Six Days

Quiet. 

Puzzles and Rainbows.

Thunder is rolling somewhere far away. The last of the rain is working its way from leaf to the ground. The birds, singing to the raindrops and a bright red cardinal, chirping at me through the open door keep the world from feeling absolutely still. Waiting for something. I don't know what. The fan is running but I've gotten so I don't hear that anymore. The AC kicking in. My grassy green meadow is heavy with green and the deep dark smell of wet earth in the summertime. 

Ace is gone. He is somewhere 32,000 feet in the sky; most likely napping instead of worrying about making his connection, which is good. Headed home to the puppies and the work that’s been building since he arrived. Air conditioners that won’t run because grass has gotten into the intake valve or bent props from obstacles that could not be avoided. Anxious Captains of boats that have been lifting and swaying, alone and still in the warm waters of south Florida.

Far more than 24 hours has zoomed by. It’s not Six Days. It’s MINUS 11. What was I thinking when I decided documenting this each day was a good idea? It's sort of like deciding that you're going to put a new message on your voice mail every morning. You know, “Good morning, this is Pat, today is…” I did that for a while. Good for customers perhaps, but very hard to keep up. I suspect it was my attempt to slow down the march of days... 

At Six days I was in the training room. Too busy to worry or obsess.  Answering questions. Sharing everything I can think might be relevant, might help them get the most from their investment of time and energy. Except this. They have no idea what's happening outside these rooms. And I have no idea about them. I'll get snippets here and there. Traveling stories or the relative comfort of their room and the food. I’ll stay focused and deliver.

At Five days I was in the training room too. A good day, busy playing hide and seek with the enhanced feature sets always found in beta software. At Four days, packing and sorting and running out for last minute items. Dinner on the water. 

A CELEBRATION! A request from Bran at the start to his sea-going journey. At Three days? Time spent in the car. 345 miles. A family event – the best and easiest way to be sure he got to see his Grandparents before he left – and they get to see him. Dad turns 90 in October and best case scenario, Bran won’t be back until the fall of 2015. Day two? Was at rest. New Hampshire is beautiful in June. The mosquitoes are fierce but there are moments. No wonder they live there. The isolation would make me nuts. 

At Day One? In the car. 528 miles and 12 hours, through three major cities. Unavoidable perhaps, but FORGET Google Maps! It's 7:30 pm. The only restaurant for miles and miles closes at 8. Just in time, fish tacos and sunset. 

Day Zero. Is there such a thing? Ground Zero. No, that's a bad metaphor in my mind. How about the first day, Day One in an ascending value stream? Zero was somewhere between 11:59 and 12:01. Yes, Bran - Day One. Up, packed and ready by 8. Can’t drag him out of his early morning coma for the most part. Except on Day One. We have time. Doesn’t matter. He cannot rest. Breakfast is attempted and discarded.

It’s a beautiful spot. A young man, a leader (I’m not sure how that translates to rank) who has already told me how special Bran must be to be participating in an international program with 400 applicants each month, 25 acceptances, just 12 or so in each class. Navy blue t-shirts and jeans – their uniform for the next three months. Black steel toed shoes and socks in the hot sun. It was over in an instant. His bags out of the car and gone. I'd been afraid of that. He’d left his sunglasses. I got to run in. He was annoyed, but grateful. 

I cannot imagine being the mother of a soldier. This is hard enough. My heart goes out to each and every one of you. Proud and fearful. I am grateful. 

439 miles and home. 

Seven Days

Curls

Remember? The first time you took your first born for a hair cut? Maybe for mothers of boys it's more of an event. Happens sooner? I don't know. It was important. Soft, shiny little curls falling to the floor like a whisper of the future to come. I have one of them tucked safely in an envelope. Then they start to grow up. There's the phase where they let it grow out for a while? You walk in the door one afternoon and it's all gone? 

It will always grow back...

Today, after a long, long day, I returned home for dinner to find the military cut he'll need to sport for the next 12 or 13 weeks. It still comes as somewhat of a shock. It helps me laugh at myself. 

He used to grow his hair long in protest because his dark hair and skin tone almost guarantees that the US TSA a**holes stop him at airports. 100% of the time, if his hair is long and his beard is anything unkempt it takes him forever to get through an airport. I know they have a job to do but it seems like the power hungry, self important ones should be weeded out. You know what I mean. I hate to say it but the female TSA agents are the worst. Especially in small airports like Rochester NY. They sneer down their self important noses at him as if he's not quite good enough and must be a terrorist. 

His passport, his MMC and TWIC cards are sitting on the kitchen table like a black travel wallet beacon warning me there are just hours left. 

