A Little Malaise

Ibis at Mount Dora, Florida

My cell phone just may have given up the ghost. It’s been a little temperamental for months-- ever since I dropped the charging end of it into a bowl of salsa. (That’s a different story.) Sometimes the phone is willing to be charged….other times, no.  I’ve just been hoping that I could make it back to the U.S. before it died forever. 

Mississippi River running high through Memphis

Storm clouds chasing through Alabama

Well, the phone did make it back to the U.S. Survived through Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, and into Missouri and then……..two weeks ago, while still in Missouri, it stopped taking any charge at all. So, a week ago, after we got to Duluth, we left my phone at one of those high techy electronic fix-it places staffed by guys wearing thoughtful dark-rimmed glasses who are younger than my children. Demoralizing. These are the new Ph.Ds’s of this world.

Country roads through northern Mississippi

Floods along Missouri River

So, there I was, traveling north through Iowa and Minnesota, without my phone. No email, no texting with my children and friends, no Google maps for navigation (I used Carl’s phone for that), no address book, no access to my doctor’s office, my Hennepin County library card, GoodReads where I keep track of the books I read and write reviews on them, my appointment calendar (when is my first doctor appointment anyhow? and whose birthday comes up next?), my alarm clock that reminds me it’s time to take my medicine, Facebook, my list of “things to look for when I get to Minnesota,” and no googling things like “I wonder if, when, where, who, what or why” such and such is. 

Sand bags in front of stores, Hannibal, MO

No access to a raft of passwords, no follow up on political events and commentary, no searching for “the best place to eat” in Hannibal, MO, no researching about how the current spring flooding on the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers compares with previous years. But, all of that wasn’t so bad. It’s a pretty drive, especially when one avoids the freeways which we were pretty good at doing.

Missouri flooding. Can't plant here. 

Now here I come to the guts of this tale. Getting back to Minnesota is always an exciting time for me. The comfort of seeing familiar places and people…it just feels good, for the most part. I’ve noticed, however, a spate of malaise of late. A bit of a dark shadow passing across my eyes. It’s really hard to say why this is so. Besides the loss of my phone, there are some contenders for responsibility. For one, it’s a bit of an adjustment to come from islands where people live more minimalistic lives, to the U.S. where we are surrounded by powerful interests, competing commerce, products, billboards, three dozen varieties of tomato sauce, and things, things and more things. Our wealth is obscene by comparison.

Iowa backroads

 For another, signs of climate change have been appearing all along the way. We have seen significant flooding nearly everywhere. It’s not unusual to see flooding along the Mississippi in the spring, of course, but this year seemed exceptionally wet. Mud slides along country roads, miles of inundated fields that could not be planted, even in Missouri where the planting season should be many weeks ahead of Minnesota, the corn was puny and patchy and I am referring to that old farmer’s phrase that suggests that “corn be knee-high by the 4th (of July)” Exceptionally cold days in Minnesota. Frost warnings in northern Minnesota well into June. 

Hannibal, MO. Train crept along over rails. Took half hour for train to pass

Weather extremes. We watched the first freight train creep through Hannibal, MO after the flood waters had receded a bit. The steel rails on the tracks were all that was visible above the flood water. Eerie. Last week there was 7 inches of rain in southern Minnesota in one dump. Highway 52 had to be closed. Heat warnings were posted across Germany and Paris. I think about the impact of climate change on our world a fair bit. We live on our planet within narrow parameters of weather and climate. Certainly enough concerns there to contribute to a level of malaise. When the coastal lands are under water and we can no longer grow root vegetables that like cooler weather, we’ll be hurting. 

Overlooking Mississippi River flood plain

Another possibility contributing to malaise. In southeastern Minnesota, I saw five of my six siblings. (I visited with the sixth sibling while in Florida). It seems to me that nothing highlights the changes that come with aging more than having been absent from loved ones for a while. 

Approaching Mississippi, southern Houston Co, MN

Aging is not a kind mother. She takes our skin that was once so taut and supple and morphs it into a less familiar body covering of wrinkles, skin tags, spots and sometimes cancer. I have certainly seen those things on myself. And all of that energy that we once had to corral small children at the same time that we gardened, cooked, cleaned, ran errands—I remember that person but could never replicate even one of those busy days now. Aging attacks some of us cruelly, even unfairly I say…..takes away abilities we took for granted such as sight, balance, memories.  

