Galley

"Entertainment Center"

1800 Days – Seg. 11, Ch. 2, Pg. 23-30: End of Chapter 2

    That first weekend on the boat was filled with hard work, a deep satisfaction and a bubbling happiness that was impossible to contain. The weather continued rainy and cold throughout the day on Friday. But now that we were in our slip we had power and water. Our two 1500 watt electric heaters provided enough heat to keep us warm, and with water on board we could begin the laborious process of cleaning everything and arranging our storage.

    Saturday dawned bright, clear and brilliantly sunny. We were up early and almost immediately set to work. Nancy continued the cleaning detail, attacking all the surfaces, all the drawers and lockers, both heads (bathrooms), the storage areas under our bed in the aft cabin, and the large storage areas under the V-berths in the forward cabin, the refrigerator and the galley area. I attacked the rather major project of re-routing air conditioner vent hoses to give us two cold air outlets in the salon where we spent most of our time and where most of the heat was generated. When this was complete I worked on repairing several leaks that had developed in the water supply lines that ran from our water storage tanks in the aft cabin. I was reminded that hauling a boat produces a lot of stress on the structure, that the boat flexes during the process and sometimes lines crack and fittings become loose.

    At 5 p.m. we took the boat out for an hour's run on the canal. Summer School ran smoothly and well. We squeezed this activity onto the end of a long day because, I think, we had to feel the sensation of moving through the water in our boat under our own power in order to fully realize all that being on our boat meant. Of course, we wanted to test the engine and running gear as well. After returning to the dock and getting hot showers, we celebrated this first full day on our boat by driving to Delaware City and consuming huge quantities of the best fried oysters we had ever tasted.

    Sunday was a fitting conclusion to this magical weekend. I woke early. At 6:30 a.m. I was sitting at the settee in the salon, looking out over the surrounding marina, writing in my journal. The electric heaters were running and the cabin was comfortable. The water in the marina was dark and glass-smooth. There was a low-rising sun with yellow-gold light that was diffused by the mist rising off the water. I heard the rough rumbling of a freight train as it passed the marina after crossing the Conrail Bridge over the canal. Out the starboard window over the settee I could see a myriad of tiny bright lights on the finger pier and docks as the crystals from frozen condensation reflected the nearly horizontal early morning sunlight. The cabin around me was bright and clean and uncluttered after all our work the previous day. By the time I finished writing, Nancy had awakened and she joined me for our morning juice and coffee as we planned the work we wanted to complete before returning to Easton later in the day.

    For the next several weeks, throughout April and the beginning of May, our lives were totally focused on completing everything that was necessary to make our Great Escape as soon as Nancy finished her classes early in May. About a week and a half after we launched the boat we finally sold the TransAm at a fair price. This was the last remaining task over which we had no control, and we were glad to see it completed.

    Every weekend we went to the boat and I went there in the middle of the week as well. There was one time, Wednesday April 24 to Thursday April 25, that I remember clearly because this was the time I installed our desktop in the forward cabin office. This was actually the top from our dining room table that I had removed and cut to fit the shape of the hull on the sides of the V-berth. It was heavy oak about one inch thick and large enough to hold our notebook computer and printer while providing ample working surface. It was supported by the V-berth cushions in such a way that we could push it forward to get it out of the way, but pull it back on the cushions when we worked at the desk. We had a little stool that we used as a seat, which fit perfectly in the cramped floor area. Our office was now functional. The only disadvantage to this arrangement was that it made access to the storage areas below the V-berths difficult. However, if we turned the desk sideways and slid it back and to the side so that it covered only one cushion, we could access the storage areas as well as the forepeak locker at the very front of the cabin, which housed the 200 feet of primary anchor rode.

