Life's Cherished Gifts

"Yesterday's the past, tomorrow's the future but today is a gift. That's why its called the present." ~Bill Keane, American cartoonist, 1922-2011

   It's been a busy two weeks here in my world. I've been writing every day with punctuations for a walk to stretch my body. I've cleaned out a ton of old paperwork, said goodbye to Les' three ring binder from the visiting nurses with all of their notes on the last six months of his care, and organized several drawers. I've also dug out file folders of family documents, pictures, and items I used to have pinned to my bulletin board at Cloudhouse. I bought a clear polyvinyl desk protector to lay on the dinette table and I slipped pictures and mementos underneath to help me with my writing.

My new memorabilia collage which lives under a desk protector on the dinette table. Each item represents some aspect of the things I am writing about now in my book rough drafts. 

My favorite oldest daughter Jesse, left with her favorite oldest son Micheal as a baby. The cartoon below is one I found over three decades ago and saved because it encapsulates my Jesse girl as a child in terms of her relationship with her sister. My favorite youngest daughter Sparky on the right as a teenager and far right a few years ago. Her cartoon also encapsulates a little of what she was like as a child too.  

The card top left came with a dozen roses from Les the day my spouse visa was accepted. I've had the Pinups on Writing for over thirty years. The picture of Les was taken in 2011 and is one of my favorites of my Best Beloved. I bought the post card of the Bison and the bird when I was thirty. Many times I've reminded myself to be like the Bison: develop a tough hide and call on persistence while turning my back to the wind. Some days all one can do is stand knee deep in the snow and wait...for spring.

This is one of my favorite poems, The Bus of Questions. It was written by my dear friend and member of The Wednesday Women,  Lisa Conger. 

The other poem which I couldn't get a clean picture of, is one I found years ago somewhere and it is so evocative of my life I have held on to it as a reminder of where I came from and how far I've traveled.

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters--Anon.

I

I walk down the street. 

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. 

I pretend I don't see it. 

I fall in.

I am lost...I am helpless.

It isn't my fault. 

II

I walk down the same street. 

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don't see it. 

I fall in again. 

I can't believe I am in this same place.

But it isn't my fault. 

It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street. 

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there. 

I still fall in...it's a habit...but

My eyes are open.

I know where I am. 

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street. 

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

    A week ago Britain caught the tale end of the hurricane that ravaged the Southeast coast of America. Over here is was named Callum. As it swept in from the west, passing over North Wales and into the borders I hunkered down for three days and nights and wind gusts up to 65 mph. Moored at Hurleston Junction just before the bridge, I had a front row seat watching boats coming off the Llangollen canal and out of Hurleston bottom lock where they have to turn right and cruise through the bridge towards Nantwich and NBV, or turn left and head towards Barbridge, Calveley and Chester. While the canal is wide enough to comfortably turn a boat at the junction, the towpath curves around to the right and the winds sweep down the lock flight, pinning boats to the side. Even on a mildly windy day the winds swoop down the hill across from the moorings before the bridge. More than once I have helped boaters who come slowly through the bridge to pick up a partner who was working the locks, only to find their boat pinned to the side. I am grateful to Ken Deveson for showing me how to pin the boat using spring lines. What a difference this makes in a storm! Yes the boat did rock side to side with the wind generated waves but she stayed secure and didn't slide vertically back and forth. Passing boats had no choice but to give their engine some welly to keep the high winds from shoving them into moored boats, but the spring lines kept NB Val secure and stable. Below are two videos from the wind storm.

   After the winds let up it was time to head back in to Nantwich. I had a leisurely cruise in lush and lovely afternoon sunshine. It took just under an hour to fill the 144 gallon water tank which was pretty low, dump the rubbish, and pick up three packages from the Laundrette. When I arrived at the Nantwich service point there was one boat moored on the 48 hour visitor moorings. I had hopes I might actually be able to moor up at the end of the moorings just up from the service point. By the time I finished filling up there were only two spaces left! Fifteen boats had come from both directions, quickly filling the empty mooring spots but I was lucky to get in where I wanted, just behind NB Bessie Surtees.
   We've passed each other throughout the past nine months, coming and going on the Middlewich arm and the Shroppie. She called to me once that she followed my blog so it was a pleasure to finally have an opportunity to stop and meet Phil and Barb and have a chin wag. They've been boating for years, and have lived aboard NB Bessie Surtees for four years now, cruising. Phil followed the blog from the beginning when Les first started it. Did I take a picture of them and their boat??? By the time I remembered the camera they had been to town and the chandlers and cruised off. Next time!!
   Yesterday my phone rang and Elsie Fletcher's lovely Welsh accent said, "Hi Jaq it's Elsie. We thought we would come for a visit this afternoon." Lovely!! It's always a treat to spend time with Elsie and Eric (NB Bendigedig). I cleaned up, popped a Betty Crocker gluten free Devil's Food Cake in the oven and finished putting together a Venison stew for dinner later. They came bearing flowers and cwtches (special Welsh hugs) and we spent several lovely hours setting the world to rights. Thank you Eric and Elsie for blessing me with your company.

