AN OFFERING

Some days don't go at all like you imagine. Sometimes they're better.

Today dawned all GO!

I called Michele and cautiously stated we wanted to make an offer on Good Company.

The phone did not disconnect. There were no beeps -- just a very happy Michele on the other end.

She and I filled out the offer form together on the phone. At 2:00 p.m., Chip and I signed it and faxed it with a copy of our $18,000 deposit check. The seller would have 48 hours to respond, so we settled in for a long winter's wait.

I headed for Fed Ex to overnight the original form and check to Rock Hall. The guy at Fed Ex, who had up to that point been unresponsive and generally sulky said, "Rock Hall? I used to work at Skipjack Marina not far from there."

I told him he was holding an offer on an Island Packet 380.

"Wow," he said, suddenly all perky and almost buoyant, "what a great oceangoing boat!"

Yes, indeed, but let's don't get excited yet. We were making backup plans: how much should we offer on the New York boat if we don't get Good Company? If we can't get a good price on New York, should we settle for in-mast furling? What if we just can't afford a 380? There are hardly any 37s on the market, and we don't want a 35. Will more 380s come on the market as spring approaches?

At 4:00 p.m., two hours after we submitted the offer, my phone rang. I saw that it was Michele and assumed she was merely reporting on the tone of her conversation with the owner and when we might expect to hear a counteroffer.

She had spent almost two hours on the phone with him during which time he pondered taking the boat off the market and waiting a year. Gasp. But then, he said,

"Maybe it's time this boat has a new home."

He countered at less than 3% more than our offer. In practical terms, he had accepted our offer.

WHAT!?!?!?!

I burst into tears. I still cry when I type this.

We have a boat.

We have a boat.

DEAFENING

On Tuesday we had a conversation like this:

Me: Have you checked your email?

Chip: No, why?

Me: There must be an email about the boat. We're getting noise on the house and the business.

It's so routine now, the regular bouts of noise, only this week it's particularly loud. We had two showings of the house scheduled this week. The first one went like this:

I prepped the house, like I always do, but instead of leaving, like I always do, I went on the boat to continue my varnishing regimen. The people came out to the dock and I struck up a conversation, which I NEVER do. I'm about as likely to strike up a conversation as Joe Biden is to hold his tongue. So, they ask me why we're selling and in telling them I mention we have our store for sale.

"Really? We're moving here from Northern Virginia and want to buy a business."

Their agent made an appointment to bring them back to see the house, because it's in their top two.

The folks that came at 11 this morning are coming back at 5 with an offer. In the meantime, our realtor called with two more appointments to show the house tomorrow.

Some business prospects from D.C. -- the ones with 30 years of wine experience -- are coming to see the business Sunday.

Last night I got an email from the guy in New England who needed to sell his Catalina 30. He asked about our nearest airport. His email was a couple of days late ....

Speak up. I can't hear you. Loud. Very loud.

UPDATE:
--All these house showing have upset my varnishing routine. It's been almost 48 hours since I put any varnish on anything. Maybe this evening ...
--In an effort to live in the moment, I've gone to the beach three days in a row now. I saw dolphins yesterday. Loud.
--Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett died in unrelated incidents.

BREAKING NEWS: It's now 3:39. There's a new appointment to show the house at 4:00. Got that? Showing at 4. Showing and offer at 5. Showing tomorrow at 10:30. Showing tomorrow at noon.

Oh, and Michael Jackson is still dead.