    It was also during these two days that I installed nine, 50-pound bags of gravel in the bottom of the boat as ballast to improve the trim and the way the boat handled in following seas. At the very aft end of the boat, right in front of the transom, there was a large space called the lazarette. It was below deck, with access through a removable hatch cover, extending the full width of the boat and down to the bottom of the hull. Although the rudder shaft and steering mechanism were located here, they took little room and the remainder of the space was available for storage. I lined the bottom of the lazarette with the 450 pounds of gravel. Since the time I had installed the large diesel generator in the engine room toward the front of the boat, Summer School had a tendency to be bow-heavy, especially when the water tanks, located under the aft cabin, became low. After our cruise south on the ICW in 1993 we had made a number of changes that partially solved some of the problems caused by this condition, but I had become convinced that more weight added at the rear of the boat low in the hull would substantially improve the handling of the boat, tending to keep it more stable when waves lifted the aft end in a following sea. Subsequent experience with Summer School in rough water verified this theory.

    Actually, the idea of adding ballast to the boat came to me as a result of my reading, which I continued throughout this busy time. The most important book I read was Voyaging Under Power by Captain Robert P. Beebe as revised by James F. Leishman. This book had become a classic in examining all the issues, technical and otherwise, relating to long-distance cruising in slow, trawler-style powerboats such as ours. From it I obtained a much better technical understanding of our boat and, as a consequence, made basic changes in my boat-handling. When we cruised I typically set the throttle to run the engine at 2000 rpm, which gave us a speed through the water of about 7.5 knots (about 8.5 mph), slightly above what was known as "hull speed" for Summer School's length at the waterline, which I calculated to be 7.2 knots. I learned from Beebe's book that if I reduced our speed to, say, 90% of "hull speed" I could expect a dramatic increase in fuel economy, perhaps by as much as a factor of two. We tried this on one weekend when we took the boat out for a run. I found that by keeping the engine running at 1500-1600 rpm, our speed through the water was about 6.3-6.5 knots. If my calculations were right, cruising at this speed would double our fuel economy and increase our range on full fuel tanks from 750 miles to 1500 miles. This would be tremendously important in minimizing our expenses while cruising, and the loss of one knot in speed seemed an insignificant price to pay. After all, the important thing to us was to be on our boat, not to get to any particular destination quickly. Once again, subsequent cruising experience verified these conclusions.

    The other book that I read during these weeks that was important to me, was Daniel Spurr's Yacht Style. From this book I learned not so much about technical matters, but rather ways to express the kind of things that Nancy and I were feeling. For example, I copied into my journal the following thought, "…this is because a boat can become a self-contained, all-sustaining world unto itself, a means of escape from the harshness of life ashore." And again from page 5, I copied the following: "Any boat, power or sail, can shelter you, restore you, show you beautiful sunsets and starry nights, and cultivate the romance in your life. Any boat can be your dream yacht if it is right for you." These statements seemed to say so beautifully what Nancy and I had come to feel, and, though we felt sure we were making the right choices for us, they helped to validate our decision to move permanently onto Summer School.

    The only aspect of our lives that gave us real cause for concern during the month of April, was the state of my health. Throughout this time my back still gave me pain and prevented me from working as hard as I would have liked. In addition I began to experience increasing stomach pains. I refrained from nightcaps for a four-week period but there was no improvement. My remaining hope was that my condition would improve after we moved onto the boat permanently and all the tensions caused by trying to get everything done were removed.

    A potentially more serious concern surfaced in mid-April when I finally received copies of my medical records from Dr. Sadeghee's office. I had requested copies of all my medical records from the offices of the various doctors who had treated me in the recent past so that I could have this file with me on the boat should I need medical attention while traveling. Everyone cooperated except for Dr. Sadeghee. His office at first refused to send me copies of my records, claiming they were confidential. It took several telephone calls during which I stressed that these were my records and as such I had a right to them, that if they were not forthcoming I would take legal action and I demanded that Dr. Sadeghee himself speak to me about this. The doctor never telephoned but his office finally called and grudgingly told me they would mail copies of my records. When I finally received them I could understand why he may have been reluctant. The radiologist's report from the CT scan taken when I was hospitalized for kidney stones, showed that I had an abdominal aortic aneurysm 3.5 cm. in extent! I knew enough to know that this was a potentially fatal condition and I was astounded and angered that the doctor had never informed me. Henceforth I resolved to always get copies of my laboratory reports and other records from any doctor who treated me.

