Moving Woes, Senior Citizenship, and Sailing

The grandbrats have moved closer to us this summer. We have been delighted to have them close but not too close, and are finding that we are in demand more than we ever imagined. While the parents of the grandbrats were busily planning logistics of the move, how everything would fit into the cargo trailers, and how to get rooms painted before the furniture arrived, the grandbrats were discovering new ways to take their parents to their wits’ end. Dauntless, the third grandbrat, stood in the huge hallway of his new home as his mattress was being hauled in, his arms folded across his chest and announced, “I do not like this white house.” I wondered how he had become so politically minded at the grand old age of two and told him a lot of people didn’t like the White House, but in another four years we could vote for another candidate that we won’t like either. Undaunted, this little darling started a full campaign to express his displeasure. Boxes that had been unpacked were mysteriously repacked. Rooms that had been painted needed painting again.  Footprints of paint showed up on the hardwood floors. Book shelves were toppled, window screens pushed out, and toys shoved into the chimney flue. We were called in as reinforcements when he was found perched on the living room mantle like a Christmas Elf on a Shelf.

I wasn’t sure we were up to the Dauntless challenge either. Faux Pa was fast approaching Senior Citizenship. Overnight he started wearing his pants pulled up to his armpits and talking about his colon.  I shouldn’t have been worried, though. Dauntless wears his pants pulled up to his armpits and tells the world when he needs to poop.

I have noticed that traveling into Seniordom is a lot like being a Teamster with a pension fund. You know the pension fund is out there just like you know there is a possibility you might live beyond the age of 50, but you don’t pay a lot of attention to it and you don’t put a lot of faith in it, then wham! The next thing you know, you’re a Senior Citizen and all you talk about is your retirement fund.  Being a senior may have its perks, though. AARP has been targeting us since he turned 45. Now that he is officially a Senior Citizen, mail from them has slowed to a trickle.

Unknowingly, we’ve been preparing for Senior Citizenship by being on a boat. We talk to each other in whispers and then shout “What?” We run into things. Docks. The shore. Channel markers. If we were in a car, the children would be discussing taking our driver’s licenses. We fall down—a lot. Sometimes overboard. While vacationing 300 miles from home there was a news report of an old man falling off a sailboat who had to be rescued and three people called to ask if Averett was OK. We miss turns, we get lost. The sailing world has a saying, “You haven’t been around unless you run aground.” Yep, we’ve done that, too. We see our kids shaking their heads and whispering in the corner while trying not to make eye contact with us. It suspiciously feels like they’re plotting to put us somewhere. We push forward in our study of winches, or maybe wenches. What’s the difference? We tack. We practice raising the jib sail and the spinnaker.  We talk to each other while our backs are turned and shout, “What?” again. We tie knots. We untie knots. We talk about wind knots. We sit on the deck and drink cold drinks and watch the sun sink into the horizon. Then we climb down the ladder, cut the grass around the boat, and walk down to the house. The neighbors call our kids, again.