June 10, 2026

 

June 10, 2026

 

It is June 10th, and Charlotte and I would typically be in Maine or at least on the way there. Since Carrie Rose left our home base in Chicago, we are often not home for this much of spring. Standing outside the front of our bungalow I must admit that the neighborhood looks lovely. In February, I never thought this day would come. 

 

Charlotte received a new right knee in January. It went well despite a few post operative glitches. (I thought knees were titanium but TI is too soft. They are stainless steel with a high nickel/chromium content.) Her rehab went well. It was the work of three pleasant and smart thirty something physical therapist. We were sad to leave them behind after 12 weeks.

 

Lucky for both of us, Charlotte was functional enough by the time I blew my back out while sweeping the winter’s muck out of the garage. It turned out that I was the one to get the most use out of Charlotte’s father’s walker.

 

Unlucky for us, we had an appointment with our dermatologist in April. He has a laconic bedside humor that seems fueled by the perpetual woes of the Chicago Cubs. He discovered two lesions on me and not to leave Charlotte out, one on her. 

 

Also unlucky for us, because of the above, we have become well acquainted with an affable plastic surgeon and her trusty sidekick. She has removed nearly ten chunks of flesh from us. At present we are in recovery mode from the last of these interactions. Thus, we are still in Chicago awaiting suture removal. 

 

I try not to anthropomorphize Carrie Rose, but after twenty six years of devotion it is hard not to consider her feelings. She has spent almost ten months in a dark dank shed awaiting her release: to have Atlantic’s cold salty seas coursing under her keel again. And I imagine the Cummins diesel’s pent up frustrations. I go to sleep envisioning the turn of the key that will bring life to her.

 

The plan as of today is to head to Vermont via Canada to visit a friend and then onto Maine. We have a three day reserved slip in Boston for the Tall Ship Festival. This of course means we will have to leave the comfort zone that Maine has become. I’m sure Carrie Rose is up to the challenge, now it is our turn to step up!

Arcadia Terrace, Chicago, IL

Happy Holiday 2025!

This year was different than the past few years. This year, on the water at least, was tranquil. Carrie Rose’s engine purred. No matter what we plugged in her batteries remained fully charged. I continue to marvel at the new radar and chart plotter. They performed flawlessly during the few foggy days we encountered.

And that brings me to the weather. We were on the water by mid-June; still early for Downeast Maine. The first few weeks were in the low to middle forties - cold. Most days it rained and fog rolled in off the Atlantic. But then as June morphed into July, the sun came out and the temperature moderated. It remained so until we departed on Labor Day.

 

Living on a boat requires attention to detail. Of course, the weather is a major factor especially when combined with eleven foot tides and the currents they generate. There is the location of the boat: are we swinging on a mooring or tied to a floating dock or anchored to the bottom of a protected (or not) cove; it makes a difference. 

 

The fundamentals of life: food, water, heat and dealing with waste increase the complexity. We have whatever food we bring. Some needs to be refrigerated, some not. We have 100 gallons of water that we nurture. For heat, the tiny propane fireplace keeps the salon and the pilothouse warm while ignoring the head and the forward bedroom. And we have a 40 gallon black water tank that can be pumped over board (three miles off the coast) or pumped into a marina’s waste system. 

 

The boat itself, despite constant maintenance, is a black hole. We do our best and then leave the rest to providence. In twenty years, Carrie Rose has thrown us a few curves. The Cummins diesel, the heart of the boat, has hiccupped twice. Once the injectors clogged while passing through a narrow rock strewn channel and a decade later, peculiarly, a malfunctioning thermostat left us stranded in a tidal race between a series of jagged rocks and the offshore Petit Manan Lighthouse. Both times we resisted panic and with the help of friends went on to cruise another day.

 

My 2010 Honda Accord Coupe has a small screen that can display photos. When the car was new, I struggled to add mine. I managed to get two loaded. One is a picture of Charlotte and I standing next to Carrie Rose while she swings in a crane’s straps about to be lowered thirty feet into the South Branch of the Chicago River. The other shows us tied to an idyllic lock in Canada’s Rideau canal. I toggle between the two and derive satisfaction from the reverie they elicit. It makes the “blood, toil, tears and sweat” of boat ownership worth it. 

 

We each have passions - many times unconceivable to others - that fulfill our lives. The new year, for me at least, is a time to contemplate the past and reevaluate the future. We wish and hope the best in whatever drives your passion. Cheers!