    A final cause for worry occurred on May 6 when I saw Dr. Mason for my last visit before moving to the boat. In contrast to my January visit, blood tests taken at this time showed that my platelet levels had dropped dramatically to about 110,000. This was well below the lower limit of the normal range, which was 150,000. Dr. Mason was clearly concerned and he advised me that if the level dropped below 100,000 it would be cause to start treatment, meaning chemotherapy. He was also concerned that my blood pressure was elevated to 160/110, but I told him that Nancy and I frequently checked this at home and found it was usually in a good range. He attributed my high reading in his office, he then explained, to the "white coat syndrome." Finally we had a lengthy discussion of my ulcer problems. He told me that it had recently been found that most gastric ulcers were caused by a bacterium, Helicobacter Pylori or H. Pylori for short, and that the ulcer condition could be completely cured by antibiotics if the bacteria could be eliminated before significant damage was done. He strongly urged me to see a gastroenterologist at his hospital to have an endoscopy performed so that my specific problems could be determined. However I was very reluctant to do this both due to costs and my great (unreasonable?) fear of hospitals and especially such invasive procedures. Finally we reached a compromise whereby he agreed to give me a 14-day prescription for an antibiotic along with a recently introduced strong antacid (Prilosec). If I showed no improvement at the end of this time I was to have the 'scope performed. No matter what happened he wanted to see me again in two months. It was apparent by the end of the visit that there was some friction between us. I believe he thought I was being very foolish by moving onto a boat and planning a life of random travel with all my health problems.

    However, none of these health issues made me regret our decision to leave the stable life on land in favor of living aboard our boat. Rather the reverse was true. I trusted that by moving permanently onto our boat, cruising and traveling to new places, enjoying other climates, cultures and histories, conducting our daily lives at a slower and more relaxed pace, would produce a life so fundamentally happy and fulfilling that my blood pressure would be stabilized, my ulcer condition would be relieved, and even perhaps the progress of the leukemia would be retarded.

    Two days after my visit with Dr. Mason, Nancy completed her last day of employment at Lafayette. It was Wednesday, May 8. The previous weekend we had rented a truck, taken everything that we had set aside for storage to the locker we had rented near Summit North, and moved onto Summer School the remaining items we had decided to take with us. After Nancy finished her duties at the college we drove to the boat where we had a celebratory dinner and toasted Nancy's retirement. We returned to the house in Easton one last time to supervise Jim Gastony's crew as they moved everything out of the house on Monday, May 13. His crew consisted of two old men (aged about 55 and 65) and one small truck. Although they worked hard and steadily, they had to make two trips between the house and their warehouse. It was six o'clock when they finally finished. Then we drove through the traffic on the Pennsylvania Turnpike and the Blue Route bypass around Philadelphia one last time, grabbed a quick dinner at an Italian restaurant not far from Summit North, and arrived at the boat after 9 p.m. It was exactly one year plus one day since we had left Pueblo, Colorado to find new lives, little dreaming what those lives would become.

    It was cold inside the boat. We turned on our little heaters and settled onto the settee over nightcaps. We were surrounded by everything we were to have in our lives in the foreseeable future, and all of it was close at hand in this little space aboard our boat, consisting of no more than about 300 square feet. I counted this day, May 13, 1996, as Day 1 in our new lives, and I vowed to keep count of the gift of each day as we lived it. We had made our leap of faith and there was no turning back.

 

Forward cabin desk

Forward cabin office looking left

1800 Days – Seg. 10, Ch. 2, Pg. 17-23

    I date the beginning of the winter of 1995-1996 from Wednesday, November 29, because on that morning I had Summer School hauled and put in dry storage in the marina boatyard. I had come to Summit North the previous evening so that I could be ready early in the following morning even though it meant that Nancy would not be able to be with me. It was late in the season and I could not afford to miss this opportunity. We had been trying to have the boat hauled for several weeks but had been delayed due to weather and scheduling problems.