The bijou Aloha Island Grill hut on Monroe Street in Spokane,Washington. There is just enough room inside for five people to stand and order at the counter. I've eaten many a Hawaiian plate lunch at the outside tables or in my car.

   I have been searching for recipes that are gluten free and still tasty. I find I still cannot fix most of the things I used to cook for Les. As everyone knows food is a potent means of stirring memories. I take no joy in cooking food for myself that Les and I enjoyed, without him here to share it, and most of those recipes need tweaking and substitutions to remove gluten, lactose, etc. For some reason I found myself thinking about one of my favorite Spokane take-aways from Aloha Island Grill on Monroe Street. 

Their Hawaiian plate lunches of Teriyaki chicken, macaroni salad, and sticky rice with Katsu sauce is food for the weary soul. This set me on an Internet search for recipes that might be close and I am happy to say I've found several I am going to test out soon.

   The other cuisine that has grabbed me by the gut is Middle Eastern--I finally found a Tzaziki sauce recipe I like and I cannot get enough of Chicken Souvlaki in gluten free pita bread. I am also jonesing for (craving) Dolmathes which are stuffed grape leaves.

   As a kid my parents hung out a couple they met through work. The Schei's had a daughter named Jeri who was close to my age and we hung out quite a bit. Her parents had been world travelers before settling in Anchorage and having children. They had ties to Egypt and Saudi Arabia and Lowell was a fabulous cook. I still remember everyone gathered around their table filling and rolling grape leaves. I wish I would've had the presence of mind to ask for some of his recipes but of course when one young, that isn't what is on one's mind. I've searched off and on for decades for a Dolmathe recipe close to Schei's and I've finally found one that I have adapted. I made a batch last week and they were so good! Now if I could just get Schei's recipe for salad dressing life would be darned near fabulous!

These Dolmathes are stuffed with a mixture of rice, organic lamb mince, finely diced onion, finely diced fresh mint and parsley, ground cumin and dash of Tobasco sauce, fresh lemon zest, olive oil, salt & pepper. Layered in an enamel cast iron pan, six cloves of peeled garlic are tucked down in between the layers which are topped with tomato passata (tomato sauce), olive oil and water, then cooked for 40 minutes after which the juice from a fresh lemon is squeezed over the top. These little rolls of love are addictive!

   My cold nose woke me this morning at 4:40 am. The coals had gone out in the stove and the boat was COLD.  I had planned to back up to the service point yesterday to top up the water tank but I woke to such thick fog and it didn't dissipate until noon, so I decided today was the day. At 8:00 am I started the engine, pulled the fenders up, folded down the TV antenna, slipped the tiller in place, untied the mooring lines and pushed NB Valerie out stern first, backing her up beyond the boat moored right behind me, past the permanent moored boats and over on to the service point landing. I topped up the tank, cleaned out the loo and the bathroom, dumped the rubbish, picked up the mail, and cruised slowly in the sunny chill of the morning wearing Les' green down Jacket for warmth.

Yellow roses from Elsie and Eric Fletcher, pink flowers and the birthday card from Ken and Sue Deveson, and pictures of loved ones. On the far left is Jesse with her favorite oldest son (and my favorite oldest grandson) who is now nineteen!

   Moored up now by the playground at the other end of Nantwich, I have a grocery order sorted for delivery tomorrow. The rest of today is one of leisure as it is my 61st birthday. I splurged and bought three books to read: two are Man Booker award winners and one is a BBC 4 book of the week: Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders (2017 winner), Milkman by Anna Burns (2018 winner), and Golden Thread: How Fabric Changed History. I am filled with a fine sense of satisfaction today as I completed all those chores and moored up again by 10 am, and I've received a lovely birthday card in the mail from friends, emails and e-cards from friends, and cell phone texts from friends and family. Today Life is good. xxx 

Coming Out of the Fog

"Behind my smile is a hurting heart, behind my laugh I'm falling apart, behind my smile is tears at night; now I'm a widow when once I was someone's wife." ~ Anonymous

