The Extended Weekend

My mid weekday started like any other, hell, I work every Saturday and Sunday when the phones are quiet just to stay on top of my desk work and if the truth be known most of the time I'm not even sure what day of the week it is.

Right on time as if scripted my assistant walked in to hand me the pile of yesterday's mail containing the usual permit approval confirmations, Engineering Weekly junk mail and the newspaper just like she has done every morning for decades. "I'm in a rut." I mumbled out loud to her in reaction.

But today for some reason after her normal detailed explanation of each item in the neatly stacked pile she always insists on collating, she paused to comment on the large disk shaped art effect that's been hanging over the credenza behind me for many years: "Mr. Swiftt, I think that's beautiful and I've been meaning to ask you for some time now, where did you get it?"

"Cheryl," I responded looking up at her inquisitive face and knowing she has never been one for small talk I responded: "That's been on that wall for as many years as you've been with me, why did you finally decide to ask me about it now?" Noticing a hint of confusion on her face and knowing there was no way for her to know that it represented a profound and private time of my life, I grinned so she wouldn't think that I was actually ridiculing her.

She smiled and explained: "You've been threatening to retire at the end of each year for many years now and I've heard you mention to a few clients that you would sell off some of the lavish furnishings that you've adorned these offices with and that last time you actually sounded believable. I was just thinking that if you plan on selling that I would like to call dibs on it and I was wondering about its origin, that's all."

Knowing that I have truly 'threatened' to retire for at least the past five years and not wanting to go into detail about that particular art piece I explained: "Well if I decide to part with it I'll just give it to you, but we've been having a great year!" I added and she knowingly nodded looking a little disappointed and returned to her desk in the front office.

"You should have told her Swiftt." My inner voice scolded me: "you have just come off as rude and you should have just told her, after all you need to tell someone." I thought, but I didn't want to expound and she looked content with my answer so I did what I often do with my inner voice ... I blew it off.

Unable to concentrate now, my mind started to wander.

I still remember those days, the exact calendar dates and times even though it has been many years past now. You know its funny how people tend to forget important life events. Even those that happen on or around certain special occasions tend to fade over time and for most to naturally preserve such a memory it must occur in association with calendar holidays or other special memorable events, but for me this particular few day 'tract in time' is not only locked very vividly in my mind, but it will remain a special memory and a very important part of my life until the day I die.

It all started on a Wednesday many years ago, I remember it was October thirtieth an uncommonly warm and blustery day for that time of year and it was the day before the only extended weekend that I had ever considered to take off in my entire career. It was the day that I finally decided to do something totally un-work related for myself. It was a day of planning and the only day that I can remember actually looking forward to some time away from the office for once in over forty three years.

As I remember, it was two days before Halloween, the exact morning that on a whim I instructed her to rearrange my schedule to afford me that time off in addition to the weekend. It was a request that I had never made of her during our entire work life together. It was request that not only surprised her, but was one that the associates who truly know me would have actually bet against.

However that particular future Friday wasn't just the little known 'All Saints Day' calendar holiday that occurrs every year, it was also my sixty fifth birthday so like any other fortunate man I decided to celebrate such a monumental occasion by spending a few days alone with my most favorite girl in my entire world ... my boat ... The Heart of Joy.

But that's enough about me.

The Heart of Joy built in 1942 was originally launched under her nautical name 'The Answer.' She is a seventy two foot custom Sailing Yacht that I found by chance when I first saw her from the air some thirty five years ago. I was flying over Nova Scotia on a business trip at the time and before we were even directly overhead I could tell from my limited view of all the rusty looking tubs around her that she was something special and I realized that I was not only looking into a salvage yard, but at something truly special.

The very sight of her lying there looking all listed and broken through the tiny twelve inch airplane window seemed to haunt me for some reason and shortly after landing I picked up a Canadian paper at the first terminal shop that I passed and while making the long walk to baggage claim, l quickly thumbed through each page looking for some sort of a business section.

As I waited on the slowest carousel in the history of airports, I actually found and noted two prospective scrap companies near the area that I thought I had seen from the air ... and I made the first call.