Sunset in Iowa

So, to what do I credit the malaise? Is it the loss of my cell phone?  Is it the stark disparity between the wealth of this country and so many poor places of the world? Is it global warming? Or is it coming face to face with how I and everyone I care about has aged since my last visit? The story we are told by the Ph.Ds at the techy place is that my phone will be fixed and returned to me today. Shame on me if the malaise disappears with the arrival of my cell phone. 

A Sailor's Thoughts on Airplanes, Wheelchairs and UBER

Elvis' tomb at Graceland

I've been doing a lot of reclining recently.  It's painful to sit and standing is fine for a half hour or so, but at some point I just have to lie down again, a pillow under my left leg.  I've got a laptop laying across my upper legs and I've got some good pain meds. Those two things combined are responsible for this bad poem.

So here I lie in Memphis,

Day after day on my bumpkiss.

Is it time well spent?

Well, if that's what he meant

When my doctor said

Be kind to that tush bone

Afore pain knocks you senseless.

May 8 Monday.  I talked to Carl this morning by phone, from the neurosurgeon's office in Memphis and I told him that I need back surgery.  "When can you get here?" Northern Star is sailing north today from Jacksonville, along the Georgia coastline and on toward Charleston. Carl is hopeful that the weather will hold and given the benefit of having three sailors onboard, that they may be able to keep going until they get to Oriental, NC where we will leave the boat for a couple of months. 

Northern Star going through a lock on ICW

So we have a plan now and it's one that makes sense to me.  When I saw the MRI of my L5/S1 disc draped over the top of the sacrum, reminding me of the way a dog's tongue hangs out of his mouth, I thought, how in the world is physical therapy going to make that blob go back where it belongs?  I've been warned about knife-happy surgeons with regard to back surgery, but at this point, the microdiskectomy seems the most reasonable thing to do.  As my doctor said this morning, "You're already 6 weeks into this. If it was going to get better on its' own, it would have started to improve a little by this time. Instead it's getting worse. You've had an epidural without improvement. You're in a lot of pain; too much so to do physical therapy. You've lost ankle reflexes and you've lost strength in your left leg.  It's time to do this."  And I said, "How soon?"

But here's what I want to talk about.  I had some "interesting" experiences while being dependent upon others for assistance over the past two weeks.  I was a rehab social worker for much of my career but have had no experience myself, of being a wheelchair user.  It was very educational.  My readers will not be surprised to learn that I have a few observations to make.  I think that in our country, we could do a better job when it comes to making our cities and our services more user friendly for folks using wheelchairs. So, anyway,  here goes.

Our new primary care clinic in Memhis

April 19 Wednesday morning. My first wheelchair experience occurred when Carl was with me.  We flew from Marsh Harbor to Miami.  My ESL (English as a Second Language) female attendant was there at the gate with my wheelchair and I could see immediately that it was going to be trouble.  The seat was so stretched out and loose that it laid right down on the bar beneath it.  I gingerly sat down and immediately got up again.  "I can't sit on that. There's something wrong with the seat. I'm sitting right on the bar."  "Oh, no is fine," she said. "They all like this." Oh great. The Miami airport is torturing all wheelchair users as a regular course of business. Well, my attendant had a schedule to keep and there was no use but to go along with the schedule.  I slouched way down so as to avoid sitting directly on the bar.  As we parted ways, I attempted one more time to explain that the chair really was in need of attention. "The chair needs repair.  It needs to have the seat repl......" She was gone before it was out of my mouth.



One of the dog parks at Shelby Farms, a 4,500 acre park in Memphis.

April 19 Wednesday night. My next flight was to Memphis that same evening and I was alone. DAN made the arrangements including wheelchair assistance. I took myself to the airport by UBER, laying across the backseat per my request. The driver kindly gave  me his hand to help pull me out when we got to the airport. The Drop Off at the Miami airport is 3 or 4 lanes of traffic wide. I needed to cross two busy lanes to get inside the terminal.  Thankfully there was a police woman standing near me when I exited the UBER vehicle.  I asked her how I could get a wheelchair, thinking she would alert someone to bring one out for me.  Instead, she pointed across the lanes to the entrance.  "You have to go in through those doors. They have wheelchairs in there."  Well, so much for help from our officer in blue.  I hoped she was watching me as I limped and dragged my heavy backpack, my CPAP case and a large travel "purse" across the lanes, dodging taxis and limousines.  In retrospect I really should have been more insistent and NOT budged from the spot with all that heavy stuff in tow.

