Eating with the Sikhs

Jo and I had traveled south to our boat in Connecticut because a potential buyer was flying in to make a bid on her. We got there a day ahead of him so we could check that the batteries were fully charged and there was no mildew from sitting closed up.

After getting her in presentable condition, we drove to an Indian restaurant in the town of Middletown, CT. We were the only customers because it was a bit early. In the background there was a drone of a holy man on TV, chanting over what looked to be a corpse. The owner of the restaurant explained that it was evening prayers and it was being beamed in via satellite from the Punjab in India. I thought it was a little strange to engulf us in prayers while we ate but I asked how they could be doing evening prayers when it was getting to be dawn in India. He patiently explained that the satellite people had recorded the ceremony so it could be transmitted for evening prayers on the east coast of the U.S.

I commented on the fact that the holy man was wearing a turban which, in my limited understanding, meant he was a Sikh. "Oh, yes. Yes. We are all Sikhs in this place," said the owner.

He said when he first came to the U.S. he had a beard and had never cut his hair, like all Sikhs. "But that is not good here," he said with a laugh. "I was not permitted to cook food in the restaurant because I had a beard. So I cut off my beard and I cut my hair and I took off my turban." As he said this, he stroked his glossy black hair. "When I get older, I will grow it all back. But not now," he said.

All the other young men working in the restaurant had gathered around by now, wanting to share in his story. All of them were like him. Our waiter had a bit of a beard, but he was quite young.

The next morning, we drove back to the boat to await the potential buyer, an Englishman named Napoleon Mannering. I had Googled him the night before. There is only one Napoleon Mannering in our world, apparently, for he showed up in Argentina and in Toyko where he had been teaching English and running a soccer (football) club. He'd been interviewed by a Tokyo radio station and they had provided the transcript.

He arrived with the yacht broker. His surveyor had already been on the job for a couple of hours before they arrived. When you think you wish to purchase a boat, it is important to pay a surveyor to provide you a nuts-and-bolts analysis of what you are buying. It is the surveyor's job to protect the potential buyer. And so he did.

He informed him that there was water in the deck, causing some delamination. He did a pretty good job of scaring Napoleon away because he decided to walk away from the transaction without proceeding to the sea trials. He explained to me that he needs a boat to be perfect because he has no fix-up skills. Good luck, Napoleon. There is no boat that I'm aware on that doesn't need fixing up and regular maintenance.

So our trip to Connecticut was a bit depressing. But it caused us to drop the price of the boat by more than half. So we expect lots of people now will want to grab our beloved Quiet Passage since that price makes it the bargain of the year.

The $5 Haircut

We've both gone for three months without cutting a hair on our heads. So the ad in the free paper from the Vermont Academy of Hair Styling that offered haircuts for $10 so that students would have an opportunity to learn their new skill on our heads seemed like a fairly good deal. The ad noted that the students worked under the guidance of professional instructors which gave me a sense of comfort.
So we made the appointments. And then we showed up. We were greeted by a rail-thin woman who wore the brightest red hair and the whitest face makeup. Mmmmm. Maybe a portent of things to come. But Tiffany came out and shook my hand. Jo landed with Andrea. Both of them seemed pretty normal. The student in the next booth had day-glo blue/purple hair and two nasty-looking studs through her bottom lip. Another girl had so many tattooes in interesting places that it was better than reading a magazine. All of the tattooes seemed to have a Gothic overtone to them. Not a good way to put geezers at ease.
Tiffany gave me an outstanding shampoo and skull massage. Almost as good as I remember getting in Phnom Penh from the hairstylist who always finished up by whispering in my ear "You very handsome man." This, of course, always guaranteed an extra dollar in her tip.
I asked Tiffany how many students were in the academy and she told me 80. But half of them are housed in the basement where they spend the first 500 hours of their training learning about the hair and the chemistry involved in the changing of color. She told me the 11-month course was coming to an end for her since she graduates in October. That, too, gave me some heart since she had some experience on the cutting room floor.
The instructor came by and asked her what she was planning. "He wants me to take an inch off," Tiffany told her. The instructor fluffed up my hair and told her to get to it.
The first cut was two and a half inches long. Mmmm. Should I stop her now? I didn't but I watched with some interest as 80 per cent of my hair dropped onto the floor in front of me. And still she kept clipping.
Ever single hair on my head met her scissors at least four times. She snipped and snipped. She stood back to see if it was even...and then she snipped again. I mentioned that I do like to part my hair on the left and she nodded and said she could see where the part fell. But there would be no part in my future. I now was moving quickly toward looking like some Roman emperor. It was beginning to look like I was a natural to join the Army.
Jo, sitting beside me was telling her hairstylist to clip a little more off. The instructor came by and told Andrea that she had left "a corner" and suggested how to improve that. So Jo was done and waited out at the front desk. But Tiffany still clipped away.
The instructor came over to see how she was doing. She asked what I thought and I said it was a pretty good haircut but I doubted I would need another until well into 2009. That's not a bad thing, of course. But I surely am glad I don't have to stay up in the North through the winter months for I would have a chill on the brain.
Tiffany finished me off, then she handed me her card with a "$5 off the first haircut" discount. So my $5 haircut, if amortised over the next eight months when I shall be growing my hair back, will be the cheapest haircut I've ever had.
She gave me extra cards to pass out to family and friends. But I can find no takers. Are they trying to tell me something?