Ahh...wait. Wait. Regroup. The danger from the power driven seems so at odds with those whisper light curls. Bad/Good. Innocence lost. ACH! Back to those soft little curls that seem so Sampson-like, you're hesitant to snip them off. Strength like innocence should be kept at all costs? Perhaps not. Each at their own risk. A mother could drown worrying that what's been done can't be undone or was interpreted in the wrong light. 

The curls are gone. He's ready. Last evening of Steam - which truth be told - I don't know what that means. I don't know what games it drives or the friends he argues and laughs with during one game or another. Just that I need to log on every week to let it update a midst ten different, if this, then that. I should probably write it down, but I'll get used to it. 

Don't worry if you need to reboot. Hard shut downs happen. He can't take it with him. No room aboard ship. He's packed. Proud that I didn't peek or re-add anything he's already taken out. I can do 14 months. NP. I know how to reboot. Happens all the time. 

Eight Days: PF Changs

"Did you hear about PF Changs?" 

"No?"

"Data breach. Just heard about it on the news. I'm telling you only because I know you go there sometimes..."

I haven't been to PF Chang's since the last time I was in Tampa. That's May of 2012. Brandon's graduation from UT. Mongolian Beef. Lettuce Wraps. Crispy Green Beans. Dumplings. We started visiting PF Chang's accidentally as a marker. Big transitions. First here in Rochester, then Florida. This last visit in 2014 (just in time for a data breach) to mark his transition back to the sea. 

Malware can invade a POS (Point of Sale) system (aka Windows, Linux, doesn't matter) when they swipe your card. Cash from now on! Except that the Bank has just sent a letter informing us that they may or may not allow us to use our ATM cards in foreign cities (you know, like Boston) or countries if they don't deem it as safe. They didn't specify just who makes that decision, when or why. Begs the question of why they can't find a better, more customer friendly way to handle it. 

It could create a host of new issues for traveling - and as I'm in worry mode anyway I might as well worry about that. What's the back up plan? So I get a couple of delicious little Mom moments to savor. An American Express card first. That's an easy one. An extra sweat shirt. What? I can do that. You know as well as I do I'm going to find that hidden in a drawer somewhere six months from now anyway. 

And a Visa. Credit lines that will be there if he needs them. The payoff for keeping all these things in line for so long. Now because I have a brain that just CAN'T let things go, I asked myself...

"Self,  we have a whole fleet of Merchant Marines. How do they get paid while their at sea?
Or do they? A season is anywhere from 120 - 240 days.
Who pays their bills while their gone?"

I'm sure now there is, a system that is, but it's not on the list of things I can know about ahead of time. 

                          Let go. Let go. Let go. 

                                 Distracted by what I did find, which helps. 

So the Merchant Marines came first. 1775 to be exact. (www.usmm.org)  Before the Navy, the Army, the Marines and certainly the Air Force.

"On June 12, 1775, a party of Maine mariners, armed with pitchforks and axes, inspired by the news of the recent victory at Lexington, Massachusetts, used an unarmed lumber schooner to surprise and capture a fully armed British warship, HMS Margaretta, off the coast of Machias, Maine. The men used the captured guns and ammunition from the ship to bring in additional British ships as prizes. American privateers soon disrupted British shipping all along the Atlantic coast."

From it's humble beginnings, now there are two types of Merchant Mariners. Those associated with the US Navy who work on non-military vessels that provide logistical support. In WWII, 1 in 26 Mariners died trying to ensure that the US Military had food, arms, supplies and logistical support. That's a greater percentage of war-related deaths than all of the other US Service branches. Talk about unsung heroes. 

And then there are those who serve aboard commercial or private vessels. These vessels come under the auspices of the US Coast Guard, sort of. The ships are owned by private corporations. The crews are organized military style within the Mariners Unions but get paid by those private concerns. But, like any other sea going vessel under a US flag their behavior is governed by the US Coast Guard. 

I just want to point out here that I am now using terms like Mariners and vessels and ships. BOATS are not what powers goods and services around the globe.

I had no idea. D Day was made possible by a civilian mariner fleet we rarely hear about. They don't receive pensions or recognition or protection from the American government. They don't get parades or wear medals on their uniforms. They can't be honored or buried as part of the civilian effort in wartime - but they are responsible for ensuring that the American economic systems stays afloat and that our military can function. 

So much for a data breach. I'll just add it to the list of things that happen so that I can learn how little I knew when I started these posts. Here I was, sure I thought this was about me and my avocados. Did I tell you that this all started because he was looking for a cheap way to travel? Sometimes you can book passage on a commercial ship...