     The fog that comes with grief is disorienting. It feels like a part of my mind is always on search mode somewhere out in the vast universe, seeking signs of Les, just as the giant antenna dishes at Aricibo sweep the universe looking for a signal from other intelligent life. This isn't something one can control; it is something that simply occurs like a computer program running silently in the back ground of your everyday desk top. It has taken me sixteen months to realize it is occurring covertly now instead of overtly as in the days, weeks and months after Les died when I searched for signs of him everywhere accompanied by a different kind of fog--viscous and impenetrable; it is one's soul wrapping our mind and heart in cotton wool for protection from the awful reality of a life unwanted--a loss too deep to bear that manifests itself every single day---forever.
     There is nothing like a serious illness to slap one around a bit and say, "Snap out of it!!"
     With a clear diagnosis I now look back and realize I have been ill with Crohn's Disease for a long time--at least since January of 2016 when Les' health began to fail. Malnutrition accompanies this illness. We in the developed world of the 21st century have no real idea what that is and what it feels like. We think of it as starving children in Bangladesh or skeletonized babies in Syria. The fact is there are hundreds of thousands of us in first world countries suffering from malnutrition,  especially the elderly, but we don't know it. Most people are never taught anything about actual nutrition. We eat the food we were taught to eat by our parents. Of course now I should append that to say a lot of folks eat the stuff they are taught to want by the telly.
     All through the spring and summer of 2016 I kept finding strands of my hair EVERYWHERE in the boat. It was beginning to feel like some drunken Christmas fairy was decorating early, pulling my hair while I slept and using it to festoon everything in site in lieu of Christmas tinsel. I used to jokingly say to Les, "Baby that silver haired bitch has found her way back in our boat. She is shedding all over the place. If you find her please put her outside." I know from being a schooled and licensed hair stylist that we all lose an average of 50-100 hairs a day. That seems like a lot but most of us never even notice it unless we find our hair in the drain or some other place we don't want it. I understand now that accelerated hair loss (we are not talking male pattern baldness here) can be a symptom of malnutrition, along with feeling cold all the time, lack of interest in eating, feeling tired all the time, poor concentration, and wounds taking a long time to heal. Severe lack of Protein and vitamin D with extreme stress causes excessive hair shedding.

© May 14, 1992; Jim Davis.

     My disinterest in food manifested with a loss of taste in tandem with a loss of interest in cooking. I still cannot bring myself to fix a lot of the foods Les loved.  I no longer have any passion for cooking so I fed myself for months on end with things requiring me to simply tear open a bag and eat, like gummy bears, and crisps. I  would cook one meal repeatedly: my childhood comfort meal of fried potatoes and eggs over easy with vinegar.  The loss of my sense of taste was caused by malnutrition and a severe lack of Vitamin B12 and Zinc. I also know that auto immune diseases can cause one to lose the sense of taste.
     My intestines and colon issues have been ongoing since 2008, when I was diagnosed with Diverticulitis. I learned about managing this disease and did fine until Les was diagnosed with cancer. Now I am learning how to manage Crohn's Disease.

Moored up before the bridge at Hurleston Junction, the end of April.

     I was shocked when I realized more than a month has passed without my blogging and I've fallen behind with so many things I wanted to write about so please bear with me while I play catch up.
With CRT's permission I spent a month moored up at the top of Hurleston locks just through the first bridge. It is a perfect place to fetch up if one is ill because there are rubbish bins and water points at the top of the lock flight and it is very easy to reverse back through the bridge hole to the services. There is also a generous layby up at the bridge for people to park if they visit or one needs to get a taxi and there is a bus stop very close by for the 84 bus from Chester through Nantwich and on to Crewe. There are two farmhouses there so it is an easy place to take possession of a grocery delivery. It is also a lovely bit of canal view wise although the sound of traffic is quite noisy. After having to take taxi's to the Premier Inn twice in a week, stay over night to take the dreaded bowel prep and then a taxi to the hospital and a taxi back home (due to cuts to the bus services in Cheshire in now takes two buses to get to Leighton hospital in Crewe and I was in no shape to attempt it). Deep and grateful thanks to Steve and Angela on NB Tumbleweed who stepped in on short notice to give me a lift to the hospital when I couldn't get a taxi.

Looking through the first bridge at the top of Hurleston locks towards the top lock and the water and rubbish point off to the right. The large tree in the distance is actually growing along the Shropshire Union at the bottom of the flight of the first four locks on the LLangollen Canal. 

NB Bendigedig sporting a fresh paint job, moored up bow-to-bow with NB Valerie, Hurleston in early May. 

