Its all made up....

It was a Friday night in Singapore. We all met at an art opening where we enjoyed some fancy mock cocktails (non-alcoholic because our New Year’s resolutions are still in sight) and lots of excellent snacks. The room quickly filled with oddly dressed artists mixing with bankers in blue suites. Best of all for some, there was free wine: Always a good thing on Friday night to decompress from long work weeks. I was looking around feeling superiority over not drinking, watching others spilling their drinks, when I dropped the dribbly contents of some pastry wrapped delicacy down my shirt.

When the noise levels rose sufficiently, we were spoon on glass “tinged” into silence for a speech. There was lots of clapping and a few jokes, while the photographers ran around snapping shots of people’s nose hairs, and models dressed in tall black boots and black lipstick, smiled prettily. I reflected that it was a friendly gathering, and not too pretentious all things considered.  We even bought some art, well sort of. Like many other people there, we exercised an option to buy a few square feet of one of the several very large wall sized paintings. But we will all have to wait until late April, though, at which time our respective selections will be cut out of the canvas and sewn into handbags, document valises or a phone covers. Maybe this is the right way to treat modern art? Hope I can remember to pick up our document valise.

Eventually another couple and Irena and I settled down to a real dinner a short distance away in a river side eating establishment, owned and run by friends of our friends. A light breeze rolled in off the river waters, as we took in the boats full of tourists passing colorfully to and fro.  I had a moment of gratitude as I sipped my water, glad at that moment at least, that I was here and not in Canada where I would definitely not be just the right temperature in shirt sleeves. Eventually the conversation went from catching up with each other Christmas family events to what next”, or more accurately, “How now”. 

Of the four of us, one of us has cancer, mercifully not Irena nor I, and the other three of us are suffering from an acute cases of mid-fifties ambivalence. How in the world we have the temerity to be ambivalent about our lives when we are sitting next to a loved one struggling for life with cancer, I have no idea. But there I was, at least, I am embarrassed to say.

As we spoke of our choices, and I of my ambivalence about being back at work in Singapore, I had a blinding flash of the obvious. For a long time now, I have been trying to find my way back to the positive, proactive person I believe myself otherwise to be. But lately, I have been drowning in the negativity of my judgments  - judgements about the world, politics, The Banks, taxes - all the of the usual rants, whatever. Then I got it. It’s a choice, stupid! Like the section of art canvas we had selected an hour before, we all get to choose what part of the over all piece we choose to live with. We don't get to make the overall picture, but we do get to pick what part we want to own. At our age, we have enough experience and knowledge to justify being cynical. But does that help? We are all faced with a choice between cynicism and engagement. Why pick cynicism?

This week past I was facilitating a workshop on coaching skills. One of the models we were learning was about behavioural shifts, how we pass sequentially through a number of stages:  awareness -> acceptance -> skill development -> behavioural shift -> mastery. Well hello Awareness! Hello Acceptance! 

I think for many of us in our 50s, with the age of 60 looming, it is way too easy to slip into cynicism, by default, simply because we fail to be aware this is happening. And then we fail, therefore, to choose engagement. Since it’s all made up anyway, we might better chose to live inside a story of proactivity and optimism. In the words of Captain Kirk "Engage!"

What's that noise?

Somewhere between Fiji and Vanuatu, on passage, just another night on board Conversations...

“What’s that noise?” asks Matt.

He and I have been sitting idly in the cockpit digesting an excellent dinner of Dennis’ spaghetti and meatballs and Rita’s fresh baked scones. It was only a few minutes after sun down and already it was as pitch black as only a starless, moonless night can be at sea in tropical latitudes.

I knew what that noise was alright, because it was very familiar today. ‘It’s the beans we all had had for lunch.’ I said to myself. Earlier in the day, we had all agreed that being at sea is the only respectful place to each beans and garlic - lots of wind around. So we all had had a really good go at a guilt free lunch of garlic bean salad made by yours truly.

When Matt had disturbed my quiet introspection with his question, I had been quietly exercising my prerogative as delicately as I could, and I was darned if I was going to fess up. So I sat on in the dark pretending I was either dead or asleep. ‘Could be anything’ I said to myself.

“Hey Cress, what’s that noise?!” he asked more loudly, “What’s the heck’s going on in the galley”

‘Ahhh, I am in the clear’ I thought.

Yes, there was another familiar sound that had not really risen into my conscious until Matt’s question. I looked around the companionway opening and sure enough there was Bob working the galley sink with the plunger. And he was having a really good go at it with both hands on the plunger, apparently with no success. He's a pretty strong guy. The sink was making a very gratifying sucking sound under his ministrations, but not yielding.

I turned to Matt. “Just Bob having an after dinner treat” I said, “he’s plunging the sink.”

I turned back to watch over Bob’s shoulder for a moment longer as he worked away at the sink full of ‘tomatoey’ water splashing this way and that with no relief in sight. The girls had had a go at it earlier, apparently, equally without success. They had called in ‘a man’ to get the dirty job done. Hmmm.

“You know Bob”, I said as helpfully as I could leaning in the companionway, “You sure look like you know what you’re doing and all but have you tried plugging the other sink at the same time?”

“Yuppp” he said between pressed lips as he continued with ever greater more gusto.

I watched for another moment longer. I had never seen the galley sink plunged with such intention.
Hmmmm. "Now, I don’t pretend to be any expert, but it is my boat afterall and I do plunge that sink at least every other day and it yields a lot easier than that" I said helpfully“You know” I went on, “There must be something wrong”.

“Do you figure!” said Bob more loudly than usual, and trenched away with even more vigor

“Well.. yeah …. It’s not usually that….ummm, recalcitrant”

Finally, Bob stopped for a breath and leaned on the plunger staring at the slopping contents with great concentration, willing the answer to come, as if from the swill itself. Then his right hand let go of the plunger almost of its own accord and attacked the drain. His fingers were gouging the drain, fiercely determined to find the problem. ‘Here was a man of determination, not to be defeated by a mere galley sink.’ I thought approvingly.

There was a small cry of anguish from Bob. Out from the murk he hauled this big black object. Initially, in revulsion, I wondered ‘Where in gods great mercy did that horrible dark mass of muck come from?’

But I saw I was mistaken. It was the sink plug.

“What the….” sputterd Bob, but whatever he said was lost in the laughter from the cockpit. Even Dennis woke from his slumber to join in. Bob looked at the Rita and Jan in the galley beside him but they were not laughing. “I just assumed you had……..”

“Dibbs on tonight’s blogg” I said between tears of laughter, “that’s one for the books.”

Sitting in Singapore this Saturday morning, fond memories of crews and days past...

Cresswell