Boat is a Four Letter Word

How it Began...

It started innocently enough, we  were a Texas family of five going on six; Mom, Dad, me (age 11), and my two brothers Joe (age 8) and Danny (age 6).  My mother was pregnant with our sister Mary Jennifer. 

Oil prices were up, none of his children could drive and none were in college.  My dad turned 36.

Sensing his own mortality, my father decided it was time to make a change.  Some men buy expensive cars, others quit their jobs or leave their families.  Still others take on mistresses.  My father desired to do something fun.  Something fun for the whole family. 

He bought a boat.

At least two months before the arrival ...of the boat, not my sister, he began reading sailing manuals to us at the table during dinner.  He showed us how to tie endless types of knots, of which I remember only two:

1) the type you use with a shoelace that is too short.
2) the type you never ever ever use on a boat.
(hint: guess which one we used on the gib lines).

July 2nd, the day before my birthday

My father loaded up the Suburban...suitcases, children, life jackets, fishing poles, birthday cake and the dog.  We drove to Port Arthur to pick up his new boat to be launched on its maiden voyage in front of all his brothers and sisters and their children as part of my birthday celebration. 

My mom and brother Danny had gone ahead of my father in the other car and would meet us at the family beach house.  

Joe and I grew bored at the boat place.  We tested the vending machines.  The only soda left was lime.  We were told not to run our fingers across the hulls of the crafts or to climb on anything.  We were told to watch tv but the only show that we could get was Gilligan's Island.

It was two hours before the whole deal was closed and we drove off with a light yellow sail boat in tow.  

Blissful, complete, my father spoke benevolently to his childrenn, explaining "accidental jibes" and "tacking" as he smoked his pipe.  All was right with the world.  

And so it was for over a mile and a quarter.  Then, the honeymoon was over.

The tire on the left side of the trailer was flat.  My father, still calm (sort of), searched the hull of the boat for a spare. He looked at the right tire.  It too was dangerously low.  Dad searched his car for a spare. Surely he had brought one that was trailer size. 

Since this time, my father has always carried at least two spare tires for the trailer....and he  has never used them.   This brings up the first two rules of boats. 

Rule 1) Whatever you don't have a spare of, will break.
Rule 2) Whatever you do have a spare of, will break and the spare you have will somehow, some way, not be the same as, maybe an inch longer, too long or not strong enough to serve adequately as a replacement. 

To Continue the story...

My father flagged down the patron saint of boats in our family, Jack Bethencord, a retired pipe fitter.  We have never seen him since but my father named the boat after this man.  Jack took my father and us, (we left the don in the car with my cake), and drove back to the dealership. 

It had closed for the 4th of July weekend.  My father silently cursed and Joe and I kept quiet.  Jack drove us to Sears where he and my father managed to buy 4 "C sized" trailer tires. 

We returned to the brand new (abandoned) boat, suburban, dog and trailer. 

Jack owned a boat and told my father about some of his trials as they fixed the flats.  I went to rescue the dog from the car, only to discover she had eaten my cake.*  I yelled at the dog and Dad thanked Mr. Bethencord. 

It was past eight o'clock.  We were tired, hungry, quarrelsome and disillusioned.  The first joys of ownership however, had been discovered.   We could sell the boat.

Our journey however, had only begun...(More tomorrow)

*It resulted in me and my mom making "the cake" as an alternative. 

Happy Birthday!

Today I turn 45.  I'm happy to be here.  Not really freaked by the number or the mileage, glad to have my birthday on a Sunday as we all got to go to mass together, a good way to celebrate.  This afternoon, we made My cake. 

Ordinarily, I've received a box cake --or a cake from the store.  My cake is the cake my mom made me most birthdays.

It is evil. 
It is delicious. 
It is not good for you. 
And I'm going to share My cake recipe. 
It cures what ails you --provided you have a quart of milk and a gallon of vanillia ice cream to wash it down. 

My Mom's Birthday Cake for Sherry

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Dry ingredients:
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. baking soda.
Combine in mixing bowl.  Set aside.

Wet ingredients:
In a sauce pan melt 2 sticks of butter and 1 cup of water and 4 tablespoons of cocoa powder.  Bring to a boil.  Mix well.

Separate Wet ingredients.
In a small bowl combine 2 eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla
mix well. 

Pour boiling cocoa/butter/water mixture into flour mixture while the mixer is on, allow to mix well.
Pour eggs/buttermilk vanillia mixture into chocolate/flour batter. Mix well.

Pour whole thing into a rectangular 9x13 pan (greased or sprayed with cooking spray), bake for 25 minutes.

While cake is baking --see, this is an impatient cake --so I like it for that reason.

7 minutes before the cake is out, start your frosting.

Melt in a sauce pan 1 stick of butter,
4 tablespoons of cocoa,
6 tablespoons of milk
and 1 teaspoon of vanillia. 

Stir until it is one bubbling consolidated liquid. 

Add one box of powdered sugar and keep stirring until it is glossy smooth.

Add one cup of pecans if desired. Mix well.

Take cake out of oven.
Pour icing over cake while still hot.

Eat. Enjoy.
Spend next 364 days working it off so you can do it again next year.
Tomorrow, you get the story of the cake.  Sugar coma from cake is preventing further thought.

The Beauty of Simple Things

My son underwent surgery to have tubes placed in his ears.  I worried how the world would sound to him once the volume got turned up so to speak. 
With three teens, one tween and a nine year old with a cd player, there is always music playing.  At any given moment, music from Tangled, Star Wars (the prequelles), Japanese Animation, the current top forty mix station and classical all might be playing depending upon which room you enter.  I'd briefed the older kids that we'd have to give their brother time to adjust.

On the ride home while he was still shaking off the anestisia, we put on classical to keep the mood calm.  He was grabbing at the air, calling out to us to pay attention because there was all this sound; sounds that had become background for us. He sang along with the choir, Laaaaaaaaaaa, and clapped, and we had the pleasure of rediscovering the world through his eyes and ears.

We are hardwired for beauty, we are made to be struck with awe and wonder. But the world and its many tasks can make us world weary, unable to recognize that we are not stopping, we are not smelling the roses, we do not see the stars or stare at the moon. Being rushed, we fail to hear the notes of loveliness when they play because we are busy.  We spent the day listening to music through his new ears.

My son's ears got fixed, so now at least for the moment, we all hear better.