The Two Happiest Days

There’s an old saying that boaters like to say. It goes like this, “The two happiest days of a boater’s life are the day she buys a boat and the day she sells it.” A man said that to me yesterday. I answered noncommittally, “hmmmm.”

I can go along with most pithy sayings, but that one I’ve never liked.  First of all, I think that the saying makes too many assumptions about me. I’ve never been fond of sayings that demand wholehearted agreement.  I don’t want anyone to know what I will say, before I say it.

In Minnesota, for example, a common saying is, “Well, is it cold enough for ya?” Clearly, the correct answer is, “Oh, ya, it’s pretty darn cold, isn’t it?” Having a touch of rebellion left over from adolescence, I have tried going with a different kind of response, “Well, I actually like the cold…good for cross-country skiing,” or some such thing.  People just look at me funny after that, with one raised eyebrow that I interpret to mean, “O-K. You. Are. Different.” (“Different” in Minnesota-speak means something more than just a “variation from the usual.” No, in Minnesota “different” means something that the speaker is not in agreement with, is displeased by, or finds unappealing. Not to be confused with “unique” or “creatively inspired.”

Here’s what I would say about the two happiest days of a boater’s life.  The two happiest days of a boater’s life are the day she moves onto the boat (filled with great expectations of travelling by wind and water and in so doing, seeing things to be amazed by) and the second would be the day on the water that was so perfect that she couldn’t help but say these words aloud, “Now this is why I live on a sailboat.”

I’ve had both of those days already.  Many times.

Buying the boat was frankly, a little scary for me.  I had committed myself to the plan, but the reality of buying the boat felt enormous. And moving aboard was nearly a year after the purchase. Moving aboard was a whole lot better than the purchase. We’d retired by then and made all the arrangements to live aboard. It was exciting!

Having it sold will be a relief, I’m sure, so that we can move ahead with something more permanent on land. But that’s not the same as being the happiest day. And moving off the boat is definitely not the happiest day.

We are in the thick of that moving off process now. Our boat is in a slip at Bert Jabin’s Yacht Yard in Annapolis. We’ve rented a 5 X 10’ storage unit in Annapolis so that we can box up and remove every personal item that we’ve been carrying around with us on the water.  During this process, my husband has told me many times, “Just throw away anything that’s junk.” The thing is, I already did a lot of that over the course of the last year onboard. The physical sensation of tossing something into the trash barrel seems to comfort my spouse, however, so I agree now and then that he may discard something that I wouldn’t exactly call junk, but that I’m sure I can live without. I think it’s like a “symbolic cleansing” of the soul to discard things. Anyway, we did find some things that we gifted to others like child-sized life jackets, reading books, and a variety of Chart Guides to the Caribbean, which we gave to friends.  That felt good.

As of today, there’s little left on the boat, and a lot in the storage unit here. We have another storage unit is Duluth (10 X 20’) that is pretty well filled up. Our belongings in there will stay there until we figure out where we will live permanently. For the winter, we are going to rent a furnished apartment in Memphis. See how it feels to live there until the boat sells.  With a visit to Minnesota now and then.

This week, we moved off the boat for the very last time. Although we still have workmen coming to take care of some minor maintenance issues prior to putting on the market, and though we are still working on cleaning everything inside and out, and polishing all the brass, and the stainless, and fiberglass, we must move off because of two important things that will happen. One is that it’s late in the season and the boat must be winterized. Once that happens, we can’t live aboard because there will be no water. The other thing is that our boat broker was scheduled to come aboard Friday  to photograph the interior of the boat. His advice was, “Make it shiny,” so that’s what I’ve been working on. Plus some canvas repairs. Carl has tackled some things that will never shine no matter what…such as the bilge. Anyway, we can’t be living on the boat when it’s photographed. It must be pristine, so that means minus the detritus of Carl and Ardys’ habitation.  

For the short-term remainder of being in Annapolis,  we are renting  a Winnebago RV. It’s an older Winnebago and we won’t be driving it anywhere.  We’re just sleeping in it, while it sits in the backyard of an older couple (okay, just a little older than us) here in Annapolis. It’s an economical alternative to an AirBnB.  Should be interesting. I’ve never stayed in an RV, and certainly not in something that’s even smaller than our sailboat. While I do not have great expectations about the RV, we are already accustomed to narrow traffic lanes in our living quarters, so we should be able to take that in stride.  Once in the RV, we’ll start researching furnished apartments in Memphis.  I’m thinking about an industrial loft apartment, something without internal walls. Something completely out of the ordinary, you know what I mean?  Someplace where I would never think of living.