POWER SHOPPING

Annapolis, MD -- As we stood at the gate of the Annapolis sailboat show this morning, I felt overwhelmed by how very far we've come in one year. When we entered the show last year, sad and wistful, Isabella, our old boat, was back in the Outer Banks having her belly repaired. We were living in a small apartment with no viable prospects for the business, wondering if the waiting would ever end.

Last year, we watched with aching hearts as a long line of sailboats headed south from Annapolis, their bows pointing toward the Bahamas.

This year, we enter the show triumphant, no longer dreamers but cruisers, inexperienced, yes, but ready to take our place in line heading south as soon as we return to the Outer Banks.

Our shopping list for the boat show was titled "Mission Critical." This was not intended to be melodramatic but rather was descriptive of the contents:

1. Life Raft
2. Life Jackets
3. Foul Weather Gear
4. Anchor

We were waiting at the gate at opening time with our friend John, who came along as part moral support, part sherpa, part tempering agent and part court jester, all well served.

We were among the first 20 people to enter the show (nerds) and were escorted out at closing (nerds). In the meantime, we snagged an amazing deal on a Revere life raft and two Mustang harness life jackets, all the while trying on every major brand of foul weather gear.

Mission accomplished.

One amazing year. One amazing shopping trip.

One happy toast to good times -- despite the fact that the bartender was pissed at the world as embodied by Chip, and dumped half a bottle of nutmeg in his painkiller. Look at that!

CHIP DAY

Happy Birthday, Chip! Do you remember that we celebrated your last birthday on a boat in Manteo? Honestly, I didn't either, but I cheated.

How very long ago that seems. And our To Do List?
1. Sell the wine shop
2. Sell the house
3. Sell the current boat
4. Buy our cruising boat

None of them were checked off yet. As usual, you worked on your birthday. We were still living in our house with Isabella out back. We had not yet decided what kind of boat we would buy.

Last July, we had nothing to measure the distance to our dream, no idea how far off it was or how long it would take us to get there.

But this year, with every item marked off that To Do List, we have emerged triumphant from the waiting room.

All that holds us now is four little ropes.

At last.

They say love is more precious than gold
It can't be bought, and it can't be sold
I've got love enough to spare
That makes me a millionaire  -- Solomon Burke

WINE SHOP SOLD

It has happened. Three days short of 20 months on the market, five years and 18 days into a five-year plan, we sold the store.

Shouldn't there be leaping and tears or high fives and delirium? In fact, we are still and quiet.

This, the last item on our TO DO list, has been mythical for so long, I think I lost sight of the possibility that it could be real. It had moved into the realm of unicorns and mermaids.

But there is nothing ephemeral about what we're feeling now.

Gratitude is as big as the heavens, fathomless and eternal.

BUDDHA, AN ASHTRAY AND A MOUSE IN A RED GINGHAM DRESS

home |hōm|
noun -- a place where something flourishes

All those big plastic bins holding the last of our belongings are starting to feel like so many Pandora's boxes. Every few days we pull another one out of the car and release its content, every time left to deal with the consequences.

The truth is, we don't want any more stuff on the boat, but once it comes out of the proverbial box, we have to remember its history, judge its value, weigh its role in our future, and if we keep it, deal with the increasingly onerous task of finding a place for it on the boat.

Tonight instead of the painstaking process of pulling out each item and debating its fate, we played a game of Top Ten, taking turns picking something out of the bin until we each had 10 items. The rest would go back in the car and eventually be dispatched to Goodwill.

The bin held tools, cookbooks, folders, printer paper, books, charts and fabric, but except for a putty knife, neither of us chose those things with practical value.

Instead, Chip picked a small stuffed rabbit I gave him one long ago Christmas, a dog-eared notebook of song lyrics in progress and a Queen Elizabeth II ashtray given to us by a friend. I kept a decorative wooden mermaid, a tiny Buddha that Chip gave me and a little stuffed mouse in a red gingham dress made for me by my great aunt Flora when I was nine.

