Alexandersmap

    Category: Lifestyle

    • The First 25 Years of Marriage

      “Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true
      But you and I know what this world can do
      So let’s make our steps clear that the other may see
      And I’ll wait for you
      If I should fall behind
      Wait for me”
      – Bruce Springsteen, If I Should Fall Behind

      Being married for 25 years seems like a long time, and at once like no time at all. If you’re looking for secrets to successful marriages, well, the Springsteen song above is a great starting point. It was our wedding song, and set the tone for infinite patience and helping each other stay in stride for year upon year. But ultimately both dance partners need to be in step if a marriage is going to work. And I’ve been very lucky in that respect.

      Arriving at the first 25 years of marriage, you look back and see the hurdles along the way. Money and raising young children test you early on. Careers and the demands of older children test you later on. And then empty nesting and figuring out what’s next tests you after that. And then the nest fills back up in a pandemic and you’re back at it again, figuring things out as you always have. Simple, right? Nope. But worth the effort.

      You tell yourself that the next 25 will be easier, but there are other challenges ahead. Children moving to faraway places, the health and well-being of family and friends and each other. Choices about where to live and how to live in retirement, if you ever get there. So you keep shoring up that foundation, work to shore it up when it crumbles a little bit here and there. And then keep building this castle higher and higher into the sky to see how far you can go.

      Life is funny and you and I know what this world can do. We build layer-upon-layer, year-upon-year. They say there’s magic up there in the clouds, but you and I know it’s really in the foundation. The climbing and the building continue. I’ll wait for you, and if I should fall behind, wait for me. Keep climbing. And that, friends, is the secret.

    • Several Fires Left in the Pile

      I lit a Sunday evening fire outside on the brick patio last night. This is two Sundays in a row, almost a trend. Last week was bear in the woods fireside Sunday. This week no such excitement, just the observation that the days are getting shorter and colder. If I were a bear I’d be finding a nice place to hibernate deep in the woods. Hopefully someone else’s woods.

      Last night began with reading outside in the fading twilight. This time of year that’s earlier in the evening than I’d like it to be, but the side benefit is it gave me the inspiration to gather pine cones and fallen branches to start a fire. Living amongst the trees we have little reason to use fire starter blocks or crumpled up newspaper to start a fire, and yet I opt for the simple route too frequently. It was good to get reacquainted with starting a fire without assistance from manmade products. I conceded the lighter instead of flint. I mean, I’m not on Survivor here.

      With pine cones and kindling crackling and erupting into a small fire, I gathered firewood of various sizes, assessing the size of the wood pile and calculating how many more fires I’ve got in it before a refresh is required. My math tells me about 30 Sunday night’s worth. Unless Tom comes over and takes command of the fire stacking, in which case we may have half that number. Tom likes a big fire. And with the cold air creeping behind I see the benefits myself and stack this one a bit taller than normal as a nod to warmer glows and good friendships.

      Stacking firewood is an act of faith. You expect to be given the time to use all that wood and start a new stack. All we can do is prepare for the future, we aren’t guaranteed we’ll arrive at the party. But so far we have. Surely a cause for celebration. Since we’ve been given this opportunity, why not make the most of it? I add logs to the fire and watch it roar in appreciation. And I in turn appreciate the warming glow.

      Fire established, a dram of scotch poured, and playlist rolling, I read I few pages more and put the book aside. There was nothing more to do but contemplate the work accomplished over the weekend and the objectives that lie ahead for the coming week. What will the week bring? Tasks accomplished and boxes checked? Conversations with people of substance and depth? What can I control and what must I let wash over me? Such are the thoughts of a fireside chat with yourself.

      My son came out and joined me. We talked of his own plans for the week ahead. He brought a flashlight out, just in case that bear should crunch through the woods again. No such luck this day. Instead we tracked the planets pirouetting across the sky: Bright Jupiter and Saturn with a faint Pluto to the south, red Mars rising in the east. The cold descended on the backyard and I added two logs to the fire and a wool hat to my head. Soon my bride joined us and we talked until the pile burned down to glowing embers. Another Sunday evening, and several fires left in the pile.

    • Discovering The Photographer’s Ephemeris

      Every now and then I discover something that makes my heart flutter a bit in excitement. There is a flutter happening now that goes beyond the first cup of coffee. For I’ve discovered an app called The Photographer’s Ephemeris. And I wonder where has my mind been all these years that I’d completely miss out on something so incredibly useful for those of us who chase the light.

