Finding Direction: The Wind Vane Chronicles

It all began many years ago, actually, and was – now looking back in retrospect – all my fault.

Of course, I would never admit that to Tom – who’s always right – according to his masculine thinking.

You see . . . Tom & I had just “gotten together” and I bought a Hobie.  An 18′ with wings catamaran (see below).  Because I lived on the Mississippi gulf coast – right on the beach – with my youngest, Mark, in a tree house sort of house, high on pilings.

Hobies of all sizes were strewn across the beach out front and Tom loved to sail.  So . . . I bought him (us) a boat.  It was used, but like brand new.  Had bright Tequila Sunrise sails. Here we are next to it, in our younger days, out on Ship Island (check out the Wikipedia link – it’s awesome), a barrier island in the Mississippi gulf, about 12 miles south of Gulfport, Mississippi:

As life goes, and as men are, one thing led to another until about a year and a half ago, when Tom just had to have another boat, us having sold the Hobie several years ago, being beyond the age of being able to get out to enjoy it.

He assured me it would be of great benefit health wise (didn’t mention wealth wise, or lack thereof, which shall become clear) to him to be able to get out on a boat away from stress & tension caused by work and the daily toils of life.

I didn’t exactly acquiesce, but somehow he ended up with one (several Chi-chings) – a very old (I, a mere woman, albeit former boat owner, think, but then, what do I know about boats?), 1973 Catalina 22′ sailboat, trailerable and located in Dallas.  (Overnight road trip; gas $4.50 a gal. – Chi-ching, chi-ching.)

The plan was (according to his thinking) it would not really “cost” anything more, once he brought the immaculate boat – for its age – home and parked it next to the house, to be trailered back and forth to the coast on free weekends, no big deal.

Except there WAS ONE big deal.

I was driving a 1999 Nissan Pathfinder, paid for (as was our other car) with 120 thousand miles on it, but I drove it very little and loved it.  It was a great small SUV that got pretty good mileage on it.  Had a trailer hitch, etc.  Perfect for pulling a boat.

But, not this boat.  It was about 300 lbs. too heavy.  Thus, it came to be we traded my beloved Pathfinder in for a bigger Tahoe (which I hate, and cannot drive because it’s so big), having to add some cash to the deal, of course.  (Chi-ching; chi-ching; chi-ching.)

He got the boat home; from Dallas; in the Tahoe; parked in the yard.  It was a year ago December.  He couldn’t wait until that spring to put it in the water.   The price of gas kept rising, Tom’s brain went into “comfort using the boat” gear and he started campaigning heavily that it would be “cheaper” (Chi-ching; chi-ching) to pay for a boat slip on the coast for the months he kept it in the water, rather than drive back and forth 90 mile round-trips all the time in the gas guzzling Tahoe (Chi-ching; chi-ching; chi-ching.)

There since have been monthly, sometimes weekly, continuations of these desperate needs for safe and pleasurable boating schemes themes.  They all play to the same tune.  Money.  I shall not bore you with the daily rundown of expenses for this once upon a time, one time only cost of purchasing a boat, which was only in the boat owner’s somewhat screwed up altered thinking.  It must be a syndrome or some such.

We (I) did manage to slide through the (chi-ching; chi-ching; chi-ching) crises of the boat “needing” a new bottom job (expensive marine paint, of course, at several hundred bucks a gallon!?!) before it went back in the water this past spring.  (Btw, the deal on the boat slip now, as it turns out – under Tom’s “boat rules” – is year round, whether the boat is in or out of the water.  If you want to keep that slip.  Tom does.   ‘Nough said.)  The boat went back in the water, barnacles and all, and is fine.  At least, till next spring . . ..  Sigh.

But, the past few weeks, Tom has been taken off all of the teak wood parts to the boat to bring home to sand and varnish.  Marine varnish was over $50 for the quart.  Last Wednesday, he was ready to go pick up a piece of “marine” plywood he “needed” to replace the boat’s hatch.  (The 3 piece wooden “door” that slides down and fits in between wooden grooves where you go down to enter the cabin.)  Here a Catalina 22 like Tom’s :

He had called all over looking for just what he thought he HAD to have wanted.  It was expensive.  (He had told me in general what he needed wanted, and I had . . . not said no.)  He asked if I wanted to drive down to east New Orleans (the closest place he could find this particular piece of  wood) to get it, and I was happy to do so and spend the afternoon with him.  We had to go in the Tahoe, of course, putting gas in it before we left town (about $50 chi-chings right there).  Then, we stopped to eat lunch in Slidell on the way (I had to eat – low sugar).

We found the good ol’ Loosiana brothers’ lumberyard/warehouses in the industrial byways at the end of the rough road, went in the trailer (post-Katrina) and talked politics, once the chubby brother behind the desk (with a heavy brace on his left wrist) spotted Tom’s “Mississippi PRESS” logo on his green knit shirt.  He and his brother,  who was over in front of a computer screen, while sporting a long cast on his right leg) decided they liked this straight forward, conservative “media” person, so talked marine grades of plywood.

For the first time, when Tom told the leg cast brother at the computer what he wanted, I learned specifically what he wanted to buy.  I could not believe my ears! I knew instantly it could not be right.  I was appalled, but didn’t – couldn’t – say anything in front of all these guys, knowing a “Southern woman’s place in life ” and that you do not ever make your husband lose face in front of other guys.  And, not those kind of guys, for sure.

So, what could I do? . . .

To Be Concluded Next Time . . .

Cheers! (Greg!  tee-hee) and many blessings to each of you today!  Dee