We've spent months stockpiling the practical yet impersonal necessities of life on a sailboat, the things that will help us survive. But today, we both felt the need to bring aboard the sentimental and fanciful essentials of living, the things that will help us thrive.

MOMENTUM

You know how Chip and I are always on the lookout for signs that we're "in the stream," headed in the right direction?

When we opened the store in 2005 Chip bought some wines he calls "window dressing," high end, highly rated, famous wines that people like to see on the shelf. But, at $200 and $300 a piece, they have been sitting there for 5 years.

Chip woke up night before last worrying about those pricey bottles, not wanting to saddle the (possible) new owners with them.

Yesterday, he came home from the store and said, "You're not going to believe this: somebody bought six of those expensive French bottles."

"Awesome!" I replied. "Now, maybe someone will buy the big bottle of Chimay that we've had for three years."

Today, I was running the store while Chip was teaching a wine class.

One of the students bought a big bottle of Chimay.

We're in some stream. We hope we know which one but still afraid to believe.

DEALING

I read recently that it takes 18 to 24 months to sell a business. Our store has been on the market for 20 months, so that makes it a sure thing, right?

In those 20 months, I have received several offers, low ones asking for ridiculous amounts of financing. In fact, I've been asked to finance hundreds of thousands of dollars by people offering me no credentials, no resume, no business plan, no references, just, hey, what do you think, can I run your store and maybe pay you for it later? I thought not.

We waited, because it's what we do.

About two months ago, I started noticing a change in the inquiries. It was my personal barometer on the health of the economy, my first sign that there was some life springing up out of the darkness. The prospects who contacted me were more serious, moving at a faster pace, and, perhaps most encouraging, they were more financially qualified. Several even grasped the philosophy of the store, and understood the steps we had taken to build and solidify the brand.

And so, I got hopeful.

And then I got an offer that was not low and was not asking for financing.

We are nearing a deal, but we are tiptoeing around like we've stumbled upon a deer in the forest, afraid to move or speak lest it gets spooked and runs away.

Will the deafening clacking of my typing cause it to bolt?

Nevertheless, here I type, quite loudly: We are about to sign a contract to sell the wine shop.

And guess what? It entails more waiting. The buyers must be approved for a loan. We should know in two weeks, three weeks, maybe four?

Life in the balance.

NO LONGER TEMPORARY

We were awakened this morning by a call from our boat loan broker. My driver's license was expired (yep, January 1), and the bank wouldn't accept it as a valid ID. As the morning progressed, we learned they would accept neither a passport nor a birth certificate in its place. Are these the same banks of recent years that were handing out loans like cheese cubes on toothpicks? ARGH.

Assuming the DMV would require proof of residence, I went online to print out a recent utility bill but couldn't remember the password. With a temporary password obtained by spouting Chip's mother's maiden name, I logged in to find our wine shop account, not residence. AAAHH. I tried another logon but couldn't remember that password either. Long minutes later, using my mother's maiden name, I successfully logged in with yet another temporary password to find I couldn't open the file type that contained the bill.

DMV phone line was perpetually busy.

So I showed up, with nothing but an expired license, signed up and waited.

After failing half the road sign questions and blindly guessing on half the eyesight test, including an incorrect reading of the wrong line, they shrugged it off and moved on to issuing the new license. No proof of residence required, I could have given the address of the Hatteras Lighthouse (or a cave in Afganistan?). Instead I gave them the physical address of that temporary apartment we moved out of last month since that's the address the bank is using. Neither did they care where I had the license mailed as long as it wasn't a business. I chose a friend who, unlike us, has a mailbox and plans to be there for at least 10 days to two weeks until the license arrives.

An hour after arriving (including a quick side trip to get cash since they don't accept credit cards) I left with a piece of paper that proves I am temporarily allowed to drive until my license with a temporary address where I no longer live is delivered to another address where I have never lived.