      Followers of this blog know of my relationship with the early morning light – that magical time between nautical start and sunrise known as civil start. On the flip side of the day, this magical time is known as civil end (sounds a lot like 2020). For years I’ve known the wonder in this time, but I didn’t put a name on it. The combined more-than-a-passing recreational interests in astronomy and photography led me to learn more about the three phases of light in the dawn and at twilight. The Photographer’s Ephemeris handily charts out these phases on a timeline at the bottom of the app. But where it becomes really exciting is with the lines indicating where the sunrise will be and where it is now. It also offers a line showing where the moon will rise. And of course you get the same effect on the western side of the satellite image showing where the sunset will be, where it is now and where the moon will set.

      The word ephemeris is derived from ephemeral and the Greek ephēmero, or something that last for a short time. Each phase of the dawn or twilight is brief and fleeting, just as life itself is. An ephemeris is a method of tracking and predicting this ephemeral information that pivots above us. Making sense of the information falls on us. An ephemeris is usually associated with astrology and the position of the planets at the moment you were born. Or with astronomy and knowing the position of the stars now. Its handy information if you want to know where Mars and the moon are in relation to each other (dancing together last night), or if you believe in such things, why you don’t get along with your coworker.

      Ultimately, information offers a measure of predictability and understanding in our lives. I had a general understanding of where the sun might rise or set, and likewise a general idea of where the moon might be on a given night. But there’s something powerful about having the information readily available on a phone app. A thrill of expectation, but also a measure of control about where you might position yourself for that epic sunset or moonrise picture. It also saves me from looking out the window on those mornings by the bay when simply looking at the time of nautical start the night before would give me all the information I needed beforehand.

      I’m sure professional photographers have known about this app for years, but its new to me and perhaps to you too. I see The Photographer’s Ephemeris quickly rising to the top of my most-used apps. For it answers many of the celestial questions I geek out about in one handy place. And isn’t that the point of an app anyway?

    • Where Would You Most Like To Live?

      A couple of months ago I copied the Proust questionnaire after hearing Rolf Potts talk about it on one of his podcasts. Borrowing from a Vanity Fair segment on the topic, “The Proust Questionnaire has its origins in a parlor game popularized (though not devised) by Marcel Proust, the French essayist and novelist, who believed that, in answering these questions, an individual reveals his or her true nature.”

      Since copying it and dumping it into my drafts folder, I’ve largely ignored it. But today I was so repulsed by the news that I sought it out to pull my mind off of the darkness in the world so often spotlighted by those who leverage it for gain. And I settled on one question from the list that made me pause and think more than any other: Where would you most like to live?

      I think a lot about traveling. And lately, despite extensive home renovation projects this year, I’ve thought a bit about where I’d move to should I really get sick of parking myself in this same place. The answer to this question is easy for some people, but a bit more evasive for others. Where would you most like to live? Somewhere tropical or seasonal? At a beach house? In the mountains with a ski-up condo? A penthouse in the city with a view of the park? Deep in the heart of the action or far, far away from the action? On an island far from the madness of the world? In another country? Close to family or far away from family? In a quiet neighborhood full of kids for your kids to play with? The answer will change with time and circumstances.

      Your stage of life dictates the answer to the question. For twenty years the place I lived was the place I wanted to live. Close enough to the ocean and the mountains. Private enough with the forest nudging insistently on the backyard. In a small town across the border with conveniences all around us and a chance for our children to grow up playing with other kids in the neighborhood for hours at a time. Sure the commute was difficult at times, but there were times when I’d come home to New Hampshire from a frenzied day in Boston or New York and walk the dog with only the stars to keep us company on a quiet night and I’d believe that the answer was nowhere else but here.

      But fast-forward a decade and the kids are adults, the dog has passed, and you chafe at the neighbors a bit more than you should. Is it time to downsize? Or to relocate for relocation’s sake? When I was younger I imagined living along the river or a pond where I could slip a rowing shell or kayak into the water and just go. When I got a bit older my taste turned more to salt water and I thought of a deep water dock as the ultimate attachment to a house. Those friends sailing Fayaway would vote for that house with a deep water dock. They answered the question Where would you most like to live? with a sailboat, but are asking themselves the question again, with the answer being maybe a bigger sailboat. A neighbor is answering the question with an RV and a place to park it when they aren’t on the road. Both answered with mobility.