One of the pandas at the Memphis Zoo

I entered the terminal. I had about an hour before my plane would be boarding. A roving airline helper came to my assistance and got my boarding pass for me.  I pointed out that a wheelchair had been requested and one bag needed to be checked.  She took my bag and told me to have a seat in the area where all the chairs had large wheelchair symbols on them.  She came back eventually.  "There's nobody working this area right now.  I think she went to dinner."  "Can you find a wheelchair for me?" I asked. See, I was thinking I could push myself.  Wrong. She twisted up her mouth, squinted and said tentatively, "I'll see what I can do." She was gone a long time.  In fact, I don't think she did come back. Meanwhile, an ESL airport worker came by driving one of those motorized carts and pulling a load of luggage carts.  "Can you help me get a wheelchair?"  I couldn't understand what he said exactly, but it was something like, "I only drive deess," and smiling, shook his head. at me.

The Big River Crossing, at Memphis, the longest pedestrian bridge crossing the Mississippi River.

A woman in some sort of airport uniform came by and I flagged her down. "Would you help me please.  I need to get a wheelchair so I can get to my gate."  She looked about, saw the empty podium nearby and said, "I don't work in this area.  I'll see what I can do."  She returned in just a few minutes, "The woman who works here is at supper.  She should be back soon."  She lingered, looking around us. We were at the end of the terminal.  Very little action was happening there. Finally, a man in a uniform (maybe a pilot, for all I know) came down the hall and she nabbed him.  "What do we do about getting this woman a wheelchair?" He turned on his heel, grabbed a folded wheelchair that was sitting across the way and brought it over to us, then continued on. The woman caught him again.  I could hear in her tone of voice she was thinkin' 'not so fast, Buster.'  Turns out she was not particularly happy to be saddled with me because it was not her job to push people in wheelchairs and the airport does not have job sharing. (ie. Okay, on Tuesdays I'll push passengers in wheelchairs but the rest of the week I get to fly the planes.)  They don't do that.  I got into the chair, waiting.  She returned and without saying a word, pushed me about 75 yards to a similar seating area with wheelchair symbols on all the chairs.  She said a few words to the young woman in charge of that seating area who had not abandoned her little clutch of wheelchair passengers by thoughtlessly going to dinner. Neither of these woman looked at me or said anything to me.  I was just parked there, helped out of the wheelchair and left to ponder my existence. Had being in a wheelchair rendered me invisible?



Mississippi at Memphis.  Memphis Pyramid on the horizon, now home to Bass Pro and boutique hotel.

Now, this was interesting.  I'd been there only a few minutes, when an elderly woman left her chair to come over to me.  She said, "Obviously you're in a lot of pain. I may have some pain medication that might help you.  Would you like something?"  I did not take her up on her offer, as I did have a little pain medication of my own, but I appreciated her asking.  She confirmed that I was not invisible.

There was just a half hour left now, until they would start boarding the plane to Memphis.  I looked across at the young woman at the podium. When I could catch her eye, I mouthed, "What's going on?"  She smiled and mouthed back what I think was, "Someone will be here soon." Sure enough, in another ten minutes or so,  a very frail looking woman was delivered to the seating area in a wheelchair.  Her ESL attendant helped her vacate the wheelchair and be seated.  The attendant then brought the wheelchair over to me. The young woman at the podium handed her my boarding pass, which had been taken from me earlier (!) by the first woman to give me a push in the chair.

One of several great museums in Memphis

And......... we were off.  Zoom--down the corridor. Right turn. TSA wanted me to walk, if possible, through the metal detector.  I obliged. Then zoom, down the next corridor, up an elevator, onto an elevated train car, then down an elevator.  As we were going, I wanted to report to her how difficult it had been to get a wheelchair.  I said, "Cuarenta minutos antes de recibo la silla." (40 minutes before I receive a chair.) She laughed and said, "Oh, no no no, ees fine."  Clearly my Spanish left much to be desired.  I tried again while meaningfully jabbing myself in the chest.  "Esperanzo cuarenta minutos para la silla." (I wait 40 minutes for a chair.)  This did the trick.  "Ay, no, Usted esperanza...lo siento." (Oh, no. You wait 40 minutes. I am sorry."  After a couple more straightaways, and turns, we were on the home stretch-- the corridor leading to my gate. There was nobody there! The plane had boarded. I was the last passenger to board the plane to Memphis.  First seat, first row, First Class.  The door was closed a few minutes later. Well, that was exciting. Not.