     While I was moored there I was overjoyed to see NB Bendigedig pull up. I flagged Eric down and they moored up in front of me overnight and came aboard for a cuppa' and a good chin wag. Les thought the world of Eric and Elsie and so do I. It was early May and they were just starting off on their summer tour, headed for the Severn.
     One hot afternoon I heard a lot of loud shouting out by the bridge. I was expecting a grocery delivery between 5:30 an 6:30 pm. Just through the bridge hole by the stairs up to the bridge and the parking were eight children of various ages and three adults--two men and a woman. All of them had sea magnets on plastic line and they were dipping the cut for metal objects. For some reason there was something about them that made me feel uneasy. It seemed more like they were working rather than playing even though most of them were children. It bothered me that I couldn't put my finger on what was causing my unease. At 5:30 pm I walked up to the stairs to find they were blocked with loads of rusted bits from the cut and rubbish. I spoke to one of the men and asked him to please clear the stairs as I was having a grocery delivery come soon. He simply grunted and nodded once and then shoved everything into the grass by the stairs. I stood on the bridge facing the road so I could watch for the Ocado delivery van and keep an eye on NB Valerie. I noticed this seemed to make the group mining for metal a bit nervous. I stepped away from the bridge and stood out of site where I could see them but they couldn't see me. As soon as the adults noticed I wasn't standing there any more the older man signaled to the younger bloke to move down the canal towards the boats. I watched as this young fella cast his magnet in the cut repeatedly as he walked towards my boat.  Just before he reached the bow, he looked around to see if anyone was watching and I stepped back out to the edge of the bridge and stared at him. He was clearly scoping out my boat and I have no doubt he would  have gone aboard if I had not been watching. I had left the bow doors open because I knew I I could see it from the bridge. He did a weired pretend cast of the magnet by the tip of NBV's bow and quickly pulled up the magnet and walked quickly back to the bridge hole as my eyes bored into him, whispered something to the older man who looked up at me with a frown. Suddenly at some unseen signal the children all gathered around the the adults, gathered their buckets of found metal objects, left all their trash strewn around, and marched up the stairs to enter two brand new vehicles and drive off. It was then the penny dropped. I am certain they were Travelers which is fine, as is fishing the cut for lost metal items. It certainly makes a great front for scoping out boats to see if any of them have items of interest or have been left unattended. Another boater remarked to me a few days previously that he had moored there for four weeks over winter and his diesel tank had been drained dry one day when he went in to town for groceries. Now I understood my unease. The kids were not having fun playing; they were actually working.
     June 5th and I had survived a CT scan, a colonoscopy and I started a six week liquid diet to begin the healing process. I couldn't sit still any longer. I was so tired of not moving for weeks on end. Down the Hurleston Flight I went with help from a CRT employee and a CRT volunteer.  I cruised into Nantwich and checked my mail, had a grocery delivery, and knackered beyond belief I moored up again and rested for four days before winding and cruising out to the Middlewich Arm. I spent a week moored just through bridge 4. Due to the breach at the other end of the arm near Middlewich, traffic is almost non-existent. I noted five boats over four days. I checked out the new water point CRT installed near the top of Chalmondsten lock. It is possible to cruise to the water point, then reverse back to the winding hole and turn around, doing away with the need to go down through the lock, cruise to the next winding hole, turn and cruise back up through the lock. While I had no Wi-fi or phone signal there, and only a few TV stations, it was so quiet and peaceful I relished every moment. It was a good place to moor up for more recovery time. I sat out on the bow and watched the swallows taking turns diving to the surface of the canal for a sip of water and then shooting off up the cut, banking to the right and flying over the nearest field, like bombers on a sortie. I walked the towpath to Sykes Hill moorings just after the next winding hole and sat in the warm late spring sun chatting with a friend on the phone while butterflies and dragonflies darted around me.

A peaceful afternoon on the bow of NB Valerie, moored up on the near empty Middlewich Arm through bridge 4.

     As I cruised back into Nantwich for services, I passed a field with six horses, four of which had foals! I couldn't take a picture sadly, as it is on a bend and there was a boat coming from the other direction but the foals were lovely, dappled with white spots and patches on their Carmel coloured flanks. Two of them were lying down in the cool grass as their mothers grazed nearby. It was a Les moment. He would have been chuffed to bits and no doubt would have managed a good picture too.

Dual propane bottles with pigtails to each bottle.

