Category: Family

April 24, 2019. Canal Companions for Life

Posted on by Pete Schloss

Solitary pilots plying the canals of England are a rarity. The locks and drawbridges typically command the attention and efforts of at least two who are able bodied. We have observed that cruising couples seem to fall into a routine of cooperation, one manning the narrowboat and the other the onshore equipment. They are not gender specific roles. The mold set very early for us. Christine deferred the vessel to my skills even though the physical requirements of the lock gates and paddle gears are not insignificant. Her emotional comfort superseded her physical comfort.

In matters of seamanship it is customary for one person to be designated the skipper. This is not just mindless autocracy, but rather is a matter of safety that can even be lifesaving in an emergency. Committees may be well suited for contemplative decisions, but urgency requires immediacy. For on-shore relationships to survive off-shore protocols there must be respect and cooperation that flows in both directions. I can not imagine a dysfunctional partnership surviving long aboard any vessel.

The most successful relationships are not driven by gender stereotyping but rather by frank acknowledgment of the strengths that each partner brings to the union. If the husband has the patience and energy to manage home and children while the wife has the marketable skills to better command financial security, then logic should determine their roles. The partners and the children are the beneficiaries. Sadly, that runs contrary to long established social norms.

27 years ago Christine approached me with the idea of starting her own business. It required a significant financial investment, she would be giving up her regular paycheck, and we had 3 children ages 10 through 13 at home. She asked for my trust and confidence in her ability. She received both along with a good measure of encouragement and support. There were challenges through the years, but her’s was the hand on that tiller. Success followed her as it often does with capable and resilient people. Perhaps my most valuable contributions were not getting in her way and suppressing any tendency that I might have had toward being misdirected by ego. We, our children, and our grandchildren became the beneficiaries of those choices that we made.

Undertaking a “Canal Boat Holiday” has presented me with a metaphor for marriage. Canal boating is not for every couple, and neither is marriage. Ironically, I doubt that many people undertake the purchase or charter of a narrowboat without first critically examining their suitability for the venture. I have learned over my decades as a lawyer and mediator that folks often leap into marriage without giving the consequences a second thought. If canal boating doesn’t work out all one needs to do is exit the vessel. It is not so simple with a marriage.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. This bit of irreverent wisdom came to me recently from a friend: A man takes a wife believing she will never change, which she does. A woman takes a husband In the belief that he will change, but of course he doesn’t.

April 21, 2019. Happy Easter!

Posted on by Pete Schloss

It was not our intention to attend Easter services today. I rationalized that our cruising day was under the canopy of the Creator’s original church and that the music of the songbirds along the canal was a chorus unlike and beyond any composed by mankind.

The days leading up to Easter were peppered with not so cryptic messages from my Mother, “So Peter, do you have any plans for Easter?”, or “Will you be able to get off the boat on Easter?”…

I was raised in a very traditional Catholic family. Missing church on Easter would have been unthinkable. Even though I have become even less than a self identified “cafeteria Catholic”, and I find that my beliefs have wandered away from religion based theologies, I don’t think that I have ever missed attending church on an Easter Sunday. Today was to be the first exception, or so I thought.

5 hours on the canal brought us to a mooring near the town of Whitchurch in Shropshire. We intended to spend the afternoon and evening ashore and not stray out from the mooring. Easter assured that there would be no active commerce in town. However, restlessness after a day at the tiller compelled me to venture out on foot. Nearby I encountered an information board that touted the virtues of Whitchurch as the oldest continually settled community in the region, dating back to the establishment of a Roman garrison at 79AD. In Saxon times it was called Dodington, and it was mentioned prominently in William the Conqueror’s Domesday Book after the Norman conquest of 1066. Pictures on the signboard showed a liberal sprinkling of old waddle and daub buildings, one being a pub that dated to the 1,400’s.

I returned to Salten-Fjord and encouraged Christine to join me for a walk into town. A well kept footpath followed the course of a long abandoned canal into the town center. More signboards announced town history and prospects for a restoration of the canal into town including the creation of a marina. The canal system has become a powerful draw for tourist dollars/pounds, and Whitchurch is seeking it’s share.

