I am selling my boat. My days of pulling a tube with screaming kids are behind me. Kids fighting for a turn, begging me to go faster are long gone. Lazy Saturdays in the middle of the lake under a scorching July sun are faded memories. Lukewarm beer, sunburned noses, drives home with sleeping passengers, exhausted from a long day in the heat ……history.
I am selling my boat, the price is cheap, but the memories are priceless. The day I got marooned on a shoal at low tide. We were in the middle of the ocean, not really, we just felt like Gilligan. We picked-up a bucket full of sand dollars and made Christmas ornaments for everyone we knew. That old boat got us there. When the water returned we floated away, safe, hungry, but no worse for the wear.
Discovering an old burger and beer dive deep in a cove one Saturday afternoon. The clientele was a little rough and the language was even saltier but the burgers were cheap and the beer was ice-cold. This became “our place” and the girls showed their friends how to navigate the local flavor, staking their claim at the same picnic table with a view. When the water was low, we hiked through the mud for greasy burgers. And then one day it was gone. Closed down by the health inspector, but the stories live on.
I am selling my boat. She has been a reliable craft. Never stranding us, with a quick start and a belch of blue smoke. Taking us safely through pop-up storms as we sought shelter under interstate bridges. The waiting seemed like hours, black clouds, wind, thunder and lightning reminding everyone how small we were in this big world.
A new family is buying her. They will build new memories and share new experiences. They will explore the same waters, find the same sandy beaches and anchor in the same quiet coves as we did. I am selling my boat. I will miss her but I thank her for the memories we built, for the memories we shared.