Beale Street

I was the first passenger to exit the plane in Memphis and there was my wheelchair waiting for me along with my wheelchair attendant.  The woman took her job very seriously.  She efficiently took me to the baggage claim area, all the while keeping a stream-of-consciousness monologue going.  It was rather nice actually.  At least I knew what she was thinking.  She grabbed my backpack for me and we headed outside.  I explained that I would be getting an UBER driver to take me to my destination.  She knew just where the UBER drivers picked up their passengers and picked her way across two busy lanes of airport traffic using all available curb cuts to make my ride as smooth as possible.  She turned one direction, and then reversed herself thinking she'd chosen the wrong way.  My UBER driver called me.  Where was I? he wanted to know. Hmph. Where are you? My attendant spotted the car first.  She made a dash toward him, no longer taking such care to avoid the bumps.  The UBER driver launched into what I thought was an ill-advised move--he backed up to get to us, perhaps a football field's length. There was much honking involved.


It was really rather sweet how the wheelchair attendant "reported off" to the UBER driver, the condition of her patient, er, passenger.  "She's in a lot of pain, so you want to drive carefully and help her with her luggage" which he was already doing.  As I said, a stream-of-consciousness monologue.  She wished me well and I thanked her for her attention. It's nice to see people take pride in their work. The UBER driver was careful and inquired about my comfort in the backseat.  His mama raised him right. When we pulled up to the house, he carried my luggage to the door and extended his entire arm for me to hang onto so that I could pull myself out from the backseat where I was sprawled.  What a gentle and kind man, I thought. 


Oriental, NC.  Known as North Carolina's Sailing Capital. A very cruiser friendly little town.

May 11 Thursday.  Carl called me this morning from Oriental, NC. Northern Star had already arrived after three days and nights on the Atlantic, going from Jacksonville, FL to Oriental, NC.  He is relaxing this evening and then making arrangements to rent a car.  One of the crew goes to the airport  on Saturday and Carl will drive the other crew member home to Washington D. C.  Then he will drive to our car (where it has been stored in Maryland over the winter) and then on to Memphis with Jax.  Arrival in Memphis, perhaps Sunday; more likely Monday. He'll be here for my surgery first thing Tuesday morning.

What a weird, weird winter and spring it has been for us. First the lightning. And now this. But you know, since arriving in Memphis, I have talked with a lot of people-- UBER drivers and nurses at the clinics, etc.  And every time I've chatted with someone and they find out that I live on a sailboat, they say, without fail, "You live on a sailboat?  How awesome is that!" Or words to that effect. And I smile and say, "Yup."

The Memphis Detour

Mississippi River from the vantage point of the new Big River Crossing.

We enjoy a little inland detour now and then.  Our current detour began after we became confident that Hurricane Matthew presented no threat to our boat in the Chesapeake, neither by wind nor water surge. With Northern Star safely docked at Hartge (pro. HAR’chee) Yacht Harbor in Galesville, MD, we drove our Subaru Outback loaded with everything we’d need for a two-week-long “detour” inland.  

Jax with Northern Star beyond

The resident Border Collie, Jax occupied our backseat, while an assortment of boat projects that could be worked on while visiting family were stowed farther in the back.  Two boxes of nonessential odds ’n ends carefully culled from the innards of our sailboat also came with us. Those two boxes have now been successfully offloaded onto unsuspecting family members in Memphis where they will be stored while we continue our sojourn on the water.  (Thanks Natalie and Joe for buying a house with a big attic.)

Jax riding to Memphis in the backseat

The bulk of the drive from the Chesapeake to Memphis is within the state of Tennessee. We made it as far as Knoxville, TN on our first day with the weather system that had contributed to Hurricane Matthew hovering over our left shoulders. Knoxville is situated in the Smoky Mountains part of the Appalachians and was showing off her autumn colors for our arrival on October 9th.  But leaving the Smoky Mountains behind found us on the Cumberland Plateau and then on to the northern rim of the Delta which is Memphis, still sporting green leaves on the trees.