The walk was about a mile, and wandering along the winding streets was rewarding to the eye. As I suspected, everything was closed with the exception of two pubs which were located across the street from one another, “Old Eagles”, and “The Bull’s Head”.

Raucous cheers emanated from Eagles as a crowd was watching the televised football match between Liverpool and Cardiff (Liverpool won, 2-0). The Bull’s Head, a quieter option, presented an opportunity for pleasant reflection over a pint. That concluded, we continued our winding walk through town back toward the canal.

Near the edge of the town center we came upon the edifice of Anglican St. Alkmund’s Church.

The doors were open and the interior invited me in for a look. A small group of seniors appeared to be gathering, but a very pleasant usher gave us some history of the church (see below) and encouraged me to take pictures.

The priest, Rev. Judy Hunt, bedecked in her traditional robes, was assembling the choir at the back of the church for their opening procession and song. As if reading my Mother’s mind, the usher handed Christine and me the Common Book of Prayers, Hymnal, and Service Program for the Evensong service. It seemed that my Mom’s prayers for the continued salvation of my soul had been answered. Beyond any intention on my part I found myself attending Easter services commemorating the most important event in Christendom.

Last year in Puerto Rico as we prepared to cross the Atlantic on a journey that would include walking the pilgrimage of the Portuguese Camino, our B&B host Eddie repeatedly admonished me, “Peter, in life there are no coincidences”. Perhaps our visit to St. Alkmund’s Church is another confirmation of those words.

Peace Everyone. Pete

April 20, 2019. Les, Sue, The Namaste, and a Dog Named Lucky

Posted on by Pete Schloss

We have returned to spend the night moored at Ellesmere… and so it seems has everyone else! This is Easter weekend and a prime time for narrowboaters. We secured the last available spot along the town wharf and took the opportunity to visit Tesco and re-provision.

Walking down the line of moored vessels we beheld an array of boats that shared only two characteristics, they are long and they are narrow. Beyond that there are some painted battleship grey, others in Scandinavian multi-color. Brass is polished on some, others not so much. At the extremes were vessels that could be classics in a museum and at the other end of the spectrum those that can only be described as “feral”.

We passed a real standout of the former category, the vessel Namaste. She was pristine, and supported a huge brass searchlight at the bow that was polished to a jewelry shine. It was the open hatches amidships that drew my attention.

For those who have ever visited a classic car show, you know how 60 year old Corvettes and 60’s era muscle cars are staged with hoods open to display spotless chrome garnished engines. Well, peering into Namaste’s open hatches I beheld the narrowboat equivalent. As I pointed out some of the finer details of this wonder to Christine, a very nice lady of our generation cautioned me, “If Les hears you he will talk your ear off and never let you go!” Of course, I thought she was merely being pleasant and not being literal. I was wrong on the second count. Les heard me, and like their little dog “Lucky” was on me like a Rat Terrier is on a rodent. We had just met two of the most likable folks (and their dog) plying these waters.

The couple have been together 6 years. Namaste is Les Walling’s third canal boat and clearly his passion. I wish that I had the time to more fully explore his life story, but I know that he has extensively traveled the United States, and he was once a well know off-shore powerboat racer (“Peter, In my past If it went fast I drove it… Look at me now throttled down to 4 miles per hour!”). Les told of his last vessel, nearly lost in a flood enhanced tidal current on the Thames near London. He and Sue were ashore when the unexpected surge tore his narrowboat from its bow and stern lines. Held only amidships, but cantered 90 degrees to the current she was beginning to roll and capsize. Lucky and all their belongings were aboard (Les and Sue are full-timers). In order to have any hope of saving the moment Les was forced to cut the boat loose and hope for the best. The best came in the form of crew aboard another vessel who leapt aboard, engaged the engine, and succeeded in bringing the boat back with nary a scratch! Another example of a boating “angel”.

Les is proud of his thick Lancashire accent. He makes no bones about retaining it untamed to his grave. I confess that there were times in the conversation that I thought I was listening to another language. Nevertheless I was able, at times with Sue’s help, to decipher most of the conversation.

