Our Story Continued...(Pg. 2)

That changed abruptly on June 26, 2000. I had just come home from work and kicked off my shoes when Dave called me from his cell phone. He was down at our old marina and after a couple of idle minutes of chit chat, said the words that matter most, “The Concordia’s hauled out. She’s going to be sold.”

“Oh.” was the best I could manage. I concentrated on taking deep breaths while he filled me in on what he’d heard about her and what he’d learned at the yard. Finally, in the calmest voice I could muster, I asked him, “Should I just come down?” “If you want.” Was all that he could manage. The phone hitting the cradle, grabbing of shoes and car keys, and the slamming of the door was one simultaneous move. Thankfully for the people on the roadways that evening, we live less than a mile from the marina. I pulled in next to Dave’s car and found him standing beside a ladder. “Have you been up yet? What does she look like?” I asked. “I waited for you, so you could be first aboard.” The most wonderful husband in the world answered.

Somewhere between the car and the ladder, I’d shed my high heels, so I gathered up my skirt, and up the ladder I went. Scanning the deck, my first impression was that she looked good. It didn't look like there were any obvious problems. I climbed over fenders and lines piled in the cockpit and crouched on what I know now to be the bridge deck. The hatch boards were out and the companion way cover partially open. As I looked below, my breath caught in my throat and my eyes filled with tears. The cabin was in absolute disarray. Cabinet doors hanging open or missing, cushions scattered, sails pulled out, coach roof black with mildew.