    On this Wednesday morning my concern with the weather continued. I awoke at 7:30 and looked out the boat window to see a transformed marina. It had snowed overnight and there was about one inch of wet snow covering everything, the docks, all the boats, their decks, even their dock lines. It was still snowing slightly with large wet flakes slowly drifting down through the still air. The calmness was a great relief to me since I would not have to fight the wind as I was taking the boat out of the slip, steering it the quarter mile down the marina fairway and docking it in the lift slip where the travel lift was located. At 8 a.m. I was sitting at our salon table, drinking coffee while I waited for Doug, who had agreed to ride with me so that he could help with docking in the lift slip. All the curtains were drawn back and I had an expansive view of the surrounding marina and the few boats that were still in their slips. It was a scene of striking beauty with the white snow-covered docks and boats contrasting sharply with the absolutely calm water, which seemed black in the morning light and reflected with astonishing clarity the snow-covered trees on the far bank bordering the fairway. As I was sipping and watching, a huge great blue heron landed on the finger pier just outside my port window. He stood there in the absolute stillness, stately and at least four feet tall as he peered intently at his surroundings with large yellow eyes. The neck of the heron seen at such close range was thicker than I would have thought. His plumage was a soft slate-gray with a chest covered by long, black decorative feathers. He was magnificent as he slowly walked to the end of the finger pier to stare at the water, looking for breakfast I supposed, leaving large footprints in the snow. He took off when Doug called my name and knocked at the cabin door. It was time to go, to put an end to this decisive season of on-water boating.

    Of course, with our heads filled with the growing plans for our Great Escape, there was much we hoped to do on the boat while it was blocked up in the boatyard, to make it more suitable as our only home. We expected we would have some mild days during the winter, not unusual for this part of the country, when we could come from Easton to work on it. But the snow that fell the morning I had the boat hauled was the beginning of a five-week period of persistent below normal temperatures and above normal snowfall. When we came to the boat during this period it was for the sole purpose of shoveling snow off the decks. The sides of the hull of Summer School extended about a foot above the decks all the way around. Although this was an excellent safety feature it meant that drifting snow could easily accumulate on the deck to a depth of a foot or more. I was afraid that, if the snow were left there, subsequent melting and freezing could damage the sides of the cabins or the decks due to expansion. So we drove to Delaware and shoveled after every significant snowfall.

    On Monday the first of January the temperature finally climbed into the forties, but just five days later, on Saturday night, a snowstorm began that would become known as the Blizzard of 96. Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware had record snowfalls and declared states of emergency. In Easton we had 37 inches. Our little Honda, which we parked on the street in front of our house, was buried up to the windows. It took us two days to dig out our steps, walkway and car, and it took the city of Easton about that long to open the narrow roads on College Hill. When we could finally leave the area we drove to Summit North yet again where it took us another long day to dig out the boat. By the time we were finished I had re-injured the herniated disk in my lower back and it was painful for me even to walk.

    A week later we drove over the icy roads into center-Philadelphia so that I could have a check-up with Dr. Mason. There we received the uplifting news that my leukemia was apparently still solidly in remission. All my blood counts were within normal limits, even my platelet count, which had been below normal when last checked. Although my back still gave me some pain at that time, and I had been experiencing some stomach discomfort due to the ulcer condition, these maladies were very minor compared to the problems that could be caused if the leukemia became active. Nancy and I felt that on this visit we had cleared a major hurdle on our way to the future.

    The unusually bad weather continued through the first months of 1996. We had another major snowstorm at the beginning of February. Even on March 8 we had to drive to the boat to shovel off a fresh accumulation of snow. We became tired of the winter, tired of the ice and snow. We longed for the time when we could be on our boat following the seasons south in the winter. Nancy often would say that, if we finally made it through this long winter, the only time she ever wanted to see ice again was in her drinks.

