Category: Soapbox

April 29, 2019. The “Little Things”

Posted on by Pete Schloss

How many “Big Things” can one really expect to see and experience in the course of travel? Big Things are the major sites and attractions that are featured in tourist brochures, Trip Advisor, Wikipedia… They are the things that friends and family ask about upon our return home. 2 or 3 in a day? 7 or 8 in a week? Certainly not more.

The remainder of time on the road must then be occupied by something, and it occurs to me that they must then be the “Little Things”.

Little Things give context to be big ones. They provide texture and depth… they are the Kodachrome of daily reality that give the color of life to the otherwise black & white starkness of Big Things. They are also the overlooked joys that mindfulness reveals.

A warm shower is something taken for granted at home, but aboard a narrowboat where water conservation is required that shower becomes a celebration that sparks a 10 minute conversation.

A sunrise, a formation of clouds, a sunset. These are the ever changing “art” that hangs upon the endless horizon of our experience.

In the weeks of extended travel we compress a closet full of clothing into a small backpack. A change of socks or a fresh t-shirt bring an appreciative sigh to one’s spirit, not to mention the olfactory senses of self and others!

There are countless things that are taken for granted at home but become little moments of happiness on a journey. They are inadequate if measured against their home equivalents but become huge in the context of travel. Gratitude springs from the Little Things as awareness brings appreciation.

Relationships also come into sharper focus. At home we suffer the distraction and background “noise” of daily life, media, bills, house and myriad other duties. Appreciation for those we love often suffers accordingly. However, in the compressed spaces that we inhabit on the road attention is forced into a refreshed appreciation for the qualities of our life partner and for the absent loved ones who we miss.

The friendships that we share with our travel companions are not an occasional evening out, but are minute by minute experiences.

In 2001 a chance encounter at a restaurant in southern France brought our daughter Alexis into acquaintance with Huw and Nina Thomas of Wales. From that 20 minute conversation sprang a friendship that continues to this day. They have are like family to us.

In 2013 while Christine and I walked the Camino de Santiago in Spain we were passed afoot by another “pilgrim”. Peeking out from a recess on her backpack was a small stuffed bunny. That sight brought a smile to my face and sparked my greeting to the pilgrim. She was from Denver Colorado and the “bunny’s” name was Marshmallow. Conversation ensued, she offered to take a picture of Christine and I together, and what sprang from that insignificant moment was our enduring friendship with Kris Ashton.

In 2018 while we walked the Portuguese Camino a gentleman commented upon the hat that I was wearing. It was a “Tilly Hat”, made by a small firm in Canada and well regarded for sailing and travel. He commented, “Nice hat!”. I turned to see that he too was wearing a “Tilly”. Pleasant banter ensued which quickly included our spouses. They were from Ottawa Canada and the friendship that sprang from those hats brought Tom and Nanci to share this week with us aboard Salten-Fjord. How different life became because of a stuffed bunny and a couple of wide-brimmed hats.

Our “stories” abound with moments that seemed small and meaningless, but in the rear view mirror of time they loom large as the major crossroads in our life journey. One such moment brought Christine and I together. That “Little Thing” became the biggest thing in my life.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. Sometimes the “little things” come as sample sized glasses of really excellent British cask ales!

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 23, 2019. Nantwich and St. Mary’s.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

We arrived in Nantwich today on the Shropshire Union Canal. The plan is to remain in this port until Thursday, and then return to Middlewich Friday where we will be joined by our Canadian friends, Tom and Nanci. The weather is predicted to take an unfortunate turn for the week that they will spend with us, colder temps and rain. It is what it is. A bad day on the canal is still glorious.

The “wich” in Nantwich and Middlewich harken from the time of the Roman occupation and signifies a place of salt production. Salt had been produced here over the millennia not only as a condiment, but for the tanning of leather, as a food preservative, and for the production of world renowned Cheshire cheeses. At one time there were over 400 salt houses (16th Century), the last one closing in the mid-1800’s.

Nantwich is a larger community with a population of over 17,000. It is believed to have once been the location of a sacred pre-Roman forest grove worshiped by the Celts. It was listed as an urban area in the Domesday Book at the time of the Norman Conquest (AD 1066), though the Normans burned and sacked the town leaving only one building standing.

Disaster again visited Nantwich’s resurrected community in 1583. A massive conflagration again leveled the town, sparing only a few buildings. Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) personally contributed to the restoration of the community. From the ashes of that disaster arose a beautiful market center that, second only to Chester, boasts the highest concentrations of historically listed buildings in England. The town center is littered with buildings dating to the late 1500’s.

As we wandered the serpentine streets we beheld a beautiful church and green space. The green displayed a stone announcing that it was a sacred burial ground that had been “closed to new burials” for the last 200 years. Anglican St. Mary’s Church is the oldest listed building in Nantwich, and is stunning!

Construction began in 1286, was suspended from 1349 to 1369 by the Black Death, and then completed in 1390. The church twice served as a prison, once in 1644 following the Battle of Nantwich and again in 1648 during the 1st Jacobite uprising.

The church features scores of remarkable gargoyles, and a beautiful red sandstone exterior.

The interior is breathtaking, with colorful stained glass windows, and a choir comprised of 20 “misericords” which are 600 year old intricately carved wood choirstalls.

The St. Nicholas’ side-chapel features funerary effigies of a church founder, Sir David Cradock (d. 1390), and Sir Thomas Smith and his wife Dame Anne (dedicated 1614).

