The sun had just peeked over the Cascade Mountains as I stand looking at the boat of my dreams; a stunning beauty. A baby blue 1979 Beachcraft 16' with a mighty 470 Mercruiser. She is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! She is straight and fast. She is sleek and sexy. She has a soul.
Now I admit that most passersby would **** their heads, narrow their eyes and turn a wary eye in my direction if they heard my assessment. All they would see is an oxidized swath of fiberglass that's draped with the tattered remains of some ancient pin stripping. Their could only see moldy carpet, missing parts, cracked wooden trim and no place to sit. Upon closer examination, our mythical skeptic would see an engine without spark plug wires, a cracked heat exchanger, a tangle or wires and an array of spider nests. I feel sorry for such people. They have no vision.
As I stand with coffee cup in hand surveying her lines, I see hours spent up to my elbows in grease, anti-freeze, wax, polish, and surrounded by a cloud of blue smoke (both literally and metaphysically.) I see my son and I hunched over the transom turning wrenches into the wee hours of the morning binding parts...and our relationship. I see my wife coming out to bringing me a cold drink and some good natured ribbing. I see my daughter learning how to hold a wrench and asking how an engine works. I see a day when we will go to the lake and watch the hours and days and years of work slip effortlessly into the cool blue water. I see my family catching fish, spinning in circles because we can and just sitting quietly in the middle of the lake talking and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
I see it all...vividly.
Will this floating pleasure palace come to fruition? What's that you say? I'm sorry, but the thrum of the 470 and the spray from the bow wake is making it hard to hear.
Now I admit that most passersby would **** their heads, narrow their eyes and turn a wary eye in my direction if they heard my assessment. All they would see is an oxidized swath of fiberglass that's draped with the tattered remains of some ancient pin stripping. Their could only see moldy carpet, missing parts, cracked wooden trim and no place to sit. Upon closer examination, our mythical skeptic would see an engine without spark plug wires, a cracked heat exchanger, a tangle or wires and an array of spider nests. I feel sorry for such people. They have no vision.
As I stand with coffee cup in hand surveying her lines, I see hours spent up to my elbows in grease, anti-freeze, wax, polish, and surrounded by a cloud of blue smoke (both literally and metaphysically.) I see my son and I hunched over the transom turning wrenches into the wee hours of the morning binding parts...and our relationship. I see my wife coming out to bringing me a cold drink and some good natured ribbing. I see my daughter learning how to hold a wrench and asking how an engine works. I see a day when we will go to the lake and watch the hours and days and years of work slip effortlessly into the cool blue water. I see my family catching fish, spinning in circles because we can and just sitting quietly in the middle of the lake talking and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
I see it all...vividly.
Will this floating pleasure palace come to fruition? What's that you say? I'm sorry, but the thrum of the 470 and the spray from the bow wake is making it hard to hear.
