Waiting for my tugboat man to come home. Sooooooooooo boooooring.
This is called living in limbo: waiting for the assignment to be over with the date circled on the calendar and then crossed out because homecoming is delayed due to unavoidable circumstances.
Sometimes this totally sucks!
I’ve almost run out of little projects and you can imagine what that means!
But you know what they say; when the cat’s away, the mice will…SHOP!
There are certainly other more productive ways I could spend my time, but who’s kidding who(m)? Retail therapy is very therapeutic.
I drove to the DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse) in La Jolla near UCSD because I usually always get lucky and find my size in the sale racks. Not today. Nada. I saw some cute styles in wedges and espadrilles, but they were all out of 5 1/2 s. Crap. I should have driven to the other one in Mission Valley — they have a larger selection, but there’s so much traffic. Next time…
Ross Dress for Less is situated right below DSW so I thought I’d give it a try ‘cos I had driven all the way there. Ross is sometimes very bargain basement but there are gems to be had if you frequent it on a regular basis.
Yay! Success!
I’m trying to improve my fashion photog skills. Love the close up!
I wanted a couple different styles, but these’ll look super cute with dresses AND skinny jeans, no?Charles David regularly priced $90.00 on sale for $19.99 ??? WTF? Damn, these babies came home with me for sure.
Don’t they look all sassy and beeyotchy? I thought so, too. I feel like I could wear them and start snapping my fingers to get shit done. Oh yeah. SNAP. Get me a drink. SNAP. Get me another one…
Wandering up and down the aisles aimlessly attempting to waste a few of the captain’s hard earned dollars, I found an Indian/Moroccan-inspired pouf. I had to have it, of course. As I was struggling to put it in the trunk, a lady stopped her car (a brand new Jaguar) to tell me how much she loved my Chanel Grand Shopper Tote, which totes made my day shiny and happy.
I still need another pair (or two) of shoes so it’s on to the OC and South Coast Plaza later this week. I mean, I saved so much at Ross, I deserve to be rewarded, right? Right!
And my tugboat man? Ah well, still missing him, but making the best of it.
I confess the answer is that most of the time I cannot. (Hee hee)
This time I was tempted by an enchanting dress sprinkled with meadow flowers.
White House Black Market’s vintage-inspired line of summer dresses has been so popular that some designs have sold out.
The shape is a figure flattering updated and slimmed down version of a “fit and flare” silhouette, reminiscent of the 1940s and 1950s.
Sweet AND sexy is what I call this romantic little sundress in cotton sateen with a sweetheart neckline, hourglass waist, and hidden pockets! Originally priced $160.00, I was lucky to find it on sale at $79.99. The shrug was about $60.00.
I fell in love with the flowers.
I love the idea of a completer piece and paired it with a silky chiffon shrug.
Shoes of all kinds, maybe I need a new pair of espadrilles?
To match the lining, perhaps?
The right accessories bring out the lilac…
1. Bracelet of violet flowers with seed pearls we discovered in a little antique shop in Bristol, Rhode Island. We had ridden bikes from Providence to Bristol on a fun vacation a couple years ago.
2. Amethyst ring
3. Amethyst and pearl earrings
4. Amethyst Alex and Ani bracelet from DIL for my birthday. One of my favorite stones and the brand is oh so chic and trendy!
And to top it all off, a hat is simply perfection, don’t you agree?
This was a simple straw hat I embellished with fabric flowers and faux pearls.
One more dress hangs in the closet – unworn, tags still attached…
Now all I need is my tugboat man and a destination!
It’s perfect for a summer evening stroll in Laguna Beach or Dana Point,
or maybe just here at home on the deck with a fruity cocktail.
EXCOGITATE: To think out; devise; invent.
To study intently and carefully in order to grasp or comprehend fully.
TO THIINK IN OR THINK OUT…WHAT IS YOUR METHOD?
According to wiseGEEK, to think outside the box means means to “handle a situation or challenge in an unconventional manner. The origin of the phrase is believed to date back to the 1960s, and is often associated with a famous mental puzzle called The Nine Dots.”
I’ve had a lot of jobs over the years and I’ve found that no one really wanted me to think outside the box — independently, creatively, with imagination or compassion. I felt the overwhelming corporate mantra was to agree with everything and keep quiet.
So much for my employment history…and on to another one of my obsessions–
I love boxes; cardboard boxes (hubs throws out the cardboard boxes I stash in the garage), wooden boxes, large and small boxes. Over the years, I’ve accumulated a massive collection. (I’m not a hoarder, I’m not a hoarder, I’m NOT a hoarder. Stop thinking that!)