      Where would you most like to live? The answer often depends on the answer to another question, which is how would you most like to live? A quiet walk outside at dawn to see the sunrise from shore or as you quietly paddle to deeper waters. A trail that leads to another trail that draws you upwards to dance with the sky. A place to someday run and play with the grandchildren. A place big enough to invite others over for conversation deep into the night, but small enough that you don’t spend your days constantly maintaining it. A place to think and a place to be active. A close enough place that’s far enough away. A safe place for others to come home to.

      So tell me, where would you most like to live? David Bowie once completed the Proust Questionnaire and answered this question with “Northeast Bali or south Java”. As for me? Somewhere with dark skies and the Northern Lights. With changing seasons and people who challenge me to stretch and grow and be more than I am now. If you’re going to move you might as well make it a big leap.

    • Upcoming Wonder

      “Stuff your eyes with wonder… live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds.” – Ray Bradbury

      Something switched inside of me over the last few days, and suddenly I’m methodically filling my calendar with upcoming wonder. “Upcoming” is an important consideration, but “wonder” is the key word. There’s no guarantees in life, of course, but book it and it may be all that you wanted it to be. Such was the case with my train ride from Helsinki to Moscow in 1989, whitewater rafting through the Grand Canyon in 1998, my drive across Scotland in 2019, or any such “big” trip. Winging it can be magical, but booking it locks it in.

      Having paid my dues in sweat equity and a mild case of poison ivy putting a fence up last weekend, I have two hikes on my mind for the next two weekends (if the weather holds out). The first is with friends who hike mountains like most people take a walk around the block. That will be a test of my fitness and mobility, but a worthy adventure in peak-bagging. The second hike is being pushed out by the threat of rain but involves a 4000 footer followed by a smaller, and possibly more exciting mountain that I look forward to writing about. Anticipation is funny that way, I’ve heard enough about the smaller mountain to know what to expect, which makes the eventual hike slightly less discovery and more experience.

      Over the last few days I’ve also booked a weekend in Acadia National Park in Maine, committed to a sailing passage from Massachusetts up the Gulf of Maine to Yarmouth, Maine and booked a weekend in Stowe, Vermont in November. Adventures every one of them, and I’ve plotted drive times and reviewed what will be open and closed while we’re there, viewed YouTube videos of vloggers who have been more immersed in Acadia before me. This all borders dangerously close to the spreadsheet travel posted on this blog about almost exactly a year ago. But having a rough plan in place when youI go somewhere new is helpful. You can then fill in the blanks with discovery. For Acadia, I know what I don’t know and wanted to build some structure. For Stowe, I know the place really well and I’m leaving almost everything to discovery. For hiking, I read the trail descriptions, scanned the maps, and if possible look at street view images of where the car is going to be parked. The rest is one foot in front of the other discovery, as it should be. Similarly for the sailing passage, I’ve sailed the Gulf of Maine and on Fayaway enough to know what to expect. But once I’m past Isles of Shoals its all discovery for me. I’m trusting the Captain on that one.

      Trust is an important consideration with upcoming wonder. I trust that I’ll wake up on the day that I’ve booked a cabin in Acadia. I trust that the weather will cooperate enough to make the long drive north worthwhile or make the hikes hike-able. I trust that COVID-19 doesn’t explode and shut everything down before any or all of these trips. None of us is really sure about what happens in the next ten seconds, let alone the next ten weeks. All you can do is set the table and leave the rest to fate. Ultimately we’re bit players in the game of life, but we are players. So we ought to play.

    • Full House Solitude

      “A creation of importance can only be produced when its author isolates himself, it is a child of solitude.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

      We got word yesterday that our daughter, a senior in college, would be spending her glorious fall semester studying remotely from home. Not what we wanted for her, and surely not what she wanted for herself. But here we are, and here we’ll make the most of it. There are silver linings in every setback, and we’re deep into a massive setback in 2020. So be it.

      Our son graduated from college in 2020. We’re 2-for-2! Currently working elsewhere, he’ll be home in late September and we’ll adjust to the new normal of four adults living together. For all the celebration of having everyone together once again, we know the reality is that they want to fly, not be back in the nest.

      That nest is what I’m thinking about now. We spent the spring lockdown renovating or updating room-after-room. But we didn’t renovate with four of us working from home in mind. As Goethe says, we all need a little isolation to be our most productive. And now I’m thinking about where to give each of us a bit of space to roam creatively. Divide a house built for living and carve out four private offices for distinctly different career paths. Office in a shed? Thought about it. But there’s space here, if we get creative.