    As the boat filled with water at the service point in Nantwich, I checked my mail and dumped my rubbish, then washed down the boat. I cruised up to the Nantwich Canal Centre service point and had the pigtails on my dual propane bottles replaced. One side had a leak and I thought it prudent to replace both hoses. It turns out they should be replaced every five years and ours were twelve years old!
     Job done, I moored up, took possession of a grocery delivery and picked up a Saturday paper. Sunday morning I cruised out headed south. It was time to cruise towards Audlem and find some good mooring spots in that direction. I found a lovely spot half way between bridges 89 and 88. There was metal siding and enough space for two 58 foot boats to moor. It was out in the middle of grassy fields, quiet and peaceful. I stood out on the bow as twilight slowly descended. Bats flitted by me and a barn owl flew along the bank on the offside, hunting. Venus, the morning and evening star shown brightly.  Had Les been alive he would have stood with his arms around my waist and I would have leaned back resting against him. Together we would have stood in awe of the magical beauty of the gloaming; instead it was me, the bats, the barn owl, and one solitary planet representing the Goddess of love, reflecting the sun's light in the night sky.
     Amazingly I picked up four bars of Wi-fi, and a great phone and TV signal--much better than I can get in Nantwich! After a week in this bucolic paradise,  I pulled my pins at 5:30 AM and headed for the nearest winding hole. Along the way I watched with delight as the world woke around me. I saw an ermine in his brown summer coat (also known as a Stoat) slip out of the hedge with something live and wriggling in its mouth. Much to my astonishment the bijou Mustelid plopped into the cut and disappeared!! A bit farther on I looked out to see a Fox sitting placidly in the middle of a field. It too was watching the world wake up. I turned and cruised back into Nantwich mooring up by the playground and walk in to town for a paper and a light grocery top up before the oppressive heat wiped me out.

It has been too hot to cook inside so the Cobb Oven has been a blessing. There isn't anything that cannot be prepared on a Cobb Oven. I prepared enough wild Alaskan Salmon marinated in soy sauce, honey, fresh grated ginger, minced fresh garlic and crushed red pepper flakes for three meals. Lovely!!

Dusk closes in at Nantwich.

     We've had nearly two months of unremitting hot weather here in Cheshire, interrupted on only three occasions with cloudy weather and one day and night of  rain. It is in the high 70's and mid to high 80's Fahrenheit every day. Living in a metal tube means the temperature inside the boat will be ten degree or more higher even with the doors, hatches and windows open and the curtains closed.  It is lightly humid and there is not a breath of wind to stir the cut. The heat makes me ill even after twenty two years of living in Eastern Washington's high desert country and dry, hot summers which can reach triple digits. I have had heat stroke four times--the first at age four on a road trip to Mexico. The last time was in 2007 when my GP diagnosed it. She told me that if I suffered another bout of heat stroke it could kill me so I do my utmost to stay out of the worst of the mid day heat, drink lots of liquids, and rest during the hottest part of the day. I am up at 5:00 AM every morning and I get all my daily chores out of the way before 10:30 AM.
     This past week kicked off with several appointments in Nantwich on Monday, and much anticipated visitors on Tuesday: Ken and Sue Deveson (NB Cleddau) with two of their American grandchildren in tow! The Deveson's and I often share anecdotes about our grandchildren and I feel as though I know theirs quite well. Ken and fifteen year old Rhys dropped Sue and eight year old Haydn by the boat. After a short visit, Grampy and Rhys set off by car to spend several hours in the cool depths of the Hack Green Nuclear bunker. Since Ken was a bomber pilot in the RAF he has first person insight into certain aspects of nuclear war which I am sure made the tour far more meaningful than usual. Meanwhile Granny, Haydn, and I played on the swings in the playground for a few minutes and then set off on NB Valerie and cruised up to Hack Green where we moored and had lunch. Ken and Rhys joined us later in the afternoon and we had a lovely visit. Thank you Ken and Sue for sharing your wonderful grandchildren with me for a day.  I miss my own grandchildren more than words can say...

Sue Deveson and her youngest grandson Haydn with windlasses in hand. Many thanks for cruising with me.

Sue, Rhys, Ken, and Haydn on the grass near the playground moorings in Nantwich.

      After the Deveson crew departed I stepped out on the bow to tighten my bow ropes and a woman stepped out of the boat moored in front of me to introduce herself. Her name is Anne, her husband's name is Paul and their boat is NB Bisbigliando which means very light and murmuring—used as a direction in music for a fingered tremolo on the harp. We chatted for a few minutes and I was very touched by Anne's words, "I follow your blog. I've read it for several years now. When you haven't posted for awhile I wonder if you are all right...I really enjoy your writing.You should write a book." It is always lovely when someone stops to let me know they read the blog--especially now that Les is no longer writing all those wonderful historical posts that his followers (including me) delighted in reading. Thank you Anne for coming out and chatting with me and for your lovely words of praise.
     Writing is a lonely business fraught with discouragement which can cause writer's block and stop us in our tracks so meeting you really lifted my spirits. It was just a shame it was so excruciatingly hot that afternoon. I would have loved to have sat out on the towpath and chatted with you longer--it was just too dang hot!!! It is always great to chat with other boaters along the way. I am actually working on two books at present. I am on the second draft of one, and just beginning the other. I need to research agents and publishers next. I am also still applying for jobs.

