Monthly Archives: December 2011

After 21 years of wedded bliss I have just now quantified behavior that has caused…let’s just say friction over many of those otherwise perfect years.

When approaching an expensive or important project…oh, something like buying a sailing yacht, my method is to research without regard to cost or practicalities to gather a large field of possibilities. I find stuff I like, stuff I don’t, giving different weight to things of importance, deal breakers, all with as open a mind as I can muster. Slowly I filter through the field and find the candidates. I check them out. My mind focuses and I begin to close in on the winner. It then becomes a game of price vs condition vs availability.

My mind closes down to focus on what I consider the best choice. Graphically it would look like a funnel, wide at the top and tiny at the bottom.

Marce has a different method. Let’s call it the ever Expanding, ever Evolving, ever Opening-up theory of selection. EEO.

Now, dear reader, we all know she could explain EEO better than I but wouldn’t it be better to gain insight by my trying to put it into words? Well, it starts with years of surreptitious gleaning of information about the project, a timely, “wouldn’t it be if” and, “look at how nice this is.” Now I’m interested, she can be very compelling. We begin. It’s usually something I can wrap my brain around and in short order “it” begins to grow. I suppose that’s normal. As the list expands, and I can no longer wrap my brain around all the contenders, I’m told to “stay open minded.” Now priorities change, I call this the “field shift.” Galley up, galley down kind of thing. Saying, “but Marce, didn’t you like that last one?” runs counter to the EEO philosophy and one might be less than open minded!

So, her funnel is inverted. Tiny at the top, wide at the bottom. She is a force of Nature and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but pray for us just the same.

Open minded in St. Augustine.

Mmmmmm. More pepper vinegar.

Marce aways says I’m easy. Of course I don’t think I am but my record may tell a different tale.

Last night your humble correspondent will admit to feeling that little tingle of excitement. In the morning we were going to see two contenders and I told Marce that I thought it would be a very good day. She thought so too but said ,”I don’t want you getting all gaga and falling in love, we have to keep an open mind.” I thought that was a little unnecessary but I had a good feeling just the same.

This is like speed dating. Just because the cute brunette smiles at you doesn’t mean you stop in the middle of the process. The process must go on. I don’t know why. Marce does.

Our broker had proved once again that geography is not his strong suit and had us going south for our first boat and backtracking 2 1/2 hrs North for the second. Marce set that straight and we boarded a newer version of a boat that we’re serious about. Really liked the layout but the owners comprehensively trashed the thing…still…not bad. Had a lot of trouble finding the second but I’m so glad we did. She’s a keeper, even, dare I say shiny! Extremely well kept and equipped. Somebody really loved this boat…and so did I.

I’m easy, easy as a Sunday morning.

Yes there’s definitely an edge to Sheila’s voice. This is not good, she’s normally patient, indefatigable, incredibly well informed, but when pushed, say with more or less constant changes or with being ignored, her voice takes on a decidedly pissy edge. You do not want to ignore this woman. You do so at your own peril. When pushed she often clams up or, with great ennui, she’ll say, “I’m just not able.” And that is that. You’re lost!

And another thing. That sexy Aussie accent, and I’m not sure it’s real, can cause serious confusion at the worst times. You should hear her try to pronounce Monongahela River. We often turn to each other and ask, “what did she just say?”

This trip has been hard on Sheila. You can’t just say, “no, Sheila, take us this way” or “Why do you demand that I go the worst way possible, insisting that I turn at every side street I pass?” One has to come at it from an oblique angle, or resort to trickery.

Now don’t misunderstand, she has found some of the most obscure biking trailheads, and most recently, marinas that don’t exist to the average citizen. Lately we’ve noticed she’s getting a little long in the tooth what with her decreased staying power and a data base that’s sure a Baskin-Robbins is in that empty storeroom.

It’s funny how we anthropomorphize machines that we have to interact with. Somehow, it seems to help. Sailors always name their autopilots. Some have even hallucinated old salts at the wheel on a stormy night watch.
We’re not that bad, but when Sheila says turn, we turn. When Sheila says make a legal U turn, we make a legal U turn. When Sheila says recalculating…we worry.

So give us a thought now and again as we stare into Sheila’s GPS screen, traveling from boat to boat. There’s got to be one out there.

We faced a choice after our showings in the southern Chesapeake: drive eight hours on I-95 to Myrtle Beach or take the scenic route along the Outer Banks. For us, no contest. We found an oceanfront room in Kill Devil Hills across from the Wright Brothers Memorial and picked up a ferry schedule from the front desk. I don’t remember ever driving the length of the Hatteras National Seashore, but it was just what we needed today, miles and miles of windswept dunes and juniper trees and bayberry bushes separated by clusters of brightly painted souvenir shops and smoothie stands shuttered for the winter, then long rows of empty summer rentals. The pattern repeated again and again all the way from Kitty Hawk to Hatteras, where we picked up the 45-minute ferry to Ocracoke. Without the summer beach traffic the effect was hypnotic, meditative, the sea on one side, the sound on the other. It was another planet.

We got to Ocracoke with plenty of time for lunch before our second ferry, and the ferryman pointed us toward Jason’s, one of only two establishments open in the off-season. I could have stayed the afternoon there, listening to the easy banter among the locals.

After lunch I ducked into the post office to buy a stamp and the postmistress said, “That’ll be 44 jalapenies,” then added, “You’re my cheapest date all day.”

On the ferry back to the mainland I feel the pull of the ocean behind me. We’re headed back to land and real life. More boats tomorrow.