey. And that has actually raised some very ominous specters for my longer-term dreams.

I have every belief that I could take Further north by myself, but for a first journey offshore in several years (for both boat and me), going solo is not especially smart. Simply keeping watch for the entirety of the trip — much of which is spent crossing the shipping lanes going into and out of New York City — would be an exercise in ultramarathon endurance. And it would be a hell of a lot smarter and safer to have others aboard to help with sail trim, steering, navigating, anchoring/mooring and so forth.

I’ve sent out a couple of group emails to friends who are experienced sailors but no one’s schedule permits them to make the run. And I have some fear — or rather, a nervousness — about making the journey home on my own. I’m nervous about the seasickness I always feel on my first evening at sea after a long time ashore. I’m nervous about crossing all those shipping lanes. I’m nervous about dealing with the tidal currents in the Delaware Bay and the Cape Cod Canal. I’m nervous about dealing with the mouth of the Merrimack River and the currents upstream in Newburyport where Further’s summer mooring awaits. I’m nervous about dealing with all of the systems on board Further when (not if) issues arise. And I’m especially nervous about dealing with all of them alone. Sure, plenty of people sail around the world solo in all sorts of contraptions. Sure, I know what I’m doing and Further is strong, solid boat that can cross oceans without batting an eye. But I’m still nervous. I’d like to have some help along the way.

There. I said it: I’m scared/nervous/fearful.

And going forward from a few-day trip back to Massachusetts, I’m nervous that I’m SO close to my dream but won’t be able to realize it because I can’t (or don’t want to) do all of this on my own. I’m wondering now if maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with regard to the whole cruising dream. Is Further too much boat? Can I really go and chase those adventures I’ve dreamed about since I was a teenager? I always figured I might have to go solo for stretches, but I was optimistic friends would want to join up for some of the fun parts; indeed, that’s one of the reasons I wanted a boat with two separate cabins. I also figured I’d meet similarly minded people along the way (and I may yet) but now I’m not so sure. And I’m now grappling with the fact that as much as this has been my dream, and as much as I’ve wanted to do this — even solo — for so long, now I’m thinking that maybe doing it solo isn’t really what I want. That maybe even this curmudgeonly old loner might prefer a little more people time than he likes to admit.

I’m confident that I just need this one trip under my belt and everything will fall into place: my sea legs will come back, I’ll rediscover that joy I feel when I’m offshore, my adventure-lust will come back full force and my deal-with-it attitude will enable me to address anything that might arise on board in the future.

It turns out the procrastination was the easy part; that just meant a delay. No big deal. But the fear, well, that’s created a big obstacle to a short trip and a lifelong journey. I’m dealing with that every single day right now. Stay tuned.

(Note: This post also appears over at my site dedicated to Further and my adventures in boat ownership.)

Navel Gazing, Ocean Fun, Personal, , ,