     I only stayed one night moored at the top of Hack Green locks as there was absolutely no shade to be had and there is a nearby manor house across the cut on the off side which offers clay pigeon shooting. After a morning and afternoon ruined with the continual shot gun blasts and bursting clay pigeons I determined it was time to move but before I could get organized a very familiar boat cruised slowly past and I heard a man's voice with a Welsh accent exclaim, " I recognize the aerial on that boat..."It was Eric on NB Bendigedig! I jumped up and looked out the side hatch to see Eric and a strange woman on the stern with him. Where was Elsie?? Did he trade her in for another model??!! I hailed Eric and he pulled in behind me, moored up and Elsie popped up out of the boat to introduce me to Paula--Eric's Fancy Woman--er no, his lovely sister! We sipped tea and had a good catch up.

Elsie and her sister-in-law Paula. The craic is good with these two!!

Eric and Bendigedig wait for the lock to fill at Hack Green.

     Too soon it was time for them to be on their way and me on mine, cruising in opposite directions.

 As the sun grew shorter in a sherbet colored sky, I cruised a short way forward and found a simply heavenly slice of cut between a road bridge and a bridge hole where a farmer's track had once crossed the canal. The bridge was gone now, but the footings and narrow bridge hole were still there in a bit of shady cutting with a high, shaded bank on the towpath side and clumps of trees and shrubs on the off side providing a cool tunnel of mostly shade and only room for exactly one boat to moor!! I spent two glorious days and nights there and was loath to move but cruise I must. 

My bijou mooring in the shade of a small cutting between this bridge...

...and the footing from the old farm bridge, now removed.

I dawdled along yesterday in  morning sunshine, soaking up vitamin D. I cruised slowly past Overwater Marina and sussed out where the diesel and water were located. I will be accessing their services occasionally when I am moored up nearby. As I cruised around the bend towards Audlem bottom lock, a woman was strolling along with a carrier bag of groceries. As I cruised up on her I realized it was Angela!! I slowed NBV to a stop and hovered as we exchanged greetings and had a short conversation to catch up. I've Spent the last six months cruising and mooring between Chester and Nantwich with forays up on the Llangollen and the Middlewich Arm but I was just now making my way past the two Hack Green locks and cruising to Audlem which will be the most southern point of my cruising since I have to stay within bus travel to Chester, Nantwich and Crewe. I had been putting off cruising up to Audlem because I wasn't sure if I was ready to deal with the memories there.

     Les and I moored up on the Aqueduct below the bottom of the Audlem flight on March 27th, 2012. We had five incredibly sunny and hot days in the mid-80's F overlooking the River Weaver. We were still newly weds and our unfolding life aboard NBV brought something amazing for me every day. Audlem was also the last time I saw and Spoke to Mo and Nessa on NB Balmaha. As some boaters will probably recall, Mo died too soon of cancer, a year before Les. Such lovely memories and too many losses...

A Springtime Posy: Flowers, Friends and Libraries

"Most things will be okay eventually but not everything will be. Sometimes you will put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room." ~ Cheryl Strayed, American author

     Spring I do believe has come at last to Cheshire anyway. Daffodils are in full bloom, small wild

flowers have popped their heads above the cold, wet soil and unfolded their tender petals. It is daylight until after 6:30 in the evening and I've been able to let the fire go out in the daytime and keep it banked quite low overnight. I've also re-potted and organized my garden on the bow. It gives me immense pleasure to look out the front doors and see flowers blooming with messages of love from dear friends; a pot of several different types of flowers and Ivy from Debbie Davies, a porcelain pot of dainty bijou Daffodils from Sue and Ken Deveson, Lavender plants that overwintered under the bow gunwales, and a newly planted pot of Double white scented Daffodils in a porcelain pot with some of Les' ashes in it. My bow garden is filled with love given and received.
    It is an interesting week to be moored up at Nantwich. There is a convocation of working boats at Ellesmere Port for Easter weekend. Due to the Middlewich breach many boats have had to reroute themselves and come all the way from Middlewich up the Chester locks of Heartbreak Hill on the Trent & Mersey, through Stone, and then right onto the Staffordshire and Worcestershire canal (Staff & Worcs) at Great Haywood Junction, along the Staff and Worcs to Authorley Junction, onto the Shropshire Union (the Shroppie) and down through Nantwich and on down to Ellesmere Port. This weekend there is also a Jazz Festival in Nantwich. The cut has become a frenzy of huge working boats gliding by, sucking the water out from underneath the moored boats as they pass, brasses shining, and livery aglow, and a raucous mix of hire boats, continuous cruisers and leisure boaters out for toddle in the milder weather. Among this bracing mix two boats stand out: Tumbleweed No. 5, Angela and Steve's abode moored up five boats in front of me, and NB Serena moored up directly behind me with Judith and John Emery at home.