But a box full of Bandit was my favorite.
Our poor baby died of chronic renal failure in 2010. Wasn’t she soo beautiful? Sniff.
She’s speaking to me with her eyes, ” I don’t feel very good, Mommy.”
We haven’t been able to have another petchild because we still miss her way too much but I do have a collection of boxes to add to my love for seashells, rocks, beach glass, blue glass, and elephant-y things.
This is a text box.
Do you have a favorite box? What do you collect?
Fox Box.
My tugboat man always brings back a trinket or two from his travels.
Vintage Russian lacquer box. My mom got this for me when I was in high school.
I’ve always loved to collect boxes!
Blue lacquer metal box with white flowers
Unicorn box from India.
Since I can’t collect unicorns…
Shell box from Crystal Cove Gift Shop.
Sparkly boxes from Pier One.
Korean lacquer and mother-of-pearl box…from one of hub’s trips. It’s so beautiful. My pic doesn’t do it justice.
This is the inside. It’s an exquisite work of art.
Box for loved ones.
It contains two heart necklaces to be worn whenever apart so we always carry our hearts with us.
My tugboat man carries his necklace in his ukelele case.
Mirror box.
Multi-colored enamel box.
Little pill box my mom got on a trip to Italy or Venice.
Painted wooden box from Ensenada, Mexico
Limoges violet round box.
Pretty little flower box.
Rosebud box. Just because…
I think this box is carved from rose quartz.
It was a gift from son/DIL.
My fave colors and a cool shape.
Shelf of boxes.
Even a naked lady box!
From an art gallery in La Jolla in the 1970s.
And no, it’s not me — but EVERYONE asks that question.
I hope you enjoyed my boxes. This is only about half of my collection but I didn’t want to BORE you any further, so I’ll save the rest of them to share another day.
Next time: my collection of perfume bottles. Yup, I have a bunch of those, too.
**Read all the way to the end for the confession part.
Day Eight of my tugboat man’s departure and the retail therapy withdrawals kicked in this morning in a major way.
It was that old familiar itch. I knew I’d have to satisfy my habit — after the gym, I headed over to The Forum in La Costa. There’s no better way to satisfy a craving than with Anthropologie‘s overpriced and overhyped goods.
I might be a shopaholic, but I’m a pragmatic one…
In keeping with the nautical theme started with my Hermès ”La Rose des Vents” scarf, I discovered this amazing summer dress. I HAD TO HAVE IT. Had to. Not even up for discussion.
This little darlin’ was comin’ home with me. I’ll wear it for my captain’s next welcome home, whenever that is, that is.
This Windward Halter Dress is playfully adorned with schooners, anchors, and ships’ wheels in a lovely vintage-feeling pique fabric.
It manages to convey sweet and sexy at the same time. I was especially drawn to the assymetically pleated bodice; a nice bit of design and technique.
Originally priced $148.00 — it was on sale for $99.00. I was warned that it runs large, so I tried on a size two and a size zero. Everyone agreed that the size two fit a little better all around, so I grabbed it.**
I’ll pair it with either a white blazer or a red silk and cashmere sweater from Barney’s, depending upon the weather and the occasion. I think this ensemble needs simple accessories: a strand of pearls and pearl stud earrings.
The dress is the star of this show, don’t you agree?
I have espadrilles, but I’ll probably choose these Chinese Laundry straw shoes with a little sparkle instead of the nude heels.
Totes adorbs, right?
**CONFESSION: On a personal note, I bet I can guess what you’re thinking…I already know I have body image issues — I fully admit to it and embrace it. It’s just who I am, probably because of all the years of ballet. I refuse to buy any clothes larger than size two. The only way I’ll really be happy is in a DOUBLE ZERO like Victoria Beckham. I don’t want any therapy; I don’t want to change — it’s one of my little quirks and eccentricities. I’ve learned to love myself for it and deal with it. Don’t tell me how skinny I look; I won’t believe you anyway. And yes, I do eat–I’m not anorexic or anything (or I’d be a lot thinner!)
Are you blushing? I surely am. And giggling like I’m in junior high, too.
I meant WATERMELON SEEDS, of course. Geez. Head out of the gutter, people, pull-eeze!
It’s almost Memorial Day and everyone’s gonna be barbecuing and eating watermelon, and I was just wondering…do you spit or swallow?
What did you think I was referring to?
Now that I have your attention — er — way back in 1892, where would you go to discuss intimate topics?
Hmmm?
Have you ever thought about that?
You certainly wouldn’t have found the answers in The Cottage Physician, the old medical book that’s endlessly fascinating to me.