Another intriguing feature are the score of hand needlepoint kneeling cushions, they are in daily use and courtesy of the local guild.

This is a fitting place for a linger day on the canal. We look forward to visiting the many shops, taking a coffee and later a pint, and perhaps returning to the church for moment of contemplation and gratitude.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. Lest I have given conflicted messages regarding the current state of my spirituality, I offer the following: I believe in the philosophy and teachings of Jesus Christ, but not to the exclusion or rejection of all other faith traditions. I have long had difficulty with the “rules of religion”, but at two important times in my life I encountered priests who admonished me not to concern myself with the rules, but to listen to my conscience. The first of those meetings occurred when I was 20, the second when I was 60. Each priest was German and each “meeting” occurred in Europe during a rare visit by me to a Confessional. Each priest asked if I considered myself a “good person”, and then expressed confirmation that they believed that I was. As an act of penance, the second priest commissioned me to always listen to my conscious and be so guided the remainder of my life.

My difficulties with the state of many religions today are manifold: Many (not all) create god in man’s image and likeness. Many (not all) mispronounce “dogma” as “faith”. Many (not all) mispronounce “exclusion” as “inclusion”. And many (not all) adherents profess to follow the teachings of Christ but never stop to ask, “What would he have done”…

Again, 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.

January 30, 2019. New Orleans, Day 1

Posted on by Pete Schloss

Most days of our lives present a relatively narrow range of experiences. The most memorable may be those that expand that spectrum and allow us to appreciate a fuller range of the human condition. Today was such a day.

Morning sprang with the chill of near freezing temperatures in a lush Louisiana State Park. In less than 3 hours we were entering the environs of “The Big Easy”… New Orleans. As we approached our destination we beheld hundreds of tents pitched beneath the overpasses of I-10. These were not recreational campers, but those whose circumstances have reduced them to the struggle of seeking food, warmth, and the next day of life. We passed them and turned right into our “campground”, The French Quarter RV Resort.

The “Resort” is located in gated environs, protected by an 8 foot concrete wall that is topped by inconspicuous razor-wire. It looks like a Soviet era gulag from the outside, but within it is an elegant $100 dollar per night RV park that is only 2 blocks from the French Quarter and 4 blocks from Bourbon Street. Passing through the gate I felt like Dorothy did as she awoke to the technicolor experience of OZ.

The Resort provides a swimming pool, hot tub, rec-hall, fitness room, plus the usual amenities of bathrooms, showers, and laundry. Full hookups are a given. Most of the “campers” are in large “sun blocker” motor coaches that cost more than the average home. We count ourselves among the few micro-campers. We are not envious… au contraire, we pity them the burden of their mass.

After making “camp”, we walked 10 minutes to Alice’s Wonderland, here known as Bourbon Street.

Sex and Alcohol are the prominent neon lit themes that adorn the antebellum buildings and illuminate the street. The effect is intoxicating, even for the sober pedestrian.

Liberally mixed among the tourists are those whose hands are reaching out for spare change. There is sadness to be found in some, and larceny in the intentions of others… not easy for the uninitiated to discern.

We were approached by a friendly 50ish woman who represented that she was seeking donations for “Meals for Wheels”. Christine donated and we then received the gifts of a Hare Krishna Cookbook and Bhagavad-Gita. It was not the “Meals on Wheels” that we assumed she represented. Were her intentions honorable? We will never really know… I choose to presume the best of intentions until proven otherwise. I believe that she holds as firmly to the dedication of Diety as any Christian, Jew, or Muslim. Had I the presence of mind I would have liked to have engaged her in a serious discussion.

A few days ago we walked the beaches of the Texas Gulf Coast. I happened to look down upon an ocean clam and suddenly wondered at the chasm of intellect that separated it from me. How could it ever fathom my intentions as a superior being. If the Universe is the creation of an omniscient and omnipotent Being, how much greater is the separation of it’s intellect from mine. Is it not presumptive for humans to claim to know the mind of that Being, and yet as a species we have been driven to do so for nearly a hundred thousand of years (human and Neanderthal ritual burial has been documented for that long). It seems to me that The Bible, Koran, Book of Mormon, and the Bhagavad-Gita, among others, are human expressions of an inadequate effort to understand the Infinite.

Back to Earth… We enjoyed some music and the 2 for 1 beer specials that abound up and down Bourbon Street.

The spectacle allows one to turn a blind eye to the well worn establishments, street hawkers, and less than sanitary bathrooms.

Hunger drove us to first find Chicory coffee and Beignets at Cafe du Monde, a New Orleans tradition since the mid-19th Century.

We then adjourned to the very upscale Restaurant GW Fins. Less than a block from the helter-skelter of Bourbon Street we found the calm opulence of white linen table cloths, a well ordered bar, and a dignified professional staff.

This was another expansion of the spectrum of the day’s experiences. Christine, a “slightly dirty” Martini, me a Rye Manhattan (served up, but in a rocks glass). We then settled into a review of the last 41 years.

Dinner followed. Christine, a succulent Filet Mignon, and me a flaky, melt-in-your-mouth Halibut-Scallop combination. As spectacular as the meal was it was overshadowed by the attentive staff. We were graced with the exceptional services of Rod, Benjamin, and Moose.

It is common for a patron to ask directions to the restroom, but entirely uncommon for the waiter (Benjamin) to then take the arm of the lady (Christine) and accompany her to that destination much as one would be ushered in a wedding. Totally endearing!

We count today memorable and leave tomorrow for consideration on another day.

Peace Everyone. Pete