    Despite our frustrations with the weather our moods remained buoyant. With no immediate worries over the leukemia we felt free to focus on our Great Escape and all the exciting plans we had for our future life aboard our boat. We made list after list after list. There was a list for everything that was to be sold at auction, and a list for everything that we would take with us on the boat. We came to the conclusion that there were some things that we would not sell but neither would they be taken on the boat, and we therefore needed to rent a small long-term storage space near Summit North. Thus there was a list for things to go into storage. There was a list of equipment and supplies that we needed to purchase for the boat, such as chemicals to finish the teak and a new VHF radio to mount on the bridge helm station to replace the one that had failed. We arranged with Kathleen that she would rent a post office box in our names at the post office that was near her place of work; we would then change our address to this box when we moved permanently onto the boat so that she could forward our mail to us weekly or as convenient wherever we might be. Then we made a list of all the address changes that we would need to make (again!). Finally we made a list of all the boat work that we wanted to do. One of the pleasures that we had when we went to the boat to shovel the snow was to enter the boat after the work was finished and survey the interior speculating on how we could improve it for long term use. We were especially excited by planning all the changes we would make to the forward cabin to convert it from a sleeping cabin with two V-berths, to an on-board office with space for a computer, desk space to work and shelf space for all the books we would bring with us.

    When I was not working on things associated with our move onto the boat, I worked on writing, a project that I had conceived in the fall and early winter. It seemed quite miraculous to me that I was looking forward to the future with such excited expectations, that Nancy and I together were planning what to me was such a great adventure, that I was living each day with such contentment and deep happiness, when only little more than seven years earlier I was alone at the age of fifty, freshly diagnosed with leukemia, trying to overcome a failed marriage and the death of my son, trying to find a way to live with a terminal cancer amid these tragedies. I wanted to write about the transformation that took place during these seven years, about finding Nancy and what she came to mean to me, about developing this passion that we shared for living and cruising on a boat. During the first months of 1996 I worked steadily on this project, trying to write a description of the beginning of our cruise south along the ICW in 1993. Progress was slow but gradually the piece grew into something that pleased me, and I could envision the other chapters I would need to write to complete the story and give it unity. I gave the book the working title, Lessons from Summer School, and I was looking forward to the time when we moved aboard our boat and I could continue writing in that environment we loved so well.

    Nancy also worked on writing as she stole time away from her work at Lafayette. Not only did she continue to work on "Tirades" but she wrote several short pieces describing a number of ideas for improving life aboard a boat. These were inspired by all the improvements we were considering for Summer School. She submitted a few of these pieces to the magazine MotorBoating and Sailing for possible publication in their regular section titled "BoatKeeping." On Saturday March 16 she received a telephone call from a senior editor who told her that they had decided to publish her submissions. Nancy, of course, was greatly pleased and encouraged and she, too, was eagerly anticipating living on our boat while continuing her writing in what would become our onboard office.

    In fact, by mid-march, when Nancy received the news of her publications, many pieces of our life's puzzle had fallen into place. We had sold our desktop computer and replaced it with a small notebook computer and portable printer that could fit in the office we were building in the forward cabin. We had dedicated an empty room in our large house to holding, on one side, a growing pile of all those things we would be moving onto the boat with us, while on the other side we piled the things we would be placing into storage. Finding a suitable auctioneer proved somewhat difficult. After interviewing several we finally contracted with one Jim Gastony who had a well-established business in the local area with his own auction house. He agreed to move everything out of our house when we were ready and hold a sale in his auction house after we moved onto the boat. This was much simpler and less disruptive than trying to hold an auction at our house. Nancy gave her notice to the Director of Engineering at Lafayette on March 4, thus completing a decisive and even sobering step in our process. On Saturday March 10 we drove to Waynesboro, Virginia for a last visit with Nancy's parents before leaving Easton. This enabled us to bring them some things that Nancy wanted to leave in their care while we were living on the boat. But more importantly, this visit greatly eased my mind because I saw that Nancy's parents, for whom her academic success had meant so much, were not disappointed with our decision. Indeed, they seemed to share our enthusiasm and excitement at the prospect of our great adventure, partly, I think, because Nancy's evident happiness was so contagious.