      I always joked about selling the nest and traveling when the kids went off to college. I’m grateful that remained a joke. The empty nest will quickly fill up, clutter and chaos will return, noise levels will be higher than anticipated, grocery bills will escalate. The days will grow shorter and colder as winter sets in, making outdoor time more evasive. And chasing solitude for creative work is going to be a challenge. But there’s always long walks to reset the mind. And early morning hours. And other such strategies. The investment in effort to make it work is worth it.

    • So Many Mornings

       

      “This is the earnest work. Each of us is given
      only so many mornings to do it—
      to look around and love
      the oily fur of our lives,
      the hoof and the grass-stained muzzle.
      Days I don’t do this
      I feel the terror of idleness,
      like a red thirst.
      Death isn’t just an idea.”
      – Mary Oliver, The Deer

      Each morning I jot down one sentence that sums up the day prior in my Clear Habit Journal.  This one exercise alone has prompted me to be more creative in my days; to seek adventures worthy of writing down.  But there are plenty of days when I just go to work (which currently means walking downstairs) and maybe had a meaningful conversation with someone.  And sometimes that’s enough.  But in the back of my mind I feel that tomorrow morning I ought to write something down that was worthy of a day alive.  For as Mary Oliver says above, each of us is given only so many mornings, and death isn’t just an idea.

      Saturday morning brought tales of night swimming with my bride and hot embers warming cold skin.  Sunday morning brought soreness and a note about the magical Franconia Ridge Trail.  And this morning brings a summary of bottles of wine, grilled goodness and laughter with friends at a distance.  This was a string of worthy days and I work to compress the entirety of it all into one sentence that somehow may sum it up.  These are moments of quiet smiles and satisfaction.  Sometimes I write about adventures above tree line, but sometimes I write about installing a new toilet in my parent’s bathroom.  Both count just the same as worthy entries.

      Just as the blog forces me to reach beyond my comfortable place to explore and try new things, the daily sentence lingers as a cold-hearted judgement on the worthiness of any given 24 hours on this planet.  If that seems like a lot to live up to, well, so be it.  I believe we’ve got to live with urgency for all the reasons I’ve written about before that you already know too.  Someday I’ll have my last morning on this planet, and I hope the day that follows it is so epic that I wish I’d had one more to write down what I did.  Those single day entries will pass on to those who survive me, and I hope they’ll see the sparkle and shimmer of a life well-lived, one day at a time.

       

    • Saper Vedere: Knowing How to See

      “And so she woke up
      Woke up from where she was
      Lying still
      Said I gotta do something
      About where we’re going”
      – U2, Running To Stand Still

      This song is about drug addiction.  Thankfully I’ve never been a drug addict and so I guess I don’t hear it that way.  Instead I hear the cry out for more than this that leads the couple to escape through drugs.  Seeking a more vibrant canvas than the one we’ve currently painted is a common trait among humans.  Whether we do it through positive pursuits like travel, art, or exercise or through other pursuits like drugs or porn or consuming media makes all the difference in how we grow.  The character Bono sings about could easily have gotten up and picked up a pen instead of a needle.  Perhaps they didn’t see another path out of their current situation.  Perhaps they never saw the light that glimmers around us in the dim reality of poverty.

      “The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

      To reach for “newer” demands we stretch ourselves.  To reach for “richer” infers personal growth as we expand our ideas about what our place in this world can be.  We all face the same ticking clock and react to it in our own way.  And that reaction itself changes with time and experience.  At least if we learn from our experiences as we accumulate them.  I shake my head at some of the experiences I had earlier in my life that I didn’t learn from.  But not learning from what happens in our lives is as much an experience as learning and adjusting the first time.  We all travel the winding path of life at our own pace, and some paths are much harder than others.  But having the vision to see what you want your life to be and building a foundation underneath it is the missing link for so many.

      “The painter has the Universe in his mind and hands.” –  Leonardo da Vinci

      Leonardo da Vinci had a philosophy about life called “Saper Vedere” that I find particularly fascinating.  Saper Vedere means “knowing how to see” and it involves visualizing whatever it is you’re creating through a mix of “arte (skill), scientia (knowledge), and fantasia (imagination)”.  (Here’s my source of this information).  So Saper Vedere applied to our lives offers clarity and purpose to the sculptor inside of us.  We’re all inventing our lives every day, or we’re sliding sideways letting the world dictate what we do today and tomorrow and the rest of our days.  I like the former, don’t you?  Every day I try to learn a bit more, to apply that knowledge in productive ways, and to taste, and learn from, experience.  I don’t always achieve everything I visualize in a day, but believe I get closer to the ideal than I might otherwise.