Well, hallelujah for slack bureaucracy, but while I was handing out suspicious addresses at the DMV, the bank decided to acknowledge my existence (maybe they called my mom? I could have told them her maiden name). They issued the loan.

And so, at 4:29, this 28th day of January, 2010, we officially own a new boat.


**If you are an official-type DMV person, I sincerely apologize for handing out temporary addresses to obtain a temporary license. And, if you don't mind dropping me a line, I could use some advice on what address to give you when I'm living on a boat.

ON THE MOVE

The vagabonds have a new temporary shelter. After several weeks of looking and weighing options, we moved into Raven's Roost.

It's a summer rental, fully furnished, so we can shed the last few pieces of furniture: a love seat, a chair, a mattress and a table. And since the kitchen is geared up, we can divest ourselves of a few more household items.

What do we have left?
--4 bins of tools, sandpaper, paint thinner, paintbrushes, fiberglass repair gear, stuff
--4 boxes of books
--a folding bike
--a marine sewing machine
--2 mast pulpits
--a briefcase with our files for selling the wine shop
--bedding and linens
--clothing
--4 bins of miscellaneous stuff like a first aid kit, flashlights, bags

And a fully furnished house is something we're relishing. We have a new appreciation for a dishwasher, a washer and dryer, a bathtub and even TV. Our first morning here, we had toast, not because we wanted it, but just because we have a toaster.

So, here we are, lightening the load and once, again, in the "last" place before moving onboard.

First task in the new house: Christmas tree.

GOOD COMPANY

Why do we always buy boats in the winter???? We still have to do a sea trial, in the northern Chesapeake in January. BRRR.

Some particulars:
1999 Island Packet 380  Designer: Robert Johnson
Hull Material: Fiberglass
LOA: 39'7"     LWL: 32'0"     Beam: 13'2"
Displacement: 21,000 lbs     Draft: 4'7"     Bridge Clearance: 54'3"    Ballast: 9,000 lbs
Engines: Yanmar     Engine(s) HP: 51 hp FWC     Engine Model: 4JH3     Hours: 4090
Tankage  Fuel: 85 gal     Water: 170 gal     Holding: 40 gal

Here she is:

Transom with swim platform -- and look at those back rail seats. Chip's favorite feature!

Cutter rig with furlers on jib and staysail, traditional, fully battened main with Dutchman furling (!)

Awesome galley. Seriously.

State room with WALK AROUND v-berth. Such luxury!

Port settee and nav station.

Starboard settee. Love that upholstery.

Huge head with shower and shower door.

 

I found this sink in the aft cabin somewhat confounding -- until we decided it's a WET BAR!

DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT

After getting it all wrong taking Isabella to Wanchese, we managed to do a little better bringing her back home.

We thought we'd make it a third of the way but instead brought her all the way home this morning, tucking in just ahead of a three-day blow.

Everything was with us: the weather, the wind, the current, we even got a sunrise start this time. With a slick new bottom and a clean propeller, she flew, slip to slip in three hours.

It was clear, calm and beautiful and so was Isabella.

Just goes to show, good sailing yarns are not spun from perfect weather and seamless passages. THE END

BLOG OF INTENT

The last few weeks have been too damn quiet on the business and boat front, so we started making some racket.

First we decided to get Isabella some new bottom paint. We're taking her to Bayliss, yes the powerboat, fish killing boatyard. She'll be one of only three sailboats to get pulled there. We're honored, but I have a bet with John about how bad the bottom will be after sitting in the water for five years. If she's 70+% covered in debris/barnacles, I buy dinner, and he buys for anything less than 70%. I promised not to cheat by diving down and scraping off barnacles. That's about as likely as me sticking my head in a bucket of bloodworms.

Next, I did another round of craigslist posting. Since craigslist only allow you to post an ad in ONE market, I have four logons with our four email addresses. I log in and out four times to place our ad in various markets up and down the coast, a clear violation of craigslist policy. (Craig, if you're reading this, please help a girl out. Actually, you wanna buy a boat?) Chip emailed all the prospects that were left hanging. No takers so far, but we've been offered to exchange a nice plot of land in New Hampshire.