(Every so often, I’ll blow the dust off and share interesting tidbits here on Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do.)
As I was thumbing through the yellowed and worn pages, I discovered a chapter about marital relations.
If you can wade through the gobbledygook and read between the lines, let me know if you are as confused as I was.
Excerpt fom The Cottage Physician:
Man and Wife
A Plain Exposition of Their Duties, Moral, Mental, and Physical…
We now meet, as it were, two pure beings at the altar, who have profited by the advice and example of judicious parents or guardians, of sound morals and social views; but notwithstanding that the crowning happiness of the two lovers has been achieved in their becoming man and wife, there is yet much to be considered and accomplished on the part of both before their feet are established upon a rock.
In the first moments of his matrimonial existence, then, the newly fledged husband must not suppose for a single instant the ears or the eyes of his wife are less chaste and pure than they were before she had become his in the sight of God and man.
Here is a point of vital importance, and one upon which such grave issues hang, that we place it in the very first rank our present observations.
Save in one instance alone, the conduct and consideration evinced towards the maiden must be mainly observed towards the wife; for through this manifestation of respect and delicacy, the freshness and novelty of courtship may be continued for an indefinite period.
Let the wife be preserved by the husband a beautiful mystery in part—let the natural veil of modesty which shrouds every pure woman be never ruthlessly torn apart, or her sense of propriety be blunted by coarse or indelicate remarks, and the charm of her being will never pall upon the sense, but, on the contrary be, as Shelley has it “A joy forever”.
Uh, OK. Right. Clear as a bell.
Eye roll.
Obviously — spit.
Click on Tina Fey’s pic for the gif animation if it doesn’t activate automatically. I’m tech-challenged.
I want my husband to have a healthy midlife and beyond. I believe that’s one of the building blocks to lifelong happiness and I certainly don’t want to think of a life without him.
On our radar now…
Paying more attention to news reports like this…A fifty-something man died while paddleboardering at one of my husband’s favorite surf spots. They think he possibly had a pre-existing heart condition.
A friend of mine complained to me about her husband’s purchase of that stereotypical flashy sports car and his attempt to squeeze his midlife manbelliy into skinny jeans.
Another friend laments the death of a sex life with her newly grumpy fifty-something husband.
How can I help him?
I’ve been throwing myself into a tizzy worrying about how my husband’s admission into the land of midlife is going to affect him AND me. Always the Preparation Princess, I’m attempting to anticipate any issues so I can deflect and deflate them before his issues become my problem.
The very first inkling that some shift had occurred was during this daylong conversation thread that started first thing in the morning.
“Hey Rosebud, come here. “(Pointing to his pillow) “Do you see the hair on my pillow? See it? That’s my hair.”
And a bit later in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, “Do you see my hairline? Doesn’t it look different to you? Is it actually receding? Find a picture of me from five years ago and let’s compare.”
Five hours later, “ Feel my hair. It used to be really thick, right? And now it feels thinner. Feel it again.”
Watching television in the evening, “Get on the internet and find out what’s going on.”
“Am I sick?”
“Why is my hair falling out?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
You know how you see someone every single day and you don’t really notice minute little changes in their appearance? Well, that’s the way it was with me.
When I looked at my husband closely, I had to agree that he was right. His forehead was bigger. A LOT bigger. Wow.
Age has begun to ply its sneaky tricks on my handsome tugboat man.
He didn’t want to start using Rogaine, but I found a thickening shampoo he likes and he’s begun to grow his hair out a bit longer in front to conceal his expanding forehead.
Not a comb-over – not yet anyway. (Hee hee.)
Does he need glasses OR maybe that little blue pill? He’s been paying a lot more attention to those erectile dysfunction advertisements (not that it’s an issue — yet) and it seems that he’s having a harder time reading the newspaper or a telephone book (who reads telephone books anymore anyway?) but he claims it’s just ‘cos the light’s not bright enough — Riiiggghhtt. Sure, that’s the problem. You need a brighter light. AND READING GLASSES!
Denial, denial, denial. It ain’t just a river in Egypt.
Anxiety about our financial future Another change that’s popped up in our conversations is his interest in retirement planning with IRA and 401K talk. We’ve invested and strategized and hopefully created a blueprint over the years for a stable retirement, but the fifty-year threshold definitely heralded a more imminent need to save for the future when that future is closer than it used to be.
Staying healthy Knowing that other changes might be lurking on the horizon, I’ve commenced implementing lifestyle changes like a drill sergeant.
We’re already vegetarians – I’ve been one since high school and he came on board since before we were married.
But now I’m uber diligent with the amounts of food he’s allowed to eat.