      So Saper Vedere takes its place with Carpe Diem and Memento Mori as a way of living that squeezes the most out of our raw potential.  Slowly creating the life you visualize, one step at a time in our quest for Arete (another word that’s been lodged in my brain since I was a teenager).  In Greek mythology Arete means “Excellence”, or reaching one’s potential in this very human life.  I’m not sure its possible to reach our potential, but we can get a lot closer, can’t we?  The striving for excellence begins with having a vision for the life you’d like to live, and then doing the work to achieve it.  To wake up and do something about where you’re going.  To reach out without fear for newer and richer experience.  To have a vision for your life and to pursue it in earnest, beginning today.

    • Hiking the Franconia Ridge Trail: Little Haystack, Lincoln and Lafayette

      Today’s epic hike began with a 4 AM wake-up call (late by some hiker’s standards) and a drive two hours north to Lincoln, New Hampshire accompanied by Venus flirting with the crescent moon and old friend Orion pivoting in the sky.  A lot has happened since I last saw Orion, and we have a lot to catch up on.  But I focused on the road and the surprising number of cars driving north with me.  Who are all these people driving at 4:30 on a Saturday morning?  Are they up early or wrapping up a late Friday?  At least one car drifting out of their lane multiple times indicated the latter.

      The reason for the early morning was to beat the swarm of hikers that inevitably descend on the Falling Waters Trail.  This is one of the easiest  trailheads to get to, and one of the prettiest returns on your hiking investment with multiple waterfalls along the trail (even in a dry August) and a beautiful ridge line hike across Little Haystack Mountain to Mount Lincoln to Mount Lafayette along the Franconia Ridge Trail, which is a section of the Appalachian Trail (surely one of the AT’s most beautiful sections).  A short detour takes you down to Shining Rock, which lives up to its name with water flowing down a large granite face.  That detour doesn’t feel short when you turn around to hike the tenth of a mile back to the trail junction, but its worth the time.

      So knowing the trail would be crowded, I had my cloth mask at the ready and utilized it many times on the hike.  The majority of hikers brought masks with them and used them in tight quarters as you were passing each other.  I found myself wishing I’d brought a balaclava instead of a mask just for the ease of quickly pulling it up and down as you came across other hikers, and I came across a lot of hikers on this one, particularly on my descent of Lafayette to the Greenleaf Hut, which is open for business once again but requires a mask when you walk inside.  I was very ready for a cup of coffee when I visited, and a visit to the restrooms before beginning the descent down the Old Bridle Path.

      One thing that annoys me about crowded trails is trail etiquette.  In particular the people who leave their toilet paper after peeing next to or on the trail.  Pack it out with you, or if that grosses you out dig a cathole.  But don’t leave it clumped there for all to see.  A friend tells me that there are three times the normal number of people hiking this year because of COVID-19.   After my experience on Pierce/Eisenhower and now Little Haystack/Lincoln/Lafayette, I believe it.  But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t respect the mountains.  Leave no trace people!

      Mount Lincoln is of course named after Abraham Lincoln.  As peaks go its pretty easy, sitting between Little Haystack and Lafayette.  Little Haystack is 760 feet above the 4000 foot mark but doesn’t qualify because its less than 200 feet to Lincoln, which is 5089 feet. As the taller of the two mountains, Lincoln gets the nod for the official 4000 footer list, but I can’t help but feel hiking Little Haystack and not getting credit for it makes up for hiking Tecumseh (3′ short of 4000) and getting credit.  The 48 giveth, the 48 taketh away…

      Mount Lafayette is named after Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, the French hero of the Revolutionary War and a heck of a singer in the Hamilton musical.  The mountain is 5249 feet and the most prominent of the three.  I lucked out with the weather, which offered beautiful views and a refreshing light breeze.  On my descent it started raining a bit, which didn’t amount to much.  But I bet it made some of the granite and basalt slippery.  Thankfully I was well past that by the time those few drops started falling.