Up, Up and Away

The mist hung in tendrils in the valleys of Vermont at 5 a.m. as Jo and I drove south to beautiful Stowe, a favorite of skiers in this part of the world. There's no skiing now, of course, but it was chilly in the early dawn.
We'd come to Stowe for a balloon fest and watched as 25 balloonists rigged their baskets to filmy nylon and polyester. They use a large fan to partially inflate their enormous balloons and at just the right moment they fire up their propane burners which pumps hot air into the cavernous interior of the balloon
The tipping point arrives and the balloon pops upright with the captain inside the basket. People load up (up to five passengers, depending on the size of the balloon and the propane burner). Then they ignite the propane in short bursts and the balloon finds that instant when the weight of the basket and people is overcome by the lift. Then they are off, oh-so-gently. There always is a look of euphoria on the faces of the guests aboard (at a price of $250 per person for the ride!)
They drifted upward. over the treetops. The cold still air forced many of the balloons down into the trees and the passengers leaned out of their baskets and picked the leaves as they drifted by.
It was two delightful hours in the early morning. We drove north and had breakfast and then back to our motor home.
If you click on the picture on this page, it will take you to our photo album of this event.

Dr. Pane

One of the issues we gypsies must deal with is the handling of health issues as we roll along. Our Medicare does pretty well since urgent and emergency care can be handled from anyplace in the world. But dental issues: now that is a different kettle of fish.
Jo ran into a mouth problem in Connecticut and she visited daughter Lynn's dentist who diagnosed she needed a major root canal. In addition, he said, she had an abscess and that would require 10 days of antibiotics before any endodontist would drill into her teeth. Ten days took us out of Connecticut, however, so we then phoned daughter Stephanie in Vermont to see if she could find an endodontist (a person who specializes in root canals). She talked with her dentist and received a recommendation. Jo called and lucked out by getting a cancellation the day after we arrived in town.
But the best laid plans didn't work out. The endodontist suffered a heart attack just as Jo settled into the drilling chair. Not good. That took him off to the hospital where, happily, he survived. But Jo now had to find a new specialist since he would be out of commission for a number of weeks. Who should she find but Dr. Pane, truly, who was able to take her in because of a cancellation on an hour's notice.
He got down to work on the root canal and managed to carve out one of three roots on the first visit. Now she awaits a call about another cancellation so she can have the job finished. We can't get the new crown installed because of the time lag. But Dr. Pane says he'll plug up his work with a temporary filling and when we return to Florida in September we can have that final work done.
In the meantime, Jo and I are enjoying life in Vermont. This is a beautiful state: endless horizons of green mountains, laid back people, and a general dislike among the natives for the faster pace of the urban states.
Stephanie and Alex have taken us sailing on Lake Champlain a couple of times - always a great thing. We stay here for another month then we plan to roll through the White Mountains of New Hampshire and on into our beloved Maine.