The most difficult challenge I’ve had so far is convincing him that he can’t eat the same way he did in his twenties.
For instance, I dole out twenty raw almonds instead of allowing him to eat the whole bag, one cookie instead of a dozen, and try to transform baked goods to include mostly only healthy recipes –like Lentil Cookies, Black Bean Brownies(click HERE for the recipes), and my piece de resistance…Wheatgrass Flaxseed Smoothies.
I purchased a digital blood pressure machine to record our BP every now and then. High blood pressure is a silent killer; it can sneak up on you, and it makes sense to be aware of your baseline numbers.
Support his hobby My tugboat man has no desire for a flashy sports car – his midlife cravings tend to be focused on surfing. He has three longboards, two shortboards, and a standup paddleboard. It seems as if he buys a new board about as often as I get a designer handbag.
With his SUP, no wave is too small, so I don’t have to hear him whine about the lack of good surf when he comes home from being out to sea.
Infidelity I don’t envision my husband’s midlife crisis to include a wandering eye — at least I hope it doesn’t happen.
Many people have referred to us as two peas in a pod – except for surfing, we have the same interests and stay active working out together, hiking, camping, skiing, bicycling.
As a merchant mariner tugboat captain, he’s often away from home on assignment for up to two months — sometimes longer. When he’s here, we’re mostly inseparable. It’s not an ideal lifestyle, but we made the decision together when he was offered the opportunity to go back out to sea instead of working in our local harbor as he had done for most of our twenty-plus years.
Open communication is our key to success I believe we’ll get through his male menopause the same way we deal with everything – our marriage motto is “full disclosure”.
We share everything and we have complete trust in each other. We’re a team, we’re in this together, in good times and bad — including his midlife crisis.
Do you have a marriage motto? What works for you? Do you work as a team?
I penned a haiku to celebrate my day of cleaning in preparation for Tugboat Man and Angel Boy later this week:
White shirts softly worn
Lemony-scented polish
Teak oak walnut shine
This is what I was doing on Sunday. ALL day.
I took every single item off every single shelf and cleaned each and every one of them.
That included all the pictures on the piano.
In case you’re wondering, not everything was acquired by me–a lot of what I have was given to me by my mom and by my tugboat man from his travels around the world.
And then I put everything back.
It was all very Zen and quiet and lovely.
Finally, I polished the furniture and vacuumed.
I like to work from the top down. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
I’ll save the rug shampooing ’til the end of summer when it’s really hot.
Not a major failure in the grand scheme of things, but a fail nonetheless.
It’s okay to laugh — I laughed at myself.
It’s one of my better qualities; self-deprecation, not taking myself too seriously.
But seriously, WTF was I thinking?
Check out my Goldfinger — 24K pond — I got a little carried away with being all crafty and thought a simple restoration was in order — you know, Mother’s Day is coming up and my Angel Boy is gonna be here, and I’m singing the song of a happy mommy.
This morning I received an email to let me know that my tugboat man is a comin’ home too!
Yay!
My Angel Boy AND my Tugboat Man! Woooohoooo!
I’ve been re-inspired to complete a bunch of projects and clean the house (yes, again) so I’ll have free time to play with my two best boys.
So…ya wanna see the debacle? Here ya go — you might need to put your shades on, it’s kinda bright…in the sun….the blinding glare of a haphazardly spray painted nature pond.
I had to turn off the pump for the waterfall; too much overspray from the gold paint. Yes, you’re seeing correctly–for some reason, I painted the trunk of that tree.
I’m very proud of this pond — except for the gold. I dug it out, mixed and poured the concrete with no help from anyone, and that includes placing each and every rock and boulder.
This is an epic fail. My task this afternoon is to empty the water and try a wire brush to remove as much of the paint as I can.
If THAT fails, I’ll have to send out a mayday call for a captain to assist.
I love candles. I have candles covering virtually every surface in every room of our home.
I don’t light candles while my tugboat man is gone.
Not anymore.
There’s a very good reason for this.
I almost burned our house down and my husband’s firefighting training was the only impediment to potential disaster.
One very tranquil evening last spring after dinner, I lit every candle in the bathroom adjoining our bedroom and proceeded to take a leisurely shower. There were candles on the countertop, candles on the bamboo shelf above the toilet, and candles on another floor shelf unit.
Normally I extinguish them when I’m finished, but this time I didn’t because the room looked and smelled so lovely.
Wearing a black silk kimono and feeling quite frisky (if you know what I mean) I went out to the family room and snuggled up on the sofa to watch the Daily Show with a glass of merlot and hubs.
