There once was a guy with a pile,
Of t-shirts, just white ones, no style,
“We’ll tie-dye,” Dave said,
“Yellow, green, blue, and red,”
And the photos will make our friends smile.”
Dave’s gift of a tie-dye kit was the highlight of my 2013 Christmas! But there’s a back story to it: He had ordered Eric Maisel’s book, A Writer’s Paris, for me, and picked up the tie-dye because the book didn’t come in time. Now I am so lucky, because I have both the book, which he gave me after Christmas, and the beautiful shirts that we made in Dad’s backyard.
The whole gang in their tie-dyed shirtsDave, Meps, and Barry making tie-dyeMargaret, Hank, Barry, and Dave show off their purple gloves and Hank’s tie-dyed socks
There once was an angel named Joyce,
With a sweet smile and laughter-filled voice,
And at Christmas each year,
She shared our family’s cheer,
We were honored so much by that choice.
What a beautiful nickname she had,
Only used by the friends of my Dad,
‘Cause the name he’d employ,
For his dear friend was JOY,
And it fit her; for joy’s what she had.
Joy(ce) Van Vlack passed away on October 27, 2013, surrounded by her daughters and their families. She was one of the kindest, most positive people I have ever known, and I will miss her incredible hugs and encouragement of my writing.
Joy in front of the tree, 2010Joy and Dad opening Christmas presents, 2012
Mr. Barry was getting suspicious,
Was my broken bone merely fictitious?
Just a lazy girl’s ploy,
To abuse that poor boy,
And evade five whole weeks washing dishes.
My broken pinkie has finally been set free of immobilization, so I was able to wash the dishes yesterday. Barry really did wash all dishes for the past five weeks — my hero!
“Now, I really don’t want to complain,”
Said the birthday girl known as Loraine,
“But that powerful twist
Of the cap in your fist,
Was a gift that upstaged the champagne!”
~
Although she asked for no gifts on her 100th birthday, I couldn’t resist giving Barry’s Grandma some champagne with custom labels celebrating the big day. After we admired them, I put them in her refrigerator. The next day, before we left for the airport, I asked if she’d like Barry to open one of them for her to enjoy later. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!” she said, delighted. It’s not that she can’t buy her own champagne, she just doesn’t have the hand strength to open it once she gets it home.
Two years ago, when she was only 98, I wrote about Loraine in a piece entitled, The Life of the Party. She is the inspiration for the infamous toast started by the late Bill Brown, “Here’s to Loraine,” which we have used all over the world whenever we drink something festive.
The Champagne de Loraine label: Vintage 1913
Meps and Grandma, with the Champagne de Loraine bottle
Three generations celebrating the big day
Grandma’s party. The critical grandson, who opened the champagne bottle, is Barry, second from the left!
I should search for myself on the ‘net,
For this week I could never forget,
Cameras on either side,
Snapping pix of our ride,
As we cruised down the Ditch, all sails set.
This is another limerick I wrote last month, when we sailed the ICW from Vero Beach to St. Mary’s, Georgia. Eventually, I’ll get used to all the cameras pointed our way — this is what we get for making such an unusual and beautiful rig!
“OK, what’s that I see?” I asked Barry,
When dear Flutterby sailed to St. Mary.
“Just a sub and some tugs,
And a lot of lovebugs,
And a gawker or ten on the ferry.”
It was a light wind day in May, and we’d been swatting at annoying but non-biting lovebugs all morning. We took a lot of photos of a giant submarine going out to sea, escorted by tugs and other ships. But when the ferry to Cumberland Island passed by, all the cameras were pointed at Flutterby, instead. She’s a lot more colorful.
There once was a practical sailor,
Who went off to pick up some kale. Her
Pink bike was too small,
For fruits, veggies, and all,
So she shopped with her bicycle trailer.
The picture says it all — sailboat, dinghy, two kayaks, and a pink folding bicycle with a trailer. Who needs a car?
All our friends start to yawn, start to tire,
“Is it time to go home?” they inquire.
In the Vero Beach scene,
Nine o’clock seems to mean,
“It is midnight, put out the bonfire.”
It’s a well-known fact that “midnight” in Vero Beach refers to nine o’clock. By that definition, we stayed out until “two am,” enjoying a bonfire and sharing stories with friends on a deserted island. Then we put out the fire, were towed back to the marina, rowed back to Flutterby in the moonlight, and we still rang in the new year aboard our own boat!
“Oh, these masts are such pretty, tall things,
I will sit here and dry off my wings,”
But a cormorant’s big,
When he sits on our rig,
Unaware of the chaos he brings.
We broke off conversation, mid-word,
When such banging and thumping was heard,
And we ran up on deck,
But all’s clear — what the heck?
Then we looked up. “Hey! Scram, you dumb bird!”
We were down below when the sound reverberated throughout the boat. We were sure that either a) another boat had collided with us or b) our anchor was dragging. But it was just an effect of the hollow mizzen mast carrying the sound down to us!
We are doing some rigging today,
And then we will get underway,
Tomorrow avail
Of north winds and sail,
Downwind to my Dad’s house — hooray!
These south winds are perfect for motoring today, but tweaking the rigging and waiting for northerlies is more fun. In the meantime, here’s another picture taken by Traveling Soul yesterday.
