September 5, 2016 – A Renaissance woman or "life skills"? 

          A week or so ago I was having a lovely chat with a woman that I had just meet recently.  This was about the fifth encounter with her and we just seem to communicate as if we have been friends for decades.  Have you ever meet someone for the first time and instantly admired them?  For me, this woman hit the mark in less than a minute and I was awestruck by her and still am. 

          During our last encounter we were talking about life in general and we were discussing the hobbies we have had and things we have done in the past.  We touched on the sense that as you travel through life you pass through different jobs, interests, and hobbies and grow from them and then move on. 

You acquire your life skills as you proceed in life and at some point you are no longer described by the job description you hold.

I am not sure which job, skill, or hobby I was chatting about when she exclaimed, “You are truly a Renaissance woman.”   I smiled and wasn’t exactly sure if I fit that definition. I said, “Oh, I am extraordinarily, ordinary.” The standard phrase I use when I am down playing a compliment given to me.

          I had to mull over that definition for a while.  I scoured my memory bank to remember the times I had heard someone described as a Renaissance man, yet I had never heard anyone described as a Renaissance woman, including me.

          I am still mulling it over and will get back to you when I have researched and defined it fully.   Personally, at this moment in time, I am comparing it to necessary “life skills”.

          Which reminds me of something that happened a decade or so ago . . . .

          Several years ago I went on a Windjammer Cruise out of Rockland, Maine, on the American Eagle Schooner with my brother, Ken. It all started as I flipped through The Yankee Magazine one month and I paused at the Windjammer Cruises in Maine advertisement.  For years I would pause at the same ad thinking, "Someday I am going to do this." It was a WISH in my heart that I could never quell. 

One January I was feeling my age and said to myself – “GEE, if I don’t do this now, I may never get to.”  Who would I go with?  Husband said a definite “NO, find someone else".  Most of my girlfriends were not the wind-and-sea-spray-in-their-hair type or had extremely busy careers.    I called my brother, Ken, and he had, unknown to me, the same WISH in his heart. So, us adventurers made plans and set sail on a shakedown cruise that next May – it is chilly in Maine in May and we were prepared.

But, something happened mid-day the first morning after we sailed out of port.  The trip consists of sailing out of Rockland, Maine, exploring the coast and daily the ship stops somewhere at anchor to allow the passengers a chance to go ashore and stretch their legs.

When the Captain called, “Who wants to row?” Ken and I volunteer. 

Going ashore consists of hoisting one leg over the crotch-height railing.  It is usually not too challenging for a man or a woman of my height – 5 foot 7 inches, but more of a challenge for the shorter people. Then you position your first foot on the outside of the railing and swing your second leg over the railing holding on [for dear life] so that you don’t fall overboard into the waiting wooden long boat which is possibly 8 to 10 feet below.

Next you climb down a challenging and tricky loose [as in very movable] rope and wooden-step contraption which is hung from the railing to boat level.  When you look down, the 8 to 10 feet looks more like 20 feet.  Finally, you gingerly step on one of the seats the First Mate directs you to in order to distribute the weight of each passenger as they “come aboard”.   [That final step scared me as the row boat took a serious dip in the water to one side under my weight.]

Usually 8 people climb into the boat and there are six rowers. Once everyone is seated the First Mate pushes the long boat away from the ship.  There are 6 rowers and the long wooden oars rest along all the bench seats between each pair of rowers.  Under excellent instruction by the First Mate each oar is lifted, straight up then lowered and put in its oar lock.

This in itself was fascinating to participate in as well as watch the fellow rowers heft, struggle, splash, and just about knock each other in the head.  Ken and I were seated in the back and had the best observation point.  We didn’t have too much of a problem with this procedure of lifting the oar and putting the oar lock in place.  I remember how heavy the oar was and reminded myself when I got home I needed to start lifting weights because my arm muscles were going to mush.

What transpired next was a real eye opener for Ken and I.  As we all started to row, the wooden oars were locked, splashed, clicked, knocked, and tangled to such a degree I thought we’d never make it to shore. 

Our family never owned a row boat, but as kids we would visit my Aunt Frances and Uncle Roger at Island Pond in New Hampshire during the summer and they had a metal boat Uncle Roger would use for fishing and often we got to take it out for a row. 

 I am thinking it is simply a matter of lift the oar out of the water move it back in your zone, dip it enough and pull it, then lift, move back, dip and pull and leave the oars in front and behind you alone.  I could hear Ken snickering beside me and we looked at each other and rolled our eyes in disbelief.

The rower in front of me on more than one occasion reached back so far with his oar and captured mine as he pressed his oar on top of mine and succeeded to push his oar so deep in the water – like to the bottom of ocean floor – that it just about tore my oar out of the oar lock.  I had to hold on with all my strength to not lose my precious oar.  As a whole the rowers improved as we got closer to land, but I had my doubts if we would arrive safely.

At the dock, the same procedure in reverse; pull in the oars and replace them between the rowers along the seats and then one by one the First Mate had one rower at a time climb out equalizing the weight to keep the boat level as we disembarked.

Ken and I were out on the dock and he says, “Hey Sis, wait, hold back.”  I obeyed, but not sure why.  The rest of the party headed off several paces ahead of us and quickly were out of hearing range.

Ken shook head smiling with that devilish grin of his and said:

“Who knew that rowing a boat was a life skill?”