Fried catfish, coleslaw and collard greens

Memphis is fabulous in October!  Warm sunny days perfect to enjoy the outdoors without that ghastly heat and humidity of summer.  Almost makes a sailor think about putting down roots in Memphis.  When I think of Memphis, I think of majestic trees and food to die for!  Barbecue, fried catfish, hush puppies, tamales, shrimp and grits, greens and fried green tomatoes!  All good!  And the desserts! Caramel cake, coconut cake, key lime pie—why are these not staples on dessert menus in the North is what I wanna know?  

Beale Street

For those who have never visited Memphis, there are of course, those standard sights that everyone knows about.  Beale Street comes alive nightly with music; Sun Records is nearby, known as the place where Rock 'n Roll was born.  There, Elvis, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins became known as the Million Dollar Quartet.  The Rock and Soul Museum is at hand as well as the Gibson Guitar factory. 

Elvis' grave at Graceland

Elvis’ home, Graceland is on the south side of Memphis as you head toward the Mississippi state line.  My husband, having grown up in Greenville, MS, recalled his family driving past Graceland on the way to buy school clothes each fall. “Everybody knew that Elvis lived there.  Nobody bothered him. There were no souvenir shops back then, no tours—just a nice wooded neighborhood on the edge of Memphis.”  Today it is a tourists’ mecca.  

Glass elevator carries guests to the top of the Pyramid

The Memphis pyramid, originally home to the Grizzlies and the U. of Memphis basketball teams sat empty for several years but has now become a Bass Pro wonderland complete with a cedar swamp. Walkways allow close-up photos of giant catfish, enormous Alligator Gar, Needle Nose Gar, and of course, alligators. The pyramid has also become a destination wedding venue, if you can believe that.  A 4-star boutique hotel, the Big Cypress Lodge, lines the outside walls of the pyramid with each room's balcony overlooking the cedar swamp.  After Bass Pro closes up shop for the evening, the subtly illuminated cedar swamp belongs to the hotel guests. Tourists are obligated to visit the Bass Pro pyramid at least once.

A 240# Alligator Gar

If you have the good fortune to visit Memphis before Halloween, you might want to take a tour of the Elmwood Cemetery (est. 1852) which I can highly recommend.  Thousands upon thousands of people take the guided tours to hear some of the cemetery residents (miraculously come to life) tell the stories of their colorful lives above ground.  My favorite was the flirtatious and plucky woman who became a spy for the Confederacy and in her old age moved to Grenwich Village, New York to act in several silent films.  What a woman she was! 

Elmwood Cemetery "living" residents

Memphis has some awesome outdoor spaces that must be seen to be appreciated fully.  Overton Park covers 342 acres within Memphis Midtown and is home to an enormous and very creatively designed zoo, as well as the Brooks Museum.  The Green Line is a biker and pedestrian’s paradise with miles of paved lanes and unpaved trails along both sides of the Wolf River, all of which is now part of Shelby Farms Park.  

Memphis Zoo at Overton Park

The 4,500 acres which comprise Shelby Farms Park was originally the site of Shelby County Penal Farm.  Since 1964, the city has struggled to fashion a new and different future for the land and that vision is now being realized. Shelby Farms Park is one of the largest in the country, more than five times the size of Central Park and has something for everyone.  There are several lakes with various rental watercraft, restaurants for both fine dining and for hiking families, many miles of trails for biking, in-line skating, horseback riding and jumping, zip lining, skate park, woodland discovery park, a dog park with its’ own lakes for swimming dogs and even a buffalo herd! 

Dog park at Shelby Farms Park

As of this past weekend, there is another addition to the City which will certainly become a “must-do” event for all future visitors to Memphis.  One of the old railroad bridges crossing the Mississippi River has been repurposed as a pedestrian and biking bridge.  

The Mississippi from the Big River Crossing

We walked that Big River Crossing bridge last Sunday, from Memphis, Tennessee to a point south of West Memphis, Arkansas.  Just us and several thousand other walkers and bikers crossed the Mississippi last Sunday.  To see the enormous barges churning upriver directly below us was novel to say the least, and the Memphis skyline off to our right….fan-TAS-tic!!  

Arkansas side of the Big River Crossing

Our detour is coming to an end.  Tomorrow we head back to our home on the water, Northern Star.  We say our goodbyes to family here—bittersweet farewells for which we are thankful, because those are possible only when one leaves behind people that are loved.  I have not written about our times with family here—but I assure you, those have been the most important part of our detour inland.  Sometimes when people go off to sea, well-wishers say “Fair Winds and Following Seas.”  I’m offering this wish to all who read this, “May All Your Farewells be the Bittersweet Kind.”