Steve and Angela took me to the store with them yesterday and afterward they came over and we introduced one another to a couple of good games. They brought Continuo which is an abstract strategy and small tile placement game. After the initial setup of four tiles, players take turns adding tiles onto the edges of previously laid tiles, scoring points for creating aligned paths of colors. One point is awarded for each smaller square in a new path giving a score of 2 to 30 or more depending upon the length of the path. Play continues until all tiles have been used. The highest score wins. It only takes about a half an hour to play with 1-5 players. One can play alone like Solitaire and it is a good way to keep the gray matter working so I hope to purchase this game soon. I introduced Angela and Steve to the "railroad game" as Les call his favorite board game; properly known as the Great Game of Britain. I had a great time hanging out with Steve and Angela, both of whom are great fun to be around. 

     Ken and Sue Deveson popped in this morning for a visit while in the area to check on their boat NB Cleddau which is being painted at Aqueduct Marina on the Middlewich Branch--not the par with the breach but this near end of the branch--than goodness! As always happens with the Deveson's we were following the threads of several fascinating conversations when sue looked out the window at a passing narrow boat and exclaimed, Jaq that's NB Serena--aren't she owned by the woman who comments on your blog?" Up I jumped, threw open a window and hollered "NB Valerie!!!" to the bloke on the tiller which happened to be Judith Emory's husband John. He nodded and pulled in behind me in what surely must be the only  mooring spot left in Nantwich! It was meant to be. Soon the Emory's came to NBV and with mugs of coffee and tea all around, our chins were wagging about all kinds of boaty things from mooring pins to who fell in the cut where, and how many times. We were amazed to discover that John and Judith have a home in Pembroke and know the river Cleddau well. Sue and Ken were born in Pembroke and Pembroke Dock and their boat is named after the river Cleddau. Small world!It was lovely to meet up with John and Judith at long last. for the past year we have been near but not close enough for our bows to meet--or our sterns as is now the case. Imagine our amazement when Sue realize we had been chatting for two hours and toilets were not mentioned once!! this must surely be a first for any group of boaters!
     This next item is just an odds 'n' sods kind of thing: usually when I purchase raw prawns or large shrimp at the store, I look for cold water prawns and I eschew buying any farmed shrimp or anything caught in warm waters off the coast of Bangladesh, Thailand or Viet Nam for example. Why??? I read a book some years ago called The World Without Us by Alan Weisman. In it he chooses six locations around the world and details exactly what would happen if all human life disappeared from our planet over night. Then he points out the degradation our planet is suffering under the relentless human greed that rules our world and our careless throw-away mentality especially with regard to plastics, that is killing other life and destroying our ecosystems. It is one of the most important books ever written and one of the most insightful books I've ever read. In its pages I learned about the floating masses of human sewage miles and miles wide just off the coasts of several countries in the Indian and Pacific oceans, the bacteria and viruses which live in them, and how these miles wide mats of untreated sewage affect marine life. It was all I needed to know to make educated choices about what I eat and where it comes from.     That said, I wanted to make a prawn fettuccine and Aldi only had warm water shrimp, already cooked, from Viet Nam. I sighed and gave in, buying 500 grams of cooked prawns. I took them home, refrigerated them for the next night's dinner and thought no more of it. It was late when I decided to fix dinner--about eight O'clock which is very late indeed for an American. We usually eat dinner between 5:00 and 6:00 PM. The lights were off in the boat except for a wall light in the saloon above Les' recliner. I opened the fridge, removed the bag of shrimp, shut the door and lo and behold--the bag of shrimp in my hand was glowing--I kid you not!! I tried to take a picture of it in the dark but I couldn't capture the glow. The entire bag was fluorescing and it creeped me out. I couldn't being myself to eat the glow-in-the-dark prawns so I tore open the bag and tipped the shrimp into the cut where they continued to glow as they slowly sunk to the bottom. The bag, filled with shrimp juice, glowed eerily in my hand. I put it in the trash and decided to forgo dinner all together. Several hours later I opened the galley rubbish bin to throw away a Kleenex and found myself shocked to see the empty shrimp bag still glowing away, nestled down in the depths of the bin. I've eaten seafood all my life and I've never come across fluorescing prawns before. I am back to looking for cold water prawns. If I want fluorescing seafood I'll buy some glow-in-the-dark Crayons and draw my own.     Libraries: Many thanks to a member of the Wednesday Women and dear friend Rhea Giffin in Coeur 'd' Alene, Idaho for sharing her discovery of the Gladstone Library. Located in Hawarden, North Wales, about eight miles outside of the city of Chester, this is the UK's only residential and prime ministerial library, begin by Gladstone himself to share his collection of over 150,000 books with the public. 