    Following the weekend we went to Virginia the weather finally relented and it became almost spring-like. I drove to the boat almost every day to complete the hard work necessary to prepare it to return to the water. There was much to be done, the worst of which was to refinish the bottom. It had to be thoroughly washed and then sanded to remove the old bottom paint. There were several small blisters in the fiberglass that had to be repaired. Finally the bottom had to be repainted with an expensive new layer of anti-fouling paint. The work was hard. I had to lie on the ground for much of it, sanding and painting over my head. With my low back pain from which I was still suffering, frequent breaks were necessary and progress was slow. But finally all necessary work was completed, and on Friday March 29 we launched Summer School while being pelted by heavy rain driven by a cold north wind. We brought it into our old slip without incident and moored it securely to the docks. We were wet and cold but smiling nevertheless. Despite all, we were aboard our boat once again and the real work of making it into our permanent home could begin.

1800 Days – Seg. 9, Ch. 2, Pg. 12-17

    Two weeks later we were again back onboard our boat. Nancy had managed to get Friday off, so we drove to Summit North on Friday morning, intending to take the boat out for two nights and have a little cruise on this three-day weekend. But the weather did not cooperate. There was a vigorous front due to pass through the area on Friday night and strong winds, heavy rain and a small craft advisory were forecast for the upper part of the bay. So we stayed onboard in our slip through this stormy weekend, happy to be dry and snug and living on Summer School, while we talked non-stop about various plans and proposals that would enable us to live onboard permanently. One week later we were back onboard again, with almost the identical weather pattern that confined us to the boat in our slip, and we continued the dialog, becoming more excited and optimistic that we would be able to realize this seemingly extravagant dream.

    First among the many problems to be solved was the financial one: how could we afford for Nancy to quit work and to live and travel on our boat? If this problem could not be solved none of the rest would matter. Of course, I had my pension, but it was relatively small due to my early retirement. We also had some money in the bank left over from the sale of our house in Pueblo. (It would have been considerably more had it not been for the expense of moving from Colorado.) But we had a mortgage on the boat that required payments to be made every month, though there would be no other housing costs. We had insurances that had to be maintained, we had car expenses, there would be medical expenses and there would be boat expenses such as fuel, oil, batteries, supplies, parts, and of course marina fees. We decided we could sell the TransAm and keep the older and much more economical Honda, thinking that if we were staying in one area for a significant time it would be very desirable to have a car. (We assumed we could find ways of doing this.) We could also sell all our furniture and appliances and realize some cash in this way. We calculated that, if we could stay at anchor as much as possible, say half the time, if we could keep our marina fees at or below $300 per month (considerably less than we were paying at Summit North), if we had no accidents or major repair costs, we could last for about two years before we would run out of funds. But should we do it? Would the experience be worth it?

    The other major factor that entered the equation was the state of my health. Only two and a half years previously I had been in a hospital near death from a leukemia-related pneumonia. Although the leukemia had been in remission since then, we knew it could become aggressive at any time and I would then need chemotherapy and other treatments. There was no doubt that my immune system was weak and that I was very susceptible to other ailments as well. The kidney stone attack had demonstrated how suddenly I could be incapacitated, and there was now the additional threat that this could recur. In fact, since coming to Easton I had once again experienced stomach pains due to my ulcer condition and I was taking Zantac regularly. Although I believed that this condition had been aggravated by medication a local doctor had prescribed to help prevent the recurrence of kidney stones, I knew from past experience that it would be difficult to relieve this discomfort once the stomach had been irritated, even if the offending medication were stopped. I also knew that if this condition became worse I would need regular care from a physician.