Nine Days

Tampa 2008. Off to college.
Renting a snazzy blue Mustang to deliver him to campus seemed like a fun thing to do.
We had to make a few trips but it was a kick and a half! 

Do you remember those shopping lists for camp? I’d forgotten about them. Trying to figure out if they really “mean” 14 pairs of socks and finally going out to buy another 6 pairs “just in case”. Mud, rain, stormy seas could happen all in the same place couldn't they? It’s more difficult when you’re not in charge you know. Moms can make whatever decisions they want and take the heat for being wrong or being a self-admitted over-protection junkie.  Now it’s a mix. Of surprise at his wisdom, practicality and stubborn adherence to the same routines he developed when he was three. Buttons are bad.

• 1 pair of leather work gloves (brand new – the ones in the garage will not be good enough)
• 1 flashlight (he has a head lamp – thinks it will suffice – I did sneak another one into his bag)
• 6 pairs of black socks (It took me years to get him to wear black socks. He was convinced these were only for funerals. I guess we went to more than our share.)
• 1 pair of shower shoes (So, what are shower shoes? Flip flops? I hope so. That’s what he got. For the first time we discussed other people’s fungus. Oh yuck!)
• 1 wallet (He’s got that one under control already)
• 1 watch (A watch? He’s always used his phone. So he went and bought a Casio Module No. 3198 3299.)
• 1 ditty bag (ditty bag? What’s that? I had a travel bag that came with a corporate luggage thing from one event or the other.)
• 5 white thermal undershirts (REALLY? He has, on only one other occasion worn an undershirt. The summer he lived in Houston and had to work in an office, it was required. He wore the traditional Italian version. His Grandfather would have been proud. Except that he walked a mile to work in the 90 degree heat and it was an extra layer.)
• 5 white thermal pants (long johns) He was hoping to get away with taking his skiing thermals but they are black. We’re guessing that these are worn under his uniform and black probably won’t work. Have you ever tried to find thermal underwear in June? Thank goodness for Amazon Prime!
• 1 bathing suit
• 1 bathrobe (I am totally appalled at how much a simple bathrobe costs – especially if you don’t want to look like your grandfather in it – think light blue with piping at the edges.)
• 1 pair of tennis shoes (black)
• 14 pairs of white athletic socks (Let’s hope they don’t have to be actually stain free.)
• 14 pairs of underwear (briefs or boxers) I wanted to laugh. I really do. Do you think they only get to do laundry every two weeks? Sigh. Of course. Another Yuck! 
• 10 pairs of undershirts (crew neck) We screwed up here. We’d had about enough shopping at this point. Neither one of us are any good at it anyway. Malls are overwhelming and expensive. I’d rather be drawing or painting or in the garden and he would rather be doing anything else. We were no longer paying attention to anything but surviving the list, so some of them are v-neck. Mom Fail! I know it.
• 2 combination lock
• 2 pairs of pajamas (OK, so a t-shirt and undies will have to work – pajamas are for girls and sissies.) 
• 1 pair bedroom slippers (Can the same pair of flip-flops work? Good.)
• 3 pairs gym shorts (No problem as that’s all he wears no matter what the weather.)
• 1 navy blue sweatshirt 
• 1 navy blue sweatpants
• 1 pair all black ANSI approved steel-toe boots (He took himself off to the Boot Supply depot and some very nice folks explained how important these are, fit him twice, waterproofed them and told him to come back before he left so they could be sure. Thank you Redwing Shoes in Rochester, NY).

Honestly I really, really wanted to put his name on everything. I didn't. I promise, I didn't, but this list made me feel like I should. Clearly I need to stop thinking about this. OR I could slip little notes into his luggage. OK. OK. Did you ever put little goodies into their lunches went they started the first grade?  

I only added one important item that was not on their list. I added a first aid kit. A few band-aids, some advil and assorted items for when you’re far from home and just need to take care of yourself. And because I’m his Mom I snuck in a couple of candy kisses. I’m like that. I hope they don’t melt. Maybe I’ll go back and put them in a plastic bag. Oh, what about a sewing kit? It’s going to be hard to resist. I’ll likely get caught. And I’ll find my mother’s additions in a drawer somewhere six months from now.

Definitely put those kisses in a plastic bag.

Ten Days

   It’s quiet. 

A glorious sunny morning reflected in the rainbows sparkling off the crystal that hangs in my kitchen window. All year long, if the sun is out – OK in upstate NY you have to treasure those things. What was I saying? Oh yea, if the sun is out I have a crystal hung in the window because somewhere between 7 and 8 am it sends rainbows from floor to ceiling. Spin it gently and the room is awash in colorful lights. I hope that I never stop noticing it. The walls are white for that reason. Wherever I am, I want my kitchen to face east. I’ll be painting it white and hanging a simple crystal in the window.  I love sunrise. 