On the business side, we still have several prospects that have neither made offers (I would have mentioned this earlier) nor officially dropped out, so I emailed all of them. (Actually, that's not true. I only emailed the ones I like.) I was stunned to hear back from one of them saying that even though they haven't been in touch since August 1st, they are preparing a letter of intent. Intent to what!?!? According to our lawyer it's the beginnings of an offer. Supposedly next week. Just noise? Stay tuned.

UPDATE:

• I started a new blog to help Casey (and me) with French: Un mot a la fois (translation: one word at a time). I'm trying to get back up to speed (2nd grade level), and Casey's trying to live in French. Next up: Spanish. Some French and Spanish will allow us to tell people we don't understand them in the Caribbean, South America AND the Med.
• We made our first re-purchase of a previous belonging: a heating pad. My old stomach pain was back the last few weeks, although I did avoid the emergency room this time. We've now got it mostly figured out -- and it's treatable and maybe even preventable.
• Remember when I dropped my cell phone in the water while I was working on the boat? Chip did exactly the same thing this week. I asked him what it means. He said, "we're fumbling our communication." Eke.
• Our 11th anniversary (we think) is next week, so we're headed to Ocracoke for four days to sleep, eat, walk on the beach and play cards. Next month we're headed once again to the Annapolis Sailboat Show to pretend we're cruisers. Plans. We're good at making plans.

TOASTING

So very long ago, we stashed a bottle of Unibroue's Quelque Chose, hoping to one day toast the sale of the house. Today, our first alone since the closing, we sat in the lifeguard stand at Atlantic beach access and celebrated one major item off our TO DO list.

Should we be sad? Should we miss our nest? Should we feel tearfully sentimental about leaving a house we designed and built?

Is so, we're fatally flawed. We both took a look inside for those little undertows. Instead, what we feel is relief, pure elation, like riding a wave straight toward the water.

DONE!

After four days of soon, soon, soon, they gave us the check at 4:00 p.m. this afternoon and said, "Don't cash it until it's recorded at the courthouse!"

So began another countdown. On Friday, the bank closes at 6:00 p.m.

At 5:30, I drove to the bank, just in case.

At 5:40, I got the call. GO.

5:41. Done.

This one's on the house!

SHRINK, SHRINK NOT

Whew. Big progress in getting small today.

Eighteen boxes and $84.82 later, I'm finished with Tammy's Shopping Channel on Facebook! I had an absolute blast connecting with friends and then sending my treasures out the door. They went to Virginia, New Mexico, Minnesota, Mississippi, Texas, Vermont, Florida, Missouri, Arizona and Arkansas.

With those boxes out of the way, I loaded the car with our most recent molting of clothing and the last box of stuff for my sister.

Most of the cabinets are empty as is the coat closet and the loft. The ficus tree has gone to its new home. The house is getting deliciously echo-y.

Somebody told me on the phone today that I was so "lucky" to be going sailing. Boy, that really ticks me off. This has nothing to do with "luck." It is about planning, hard work and sacrifice. Where was luck when we were working 7 days a week that first year our business was open? Where was luck when we were working every Christmas Eve and doing inventory on New Year's Day? Where was luck these last nine months waiting for our house and business to sell in the worst economic crisis in decades? No, this is not luck. This is about endurance, focus and not shrinking back when the goal seems too distant.

No. We are not lucky to be going sailing.

But if there is luck anywhere in our lives, it's that we share a persistent lifelong dream to live on the water and the tenacity to do whatever is required to get us there, together.

UPDATE:
--Put a bunch more CDs in iTunes.
--Packed up all our boat books.
--Down to only ONE MORE THING to box and ship.
--Tranferred the phone to the new apartment.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, BLOG!