    It was just this problem of providing for medical care that was at the crux of our concerns. In Easton I now had a local doctor who seemed competent if not personable. And we were near enough to Philadelphia that I had decided to see Dr. Bernard Mason at Graduate Hospital to monitor and treat my leukemia. Not only was he a very highly regarded oncologist and hematologist, but he had treated me in the past when we were staying in Cape May during the summers, and it was a relief to know that such a skilled doctor was available to me. But how would I get competent and caring medical attention when we would be traveling all the time and staying in new places? And it was not only my own medical care that was at question. Once Nancy quit her job she would no longer have medical insurance and we certainly could not afford the very high cost of adding her to the insurance that I carried through my retirement association. How would she get medical care if it was needed and how would we be able to afford it? We talked and talked about these concerns, examining them at great length and from many points of view. Nancy had no reservations about living without medical insurance. Her health had been so good for so long that she was sure it would continue for at least another two years, especially if she would be living on the boat where she would be much happier. However, given the high cost of any hospitalization, caused perhaps by a simple accident, we both knew that this would be a big gamble. But it was one, we agreed, we would be willing to take.

    For my part, as we continued to talk, a feeling grew in me that if we stayed in Easton solely because of fears over my health problems, I would be looking at a future that was bleak indeed. What did it mean if we stayed in our current situation, afraid to follow our dream, lest my health should fail? I began to feel that, if the only reason that prevented us from living our dream was the uncertainty of my health, then we really would be staying in Easton just waiting for that very event to occur, that this would never change, that I would not be truly living my life but rather just waiting to die. We both found this to be a compelling argument.

    Although the questions associated with finances and health were the main ones in our deliberations, there were others that were certainly not insignificant. For example, I was anxious about what would happen to Nancy's professional career if she resigned her position at Lafayette at the end of only one year, and then took two years off to be a boat-bum. If it became impossible for her to continue in academia, how would she feel? She was 44 years old, at the apex of her career, with four degrees including her Ph.D. in industrial engineering. Would she not come to feel that she had wasted her chances? Would she not in the end regret a decision to live and cruise full time on the boat? She assured me she would not, that she had had enough of being a college professor, that she wanted something different in her life, and she reminded me how I told her she seemed much happier when she was on the boat. She was very persuasive, but I had lingering reservations.

    And then there were all the doubts associated with the question of what we would do when we ran out of money, if indeed I lived long enough to see this happen. Would the state of my health at that time permit me to return to some kind of work and supplement our income in some way? What would Nancy do? She was adamant that she did not want to continue her academic career, but what other employment would be available to her? Maybe she could work in a bookstore or a library, she thought, but we both knew that the pay from this type of employment would not even come close to what she was making as a professor. Would we be forced to sell the boat? Where would we live if that became necessary? We could not provide answers to these questions and we gradually came to understand that there were many unknowns and many uncertainties that could never be adequately resolved beforehand. For example, it was not difficult to imagine how a bad storm or a moment of carelessness could abruptly end our boating experience with Summer School. And we knew, perhaps more than most others, how precarious was life itself. Eventually we determined that we needed to make a decision without forever being afraid of consequences, and in the end we developed the feeling that we must simply have faith that we would be able to handle, somehow, whatever situation arose, that we would find a way.

    On the evening of November 14, slightly more than a month after the completion of that fantastic fall cruise to Chestertown, I was once again having dinner alone at Youell's while Nancy was at an engagement at the college. As before, I used the time to write in my journal. Now I see that I wrote, "We continue to talk about and plan our Great Escape – our two years of cruising and living on the boat." And I wrote, "We continue to come back to the conclusion that (a) we have the resources to do this, and therefore (b) we should because we do not know how much time we have left." Near the end of my journal entry I see this: "There will be so much to do to arrange our personal affairs. We also have many boat projects planned. Nancy is very excited. Both she and I have a lot of writing projects planned." It is apparent now that, by the time of this evening at Youell's, we had evidently made our decision, and our lives would never again be the same.

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