     Sleeping with books!! Gladstone's Library with twenty-six en-suite rooms. If you ever had a fantasy about sleeping overnight in the library you can book a room here, visit the library and bring your books back to your room to read! This is the UK's only residential library and its only Prime Ministerial library, founded by Gladstone himself to provide access by the public to more than 150,000 books. Residents staying on the grounds have access to the library form 9 AM-10 PM. There is a bistro on site, Food For Thought which serves breakfast, lunch and dinner. There are reading rooms available and ongoing events and courses throughout the year such as, Blue Sky God: the Evolution of Science and Christianity, Making the Personal Political: An Evening With Writer in Residence Cal Flynn, Taming Shakespeare, Democracy and Its Crisis with A.C. Grayling, Greek, Hebrew, Latin or Welsh in a Week: learn to carry on a conversation in one of these languages by studying for one week. It is assumed attendees will have no prior abilities in their chosen language; Brexit, Trump and the Common Good. Gladstone's Library seeks to offer safe, open meeting space for ideological conversations to occur about many of the larger themes with which our world finds itself grappling.
     The next library on my list to visit is located at Dunham Massey on the Bridgewater canal and is a National Trust property of 3000 acres with a spectacular manor house and others buildings as well as a substantial garden and a Deer Park. Les took me there in 2012. We didn't go in to the house which cost money, but one can wander around the grounds for free and it took most of the day to do just that. Currently there is a tour focusing on the women of the estate titled, "Dunham Massey: A Woman's Place?" The tour begins with the library because it was the room of utmost importance to Lady Mary Booth.      Written history notes that there has been a dwelling of some kind here since before 1066 when it was owned by Aelfward, a Saxon thegn. After the Norman Conquest the land was given to Hamo d Masci. His family owned it until 1409 when the male line died out. The property was then inherited by the Booth family. Mary Booth, born in 1704 was the first woman to inherit and manage the estate. She was taught at home in the library and many of the books reflect her father's desires for her education, with dedications written inside books from him to Mary who was fluent in French by age eight and a competent translator by age thirteen. She was educated in languages, natural philosophy, morality, fine writing and conduct, estate management, account keeping, and business arithmetics in which she was proficient by age fifteen. Mary's personal handwritten notebooks survive, filled with her thoughts on the literature she had just perused. Married at age thirty-two Mary inherited this vast estate when she was fifty-four and managed it until her death at age seventy-seven. 
     Dunham Massey is an accredited museum with 30,000 objects--the second largest collection in the National Trust. There are a number of scientific implements in the library including an Orerry made by Thomas Wright, instrument maker to King George II which is designed to illustrate the relative positions and movement of the planets around our sun. At the far end of the library, above the fireplace, is a painting of the crucifixion by Tintoretto. There are 119 shelves of books in Dunham Massey's library. Mary has a strong interest in medicine and medical procedures as evidenced by books in the collection and historical evidence bears out the fact that Mary's mother underwent a mastectomy on the premises in 1729. She personally negotiated with the Duke of Bridgewater's agents to ensure the canal brought it advantages to her and her tenants.
     One final odd bit: I saw a conversational strand on a FaceBook page recently about outdoor laundry facilities having been installed near the cut in Leighton Buzzard! Looking into it further I found the company that owns the machines is called Kis Wash and they have installed what we Americans call laundromats out of doors across Britain! Several boaters have used them with great success and found them to be very handy so I thought I would share this on the blog for any boaters who may be interested. Their web site needs a bit of work: the Find a location near you map does not actually do what it it should--instead it takes one to a page to fill in information for contacting them about installing the machines or receiving service assistance. Hopefully they will get that sorted soon.
Post Script: I have had to take this post down and re-write it as Blogger did weird things when it posted and some pictures were missing. when I opened it up and chose revert to draft Blogger changes all my fonts, lost some of text, pictures were jumping around, and even now I can only place the pictures in the middle of the page and I cannot add captions! Blinkin' Blogger!!