For the mechanically inclined here are some of the details that Les shared about Namaste: She is a 60 foot long Tug-Narrowboat with thrusters fore and aft. The hull is new and he is in the process of designing the paint job that he will execute as a part of her fitting out. The engine, restored by Les, is a 70 year old Gardner 2LW that makes only 28 horsepower from her 2.8 liter displacement. What she lacks in horsepower she more than compensates for in massive torque. She turns a flywheel that is over 100 pounds, and in turn powers a huge prop through a modern hydraulic drivetrain. The engine idles at less than 400 rpms and makes 1,300 rpms at maximum throttle. She turns only 650 rpms to cruise 4 mph. Modern diesels will be decades in the junkyard when the Gardner is still powering boats on the canal.

Les has installed 8 solar panels, a 3kw inverter and has a massive bank of batteries with a capacity of over 1200 watts. Now back to the rest of you readers.

Les has Parkinson Disease. It is profound and he carries aboard a power chair as a mobility assist. Sue told me that when he announced his intention to take on the Namaste project and Gardner power plant restoration, she discouraged him because of his condition. He scoffed and said that he wasn’t done with life yet… and indeed the proof of those words is to be beheld in his craftsmanship and energy.

In this wonderful encounter I am again reminded that the rewards of travel are found in the people that we meet as much as in the sights that we see.

Peace Everyone, and Happy Easter. Pete

PS. This morning we bid farewell to our dear friend and travel companion Kris Ashton. We give thanks to her friendship which was a gift of our 2013 meeting while walking the 520 mile Camino in Spain. We look forward to future adventures with her. Christine and I are also looking forward to welcoming aboard our Canadian friends Tom and Nanci for our final week on England’s canals. That friendship was a gift of our 2018 meeting while walking the route of the Portuguese Camino. Buen Camino to All!

A Priceless Gift

Posted on by Pete Schloss

Today (April 1st) is my birthday, number 67 to be exact. There have been enough of them that memory of the celebrations tends to run together and become a blur upon the canvas of my life. There are a few exceptions… #10, 2 digits and a Scout uniform; #13, a “TEEN!!”; #16 my Driver’s License!; #18 the illusion of adulthood; #21 (of course)… and from then they tended to be more burdened by a different reality. #25, a quarter century; #30 a song says I can no longer be trusted and a movie (Logan’s Run) says I should be executed. At #40 I was solidly middle aged… #55 I get an invite to join AARP. These days I actively seek out senior citizen discounts.

There is one birthday, #5, that is branded into my memory for the most valuable birthday present that I may ever have received.

It was 1957 and we lived just south of Chicago in Calumet City Illinois. To the north and south of us were seemingly endless rows of identical streets upon which identical small “4 square” brick homes were shoved together like so many caramels in a candy box. These homes had been built at the end of World War 2. Small 2-bedroom affairs that were just within the means of young veterans returning from service. The mortgage benefits afforded to veterans under the GI bill was their ticket to becoming homeowners. Young marrieds snapped these places up in their eagerness to begin life and start the families which had been put on hold by the necessities of war. Homes barely big enough for two adults were quickly being populated by my generation… we were aptly named “baby boomers”.

On my street there were young children everywhere. A typical spring morning saw fathers leaving for work while masses of pre-school children struck out from their homes, spreading across the neighborhood like ants at a picnic. Aproned mothers stood at the front doors naively secure in the belief that the community was keeping a protective eye on children. Truth be known, it was not the neighborhood, just vigilant Guardian Angels that protected most of us. It was a grand time! It was also the time that I turned 5 and had my first real birthday party.

As birthday parties went it was pretty standard. Party hats, “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”, cake, candles, ice cream, and the melee of sugar charged children running senselessly wild. The main event, the opening of presents, brought momentary order and focus. Presents were decidedly low-tech, but we didn’t know any better nearly 70 years ago. A Duncan Imperial Yo-Yo was big stuff. Balsa wood gliders, paddle-balls, wind-up cars, Jax, marbles… so much great stuff to choke on, get cut by, or just get an eye put out. Again, Guardian Angels taxed to their limits.