      The loop up Falling Waters to Franconia Ridge Trail/AT to Old Bridle Path back to the parking lot is nine miles.  I’d like to say I did it solo, but I had a lot of company on the trail from my start at 6:15 to the return to the car at 1 PM.  I took a few photos of waterfalls, detoured to Shining Rock overlook, lingered for “brunch” on the summit of Lincoln, for some trail mix on the summit of Lafayette, and for coffee at the Greenleaf Hut and still completed the loop in under seven hours.  Not bad.  I didn’t set any speed records on the trail, and I’m just fine with that.  But I did lose five pounds in a day, even with rehydration and grazing on trail mix the entire drive back.  All-in-all a wonderful day in the White Mountains.

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    • Skipping Across The Water: 20 Places To See By Boat

      Perhaps its my proximity to water at the moment, or perhaps the heavy influence of the crew of Fayaway on my thinking the last few days, but I’ve been thinking about places best seen by boat lately.  For when you combine water and beautiful scenery you can quickly build a list of must-see places that are perfectly situated to or only possible to see by boat.  I’ve managed a few of these in my lifetime, the rest are bucket list items for the right moment, should it come along.  But we all have to have hope for a future where we can once again explore the world, don’t we?

      Interesting if only to me, many of the places I want to go to most are in cold climates.  The tropical destinations are nice, but I’m a Northern bird and appreciate a bit of snow and ice in my life too.  And then there are the places I’ve been to before that I secretly plot to return to again as soon as possible.  You know you’ve fallen in love when a place haunts you for decades after visiting, and a few on this list qualify.

      Without further ado, here are twenty places best seen from the water for your consideration:

      The Outer Hebrides  Begin with Scotland?  I should think so.

      The Faroe Islands Stunning and remote?  Sign me up!

      Westfjords, Iceland – but why stop there?  The rest of the country whispers to me too.

      Iceberg watching between Newfoundland and Labrador (any excuse to return to Newfoundland works for me, and Labrador offers a world of remote exploration all its own.

      Easter Island, Chile to visit those Moai characters at sunrise and contemplate the extraordinary.

      Isla del Cocos National Park, Costa Rica – diving with hammerhead sharks?  Maybe.

      Nahuel Huapi Lake & Nahuel Huapi National Park, Argentina for the glory of the Patagonian Andes from the water.

      Whales and icebergs in Disko Bugt (Disko Bay), Greenland, and maybe a polar bear or two from afar.

      St Helena – maybe because its so remote, or maybe because of Napoleon, or the useless airport?  Whatever the reason, I’m interested in getting to St Helena someday.

      Carribean island hopping: Dominica, Martinique, Grenada, Saba, Barbados, etc. for all the reasons you’d expect.

      White water rafting through the Grand Canyon.  Because once was not enough.

      Inside Passage Alaska, and also because once was not enough.

      Revisiting the Statue of Liberty and New York Harbor again someday when the world is normal, or at least a little more normal.

      A cultural immersion in Okinawa, Japan for all that this place offers, from the historical perspective of Shurijo Castle and the WWII sites to slowing down in Sefa-utaki.  I have riding a bicycle across the Irabu Ohashi bridge on my short list of activities for someday, maybe.

      Milford Sound and Doubtful Sound in Fiordland, New Zealand remains on that evasive list of places to get to as soon as reasonably possible.  I fear that I might just want to stay in New Zealand should I ever visit, but its a chance I’ll have to take.

      Visiting Sydney Harbor and climbing that bridge are high on my list of things to do.

      Mo’orea, French Polynesia – and while you’re in the neighborhood, who doesn’t dream of visiting Tahiti, Bora Bora, Marquesas?  A visit to Mo’orea necessitates lingering to see more.

      Li River cruise China – China is a mystery to me, but a place I’d love to explore someday.  And I can think of no better place to start than on the water cruising the Li River.

      Cruising down the St. Lawrence Seaway and through the Great Lakes has been on my mind for some time.  If there were a reason to get another sailboat, it would be to do this trip.

      Last but not least and closer to home, sailing Lake Champlain is something I’ve contemplated since I was a teenager seeing sailboats moored along the shore with the Adirondacks rising in the distance.  And my fascination with the early history of this region makes it a must-do for me.  Early October would be sublime with the foliage.

      So there you go: twenty bucket list places to see from the water.  All we need is time and a way to get there.  A chance to skip across the water like a stone and see parts of the world you can’t always get to from land.  A mix of salt water and fresh water destinations just ready to explore.  Are you ready?  This list could take some time.