   Sox is sleeping at my feet. 

He’s been out to check the perimeter already and returned for breakfast. He’s hoping I’ll go out and water the flowers, maybe weed here and there so we can wander around the yard together before the day begins. He's thinking there’s time for it. He knows when there’s not. He’ll flop onto his back on the warm stone steps so I can stop to rub his belly. 

  Goofy cat.

Just 10 Days left. In less than ten days, I’ll be waking up in a strange bed at the ocean’s edge. I’ll be admiring the view and looking for rainbows. There will be meditation in the watching the sunrise over the water. Brandon no doubt, will be awake in another room anxious, intensely excited to start the next chapter in his life. Bet on it – his bags are packed and he’s ready to leave. We have all day. Breakfast will be a short affair. I’ll want to linger. It will be very hard to resist laughing at him outright.

He will not appreciate it.  

It's his sunrise and he knows it. Dreaming about his future. How great is that? To be so full of hope and promise. It seems to me that's something many of us need to recoup. Why not? It's a season of opportunity. Spring flowers and all that. This time, it starts with a sunrise facing the Atlantic Ocean and listening to the soft sound of the water beckoning.

Such a romantic notion. 

I can't think who gets the credit for helping me understand that. I think I'll thank Ted. Yes, I'm sure it was him. There's more than one pirate on this journey. 

Cleared for Duty

Peace is not with me tonight. It will have to be. OK.

Well maybe not but I'll do the best I can.
I AM...

Preparing to watch Brandon leave for the journey that likely spans the rest of his life. I can't know the number of days. I can't rely on a parent organization or FB to help me figure out where "he is" as I could when he participated in Semester at Sea. There's an APP for that. Don't think I haven't already downloaded it and spent time figuring it out. I have no idea which of my peeps already know that commercial vessels are tracked around the globe. I'll learn. 

He took this picture at Angkor Wat. I don't think he'll be writing a blog like he did then. SAS. Semester at Sea is a program for college students and what they call "Life Long Learners" that takes a semester to circumnavigate the globe on a converted cruise ship. The library used to be the casino! It was the trip of a lifetime that eclipsed his other "trip of lifetime" to Fiji, Australia and New Zealand between his junior and senior years in high school. People to People; started by Eisenhower to encourage student ambassadors to travel the world.  His first solo airplane ticket was a birthday wish at 14. 

Preparing to be thrilled, proud, worried. And preparing to be in my "Nest 4 One". 

His wish? His best case scenario means I'll not see him again until September of 2015. That seems like forever. It's not without some humor that I'm thinking this day seemed farther away just like that one does now. That one is very much farther away. I asked him tonight if he was excited. "YES!" I asked him tonight if he were nervous. "Some". I asked him tonight what was the one thing he was looking forward to the most? "The OPEN SEA. A backpack, a duffle bag and the world - destination unknown."   

Somehow what should have stayed months away is less than two weeks. HOW did that happen? I'm not obsessing. OK. Yeah. Yeah. I'm trying not to obsess. Was I not paying attention? Why is it that I did not raise someone who wanted to stay within a radius of say, 500 miles? I'm usually proud of that. I will be (damn it) before I have to drop him off. (http://www.seafarers.org). An Apprenticeship. A path to his dreams and his future.    

Circa 2002 or so. Perhaps I should have know. A family reunion. Getting his younger cousins into trouble building a stone path in a park stream...

Circa 2002. Waiting for his brother to "get over" being sick on board a quick trip around Philadelphia harbor. We were there for the Fourth of July. EVERYONE should spend at least one 4th there. Walk the history trail and check out the Liberty Bell. Long makeshift security lines and metal detectors that summer. The guards were still wearing full armor and AK-47 machine guns. The boys loved it. 

Preparing to be the self-contained, cheerful, organized, busy parent he has come to appreciate. I am preparing to smile. I am preparing to be the bravest of Moms. No tears for me. I will be dropping him off. He'll pull his bag and a backpack out of my car and be gone. It will take only seconds. He'll slip away in a minute.  I won't be prepared and I'll struggle not to call him back. I can't. I know that. He's a grown ass man after all. 

He'll be patient but roll his eyes and wish me well. Likely after a good breakfast at whatever hotel we land at the day before. He might let me hug him if no one is around. People are certain to be around. Everyone has to check in between 7 and 10 am. This is Brandon. We will be there long before 10. 

Tears will run their course down along my nose and cheeks all the long way home. He'll never know. Isn't that in the Mom job description? 

Preparing to be proud and overjoyed.