The opening of presents at my party proceeded in due course until the shy boy who lived across the street produced his gift, a plain white envelope. Everything to that point (and after) had been colorfully gift wrapped, some also adorned with bows or ribbons. The envelope’s plainness was strange in comparison and in this it brought a heightened awareness from the gathering. I opened the envelope and handed my mother the card within to read. It was likely a cartoon puppy saying “Hey you’re 5!!!…” or something like that. One of the children called out, “Where’s his present”? Others joined in. I remember seeing the face of the child who brought the card. Sad, embarrassed, crestfallen… I also remember joining the chorus of the other children. My mother intervened and with practiced ease redirected the energy of the group back to random chaos.

Later, referring to the boy I asked my mom why he didn’t bring a present to my party? She told me that the card was his present, and then she added: “That card may be the only thing that his parents can afford. He gave it to you with the same offer of friendship as the other children, but you and the other’s made fun of him. How would that have made you feel Peter?” As her words sunk in a lump grew in my throat, the same one that reflexively returns as I think of that moment.

I was 5 when I received the priceless gift of empathy. That gift has served me well over the 62 years that followed. I do my best to never leave my home without it. The little boy and his mother could not have known the real value of his gift to me. I do not know what that gift ended up costing him over the course of his life. I know that it was painful at that time and I wish I could let him know that his was the most valuable birthday present I have ever received.

Peace Everyone. Pete

The End of Living, The End of Life.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

The end of living and the end of life are not the same. This last week I enjoyed an afternoon with my father-in-law, Bill Nichols at a St. Patrick’s Day “Happy Hour” and music event hosted at his assisted living community. Bill is closing in on his 101st birthday. As one might expect, his abilities are a shadow of those he held as a younger man. For him and his fellow residents, physical beauty and vitality fled them years ago. However, beauty may yet be found within the eyes that reflect the youthfulness of their spirits.

Bill was animated, sang, clapped, enjoyed a glass of wine, shared embraces with the musician and staff, and of course wore a ridiculous Irish themed party hat.

I found his joy to be infectious. Actually, this one afternoon was not really exceptional. Bill’s days are filled with activities such as “Chair exercises”, Bingo, “Balloon Volleyball”, and group sing-a-longs, not to mention the social exchanges that occur with his fellow residents at meals and throughout the day. Bill’s days are a joy that serves as an analgesic to the ills of his advanced years.

Being around Bill has left me to reflect upon the contrast of my visits with my father during the final years of his life. Dad died in 2009, 87 years old. He had suffered the intensifying effects of Multiple Sclerosis for over 30 years yet in his final years his abilities and challenges were not very different than those imposed upon Bill Nichols by virtue of his advanced years. Dad’s last years were in a nursing home community. I could usually find my father alone within his darkened room, shades drawn, television off, a faint antiseptic odor in the air. My father’s view of life in his final years may best be summed up by his own words. I would open visits with him by asking, “How are you Dad?”, and he would invariably respond from his bed, “Just waiting…”. Sadly, there was never any question what he was “just waiting” for.

As Christine and I entered our 60’s we have been continuously bombarded with ads, solicitations, and messages encouraging us to prepare for the end of life. Have we secured our final resting places? Living Trusts? Explore the benefits of Insurance Annuities! Beneficiary Designations in place? What about Charitable Giving? There is little about continuing to live and much about the end of life.

My father’s life ended in his 87th year, but I believe that 30 years earlier he retired from living at the same time that he retired from work. Dad had been a college coach, Director of Athletics, and a teacher. He was highly regarded in those roles; they were his passions. When he retired a cavernous vacuum formed in his life. Dad never sought other interests that might have carry the joy of living into the years beyond his working life.
Another contrast: My mother will be 94 this year. She is as busy today as she was 40 years ago. She has her Bridge Club, Woman’s Club, Church activities and myriad other social and community engagements. I see in her eyes the same joie de vivre that I see in Bill Nichols.

There is a lesson in these observations: We have more influence and control over delaying the end of living than we have on the end of life. When age or infirmity deny us the pursuit of one passion, find another to replace it… Always have a next thing and Pursue Good Stuff!!!
Peace everyone. Pete

PS. Dad, my calendar just reminded me that tomorrow is your birthday and you would have turned 97. Although you have been gone 10 years it seems that I am still learning from you.