After a bit, he took the remote and muted the sound.
He cocked his head like he was listening for something (he looked very puppy-like and cute LOL) and said,
“Do you hear that?”
Me: “Hear what?”
Him: “I think I hear something in the bedroom, or wait, did you leave the water on?”
Me: “No, I didn’t. What do you hear?”
Him: “You’re not making popcorn, are you? Do you smell anything?”
Me: “Nooo….no popcorn, I can’t really smell –wait, I do kinda hear something, I wonder what… ”
Suddenly, he takes off running toward the bathroom and I stand up but I swear, I’m totally paralyzed, I can’t move a muscle to follow him or anything. (I’m not a real take charge kind of girl in any emergency. I’m the one whose limbs turn to stone. I don’t react. Don’t count on me.)
So…the next thing I hear is a lot of “Oh sh***t” and “F**k F***K F***K F***K!!” and things crashing, and for a split second I think someone broke in and they’re fighting.
It was soooo crazy.
I’m still standing two rooms away and my feet are like in cement; I mean I know I should DO something, but I just can’t. I can’t even move to the phone to call 911 or anything.
Then I heard the sound of the shower being turned on and sizzling sounds. I was finally able to triumph over my fears and pry my feet loose, and tiptoed toward the bathroom.
OH -EM-GEE.
What I saw was a disaster. The bathroom was filled with smoke; smoke was beginning to fill the house (later we figured out that the smoke alarm’s battery had died.)
My personal fireman hero was soaking wet — apparently the noise I heard were his huge biceps ripping the engulfed in flames bamboo shelf off the wall and tossed in the shower. What a hero! He had the presence of mind, not to mention the strength, to prevent a major tragedy.
As you might imagine, fires on boats are a potential catastrophe, and professional mariners constantly train and drill in the event of a fire in the engine room or anywhere else on board. I know that my mariner takes it very seriously, and I am SO glad.
Watching him in action was very reassuring (and VERY sexy).
Here’s what happened…
One of the candles was on the bottom shelf of the bamboo unit above the toilet and next to the shower. The heat from the flame ignited the shelf right above it, which also had a candle going, and that in turn ignited the shelf above that and finally the whole thing was ablaze with foot-high flames, searing the ceiling, coating it in a horrible black smoky sooty mess. The ceiling stayed too hot to touch for hours, and it was just plain luck that the attic didn’t explode in flames; it was that hot.
The burning bamboo set off little flaming arrows of fire all over the bathroom, burning the floor, the rug, and everything it touched. Cleaning the bathroom was a nightmare. There was congealed candle wax covering every surface, including the shower and the countertop, the sink, the mirror, and even the ceiling. It took forever to scrape it off.
The burnt bamboo shelf
This wasn’t my first brush with a candle-related disaster, however.
We have an entertainment unit in the family room that has beautiful glass shelves.
I lit a candle on the bottom shelf (déjà vu, right?) and left the room (déjà vu again, right?) and we heard a sound like an explosion, ran in, and found shattered glass everywhere. The shelf must have heated up and cracked. Wow. Everything on the shelf crashed and broke, too.
The replacement shelf had to be custom-made, and the expensive lesson learned that time was not to light any candles under glass shelves.
But I guess I didn’t learn the ENTIRE lesson or I surely wouldn’t have walked away from a roomful of candles!
I am ever so grateful that hubs did not bring up the previous incident as I felt bad enough without being reminded of my carelessness.
So…it’s no surprise that I avoid any candle lighting until my personal fireman is here.
Before he leaves to go out to sea, he forces me to perform –fire drills. (Head OUT of the gutter, people!) I think it’s more to make him feel better about leaving and hoping that I have the tools and knowledge to act appropriately in an emergency.
Well, that’s probably not going to happen.
The fire extinguisher is in the garage, and I know he’s shown me a zillion times how to make it work, but I don’t remember a single thing he says. Considering that my response time isn’t so good, the darn thing is heavy and unwieldy and it’ll be next to impossible to react at all when my feet are pinned to the floor, unable to move – I guess I’ll have to be content with a picture of a candle until he comes home.
Birds are singing, the sun is out, the sky is blue, and there’s a gentle breeze. It seems like the perfect time for a couple of Sunday morning songs and a few snapshots of our backyard and a street view.
This is called living in limbo: waiting for the assignment to be over with the date circled on the calendar and then crossed out because homecoming is delayed due to unavoidable circumstances.
As I was struggling to put it in the trunk, a lady stopped her car (a brand new Jaguar) to tell me how much she loved my Chanel Grand Shopper Tote, which totes made my day shiny and happy.