One year ago today, I launched this blog, all wide-eyed and excited about our impending adventure. That first post had a very short to-do list that went like this:

1. Sell the wine shop
2. Sell the house
3. Sell the current boat
4. Buy our cruising boat.

If close doesn't count, we've only accomplished item number 2 -- and that one still has a few days until completion. Of course, on July 19th, we couldn't know there was a looming economic "downturn" that was more like a free fall. And so we sat, many, many months waiting for items 1, 2 and 3 to sell.

On the other hand, we weren't really sitting around. No. No sitting.


CLOTHING: We've pared down our clothing and shoes to a bare minimum (or would that be un-bare?). I made it through the winter with only two pairs of closed-toe shoes; both pairs were brown. All my winter clothes were black. Ah, well. Brown and black are fine together. Just ask a Doberman. This week, we've been at it again. That picture on the left is my measuring cup. I have to keep ditching things until it all fits in there -- including shoes.

HOUSE: All along, we've hoped the house would sell first. It's the only thing that has been costing us money. After the house closes next week, our living expenses will be cut by more than half, which will help us boost the cruising kitty. We can hardly wait to walk away from mortgage insurance, property tax, all the bureaucracy associated with home ownership. This house has served us well, but we're so ready to move on.

FURNITURE: A couple of garage sales last fall divested us of all the furniture that we were not still sitting or sleeping on. This week we're using craigslist to disappear all but the love seat, the purple chair and our bed. Just last night, a woman picked up our coffee tables, bedside tables, two lamps, some small shelves and a folding chair. She left us a nice slim $100 bill that's already been packed.

JUNK: This might have been the hardest category, getting rid of old files, keepsakes, silly things like a blowup wine bottle, a basketball goal and green Doc Martens. Almost everything has been redistributed around the planet via eBay, garage sales or charity. A set of my jewelry went to Austria! The last treasures are still being claimed one-by-one on Facebook. After a year of pondering, I've decided to send my grandmother's nest to my little sister in New Mexico.


OLD BOAT: We are firm believers in boat karma, and boy have we been investing. When this blog started, Isabella was in rough shape. She needed eletrical work, engine work, exterior teak refinishing, interior bulkhead refinishing, screen frames finished, ...... Now, a year later, we're on the final project: painting the decks. She looks fabulous and is ready to sail away with a new owner. We've had two people look at her in the last week. We'll be moving her to her new temporary home around the corner soon.

NEW BOAT: After months of reading, shopping and pondering, we've narrowed down our choice to one of three Island Packets: 35', 37' or 380. Once we sell the business, we'll sell one car and take off on a road trip to find our new boat.

One year ago, we thought we were close to cruising. Now we know we are!

UPDATE:
--Prepped and painted the front half of the cabin deck. The back half is prepped and taped.
--We continue to move stuff out the door.

CLEARING HOUSE

With 11 days until we move, I was wondering if that left enough time to sell our few bits of furniture and household items on craigslist. Previous items we've put on there just, well, were on there.

Wonder no more. The answer is yes. This afternoon I went on a Craigslist frenzy and listed 13 items.

People must sit there hitting reload, because before I was finished listing, I started getting emails, followed by me running around unceremoniously dumping stuff out of dressers and end tables. The place is a wreck. AWESOME! I'm lovin' it.

It's now come to light that Chip has a secret obsession. See that little chest we no longer own? Three drawers were FULL of change, not of the copper variety but silver and gold. Yes. Gold dollars, rolls of them. Seems the economy forced some of our customers to pay with gold dollars, so Chip started stashing them. I haven't counted yet, but I'm surprised our chest of drawers didn't buckle under the weight. (Yes, that's an exaggeration, but I couldn't lift the little chest without emptying it.) So here I was collecting little useless items I have to give away on Facebook while Chip was hoarding gold coins. Shut up.

We've cleared out so much stuff around here that it took me a good long time to find something to dump all the change in. And I continue to use, sell, give away or eat everything in the house.

Chip's laughing at me for eating oatmeal in July.

