Not much time for blogging lately, as we’ve been waist deep in the mini-refit we’re doing on our new boat as we rush to get her out of the shipyard and back into the water where she belongs (several future posts to come on that issue, don’t you worry). But I thought I’d take a moment to pass along something amusing, just so you’ll know we’re still alive and well.
Today’s musing is about signs. Not street signs or billboards, but those subtle little messages that the universe sometimes sends you to let you know it’s aware of your existence and knows what you’re up to. Some people are sensitive to small snippets of order that emerge from life’s daily randomness. Rhonda is one of those people. For example, she’ll patiently explain to me that it was no mere coincidence that on our trip up to examine the boat we were about to purchase, we were given room 304 by the clerk at the Hampton Inn, and the next day we found out that the marina we were headed to was off highway 304. It was obviously a sign of some kind. Or take for another example the fact that we were assigned slip 144 when we placed our first boat at Bayou Grande Marina in Pensacola. One plus four plus four equals nine, and we signed the contract for the boat on the 9th of September, which is the ninth month don’t you know. See? Meaning from randomness. It’s a sign.
I’m generally OK with all this, because her signs are mostly positive, and usually tend to support or confirm whatever course of action we’ve recently embarked upon. It’s as if we (through her interpretation of the signs) are receiving regular subtle doses of positive reinforcement. I’m sure I’d have much less patience with the whole subject if she were seeing portents of doom everywhere. But it’s been pretty harmless, so I mostly consider her interest in such things to be benignly amusing.
But every so often something happens that makes even cynical old me go “Hmmmmm.” Case in point. We have had so many boat related tasks to accomplish these past two weeks that Rhonda and I have divided up the responsibilities in order to double our effectiveness. We knew we had a denaming ceremony coming up, to be followed shortly after by a christening. Doing a proper denaming ceremony requires several bottles of champagne. Prior to the christening, we needed a silver dollar to place under the mast before it was stepped (raised). The coin shop was on the east side of town close to Rhonda’s work, and I’d handle acquiring the champagne. We really didn’t do any further coordination on the subject – just you get a real silver dollar, and I’ll pick up some decent champagne.
That evening, Rhonda proudly showed me the Morgan silver dollar she’d acquired. I thought it was an excellent choice, because in a way it reminded me of us – it showed the wear and patina of use and a long life, but still had a distinctness that showed you its value and character. I showed her the champagne I’d picked up. Not the cheap stuff, but something in the mid-price range that probably reflects our station in life.
Rhonda held one of the bottles for a moment, and then looked at me and asked, “Did you do this deliberately?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, Of course I bought the champagne deliberately, I was thinking.
“Why did you pick out this bottle?” she asked. So I started to explain how I didn’t want to go cheap with something so important to us, but didn’t want to spring for the really good stuff since so much of it will be poured into the sea.
“No, that’s not what I mean. Look!” she said, and held out both the bottle and the coin.
So figure the odds. Is it a sign? Beats the hell out of me. But I can’t help but feel like the universe just tapped on our shoulders and gave us a nod and a wink! And I guess we’re both a bit comforted by that.