UPDATE:
--We got word that our house appraisal is good. There was a slight cause for concern as the market fell that the offer would be higher than the appraised value. One more hurdle cleared!!
--Chip has the next two days off. We're hoping to paint Isabella's decks, although at the moment we're having a thunderstorm.
--Gave our friend Yvonne some of my winter clothes for her move north to graduate school. Stay warm!
--Yvonne's moving out -- we're moving in -- to her apartment -- on the beach road. Yay. Our last touch down before the water, and it's one house away from the water.
--Still annoying my Facebook friends with Tammy's Shopping Channel. The boxes are piling up.

DISASSEMBLING

Just as everything begins to come together, I can begin to take things apart.

We signed the backup offer on the house this morning. So now, the contingent buyer has to either remove the contingency or nullify the contract. What's this mean for us? The house is a done deal (mostly)! So, after nine months, no more staging. No more showings. No more making the bed. No more boiling spices to make the house smell, um, spicy.

Our current closing date is July 28th, three weeks from today, so I've started disassembling the place, preparing to move. As I survey what's left, I find we have almost nothing. YAY. The store room downstairs might be the hardest part, but we're going to store the tools in one of our cars. I'm selectively giving away all my favorite belongings. It makes me so happy to pass them along to good homes.

The quest for a place to stay begins in earnest ..... On an odd note, other people seem more concerned about where we'll live than we do.

"Where will you live now?" they ask, slight panic in their voices. Maybe they're worried we'll be showing up on their doorstep three weeks from today. Be afraid.

UPDATE:
--Got another coat of 3-part varnish on the garage and drop boards.
--Cleaned out the interior of the boat.
--Finished the plugs on the teak screen.
--One of our biz prospects called to say they are proceeding with preparing an offer.
--Another biz prospect submitted their financial info.
--A broker in Oriental (NC) called to ask if we would like to list the boat. It wasn't one of those speculative calls. There had been a Downeast 32, just like Isabella, in their yard for work and so many people asked about it, he sought us out.
--Michael Jackson's funeral today. A sad life. A sad death.

AND THEY'RE OFF!

These last nine months have felt much like the beginning of the roller coaster ride, you know, where you're chugging up an almost vertical incline at a glacial pace, chk chk chk. Your heart is pounding with anticipation, and yet, you just click, click, click along SO slowly.

Today, it seems we've (please, please) rounded the crest and are just about to be off.

Several more business prospects have emerged and are progressing toward making offers. I've received more inquiries about the boat in the last two days.

Remember how I was lolling in the disarray of the house yesterday? Today I got a call at 10:30 asking if the house could be shown at 2.

UPDATE:
--We went out bright and early for the photo shoot, only to find the sun at too harsh an angle. We'll try again another day.
--Wendy (Lily's mom) got the shingles today. Oy. I spent part of the day helping her get meds and taking care of Lily. On days like this, I'm glad we're here to help.

WITH SAILOR JERRY AS OUR WITNESS...

Monday dawned all happy and YES, YES, YES.

I got an email from a prospective boat buyer telling me he had finally sold his boat and wants to come see Isabella.

A prospective business buyer emailed me with a few questions, because they are preparing to make an offer.

We didn't hear from any other house prospects, so at 10:30 p.m. last night, we signed on 823 dotted lines with confidence, utter joy and rum.

This morning, in celebration of having the house under contract, I flung my clothing all about the house, left celery leaves all over the kitchen counter and scoffed at the unmade bed.

Our realtor dropped by this evening to measure the downstairs bedrooms. One of the previous prospects wants to make a backup offer since we're under a contingency contract. Sheesh.

UPDATE:
--We made a full lap of varnish: toe rails, companionway, garage and drop boards. A few more coats and I'll be DONE!
--Prepped for a photo op on the last soft spot in the deck. We're putting together a HOW TO article.

AN OFFERING

Okay, we got an actual offer on the house. It's not a bad one, although it has contingencies. It would close July 28.

I can't feel anything. What's wrong with me?