Three calls, a disconnected number, half my cell battery and after listening to ten minutes of the worst junkyard hold music imaginable, the shuttle dropped me off at my hotel. Just as I tipped the driver, I heard a loud 'click' and then the raspy voice of what sounded to be a salty old man hollered in my ear: "SALVAGE!."

As I stated my case to him I could tell from an imminent rush of pride that he knew exactly the boat that I was talking about, but with obvious reservation in the sound of his voice he informed me that due to many years of neglect she was pretty far gone and he explained that she was scheduled to be stripped, parted out and then scrapped in two days for what little salvage he thought he could get out of her.

While hearing those words that proud rush faded, my heart sank and I actually felt sick, but I knew at that very moment it was up to me to save her from that fate and I started to grovel with him on price.

Then the strangest realization came over me. You see, up until that exact moment I had never had any interest in owning a boat or boating to any extent for that matter. But there was just something inexplicable about that first glimpse of her from the air that captivated my thoughts to a point that I couldn't let her go and I wanted her.

"Hell Swiftt, any other man in his right mind would forget the whole thing and just walk away." I attempted to reason in my head, until I heard myself tell the old Guy to consider the fair price of what he thought she would bring in scrap before persuading him to hold her twenty four hours for me.

I took down some simple directions with his address and made a few phone calls to start arranging a transfer of funds for the purpose of a cash purchase basically as-is and sight unseen.

So, I guess as it turned out that I'm not just any other man.

After dinner that night I went directly to a hotel provided 'antique looking' computer and started a web search for anything that I could find under her given name "The Answer." At that time the internet hadn't been around long enough to offer me much search assistance and losing what little confidence I had with my limited computer skills I forced myself to stop after eventually finding that most of her early data was recorded on hand written forms and other such documents.

What little I did manage to take out of it indicated she was designed and built by the owner of a prestigious ship yard near Nova Scotia that specialized in luxury yachts for the rich and famous back in the day who had apparently fabricated her for himself. That limited inquiry also proved me with the facts that the company had been out of business for many years and the owner was long time deceased and other than some poor progress images of her build-out on faded black and white news print, that was about as far as the search had gone.

Still, there was just something in that limited information about her that I found intriguing and it fueled an insatiable desire within me to restore her. However since I couldn't help but consider her to be both an original work of art and truly a thing of beauty, I actually wondered if my imagination wasn't filling in any blanks that the query couldn't provide me.

Anyway, being as excited as a kid awaiting Santa I remember not being able to sleep much that night.

Bright and early the following morning I knew my next major objective was to find riggers that would agree to ship her in her frail condition. Having little or no knowledge of how to transport a boat the entire length of the eastern seaboard to a port near my home really concerned me and I was pleasantly surprised that though pricey, such things were done quite often and within two weeks she was on her way to southern Florida where I would begin her slow methodical restoration.

My late loving wife Joyce often expressed mild opposition of my efforts to revitalize what she considered (and even nicknamed) "Your lost cause basket case." You see Joyce, who I loved unconditionally, considered my efforts a futile boyish pipedream and being outspoken, she didn't mind telling me that she felt that me investing every free evening and weekend hour was wasted time that I should have spent with her.

But somehow working on that old boat kept me sane when I tragically lost Joyce to cancer and then sadly enough, my second loving wife Jan. Somehow through everything related with those tragic and horrific times of unfair and inexplicable pain, heart break and loss, that old boat was not only my inspiration, but she literally kept me both sane and alive.

Through our now fifty plus year relationship of hard painstaking work and dedicated attention to restoring her every detail, she has given me back as much compassionate love and healing as I have her and somewhere through it all, she has actually become a part of me.

When the elevator stopped in the lobby at the end of my workday, I walked out and quickly phoned Marina Jack to schedule their tender to run me out to where I keep her moored in Sarasota Bay, you see, from intentionally giving myself such short notice I knew I wouldn't have the time for a change of heart to work through my birthday holiday like I have done each and every year past.

"Besides" I reasoned with myself while fighting back impending guilt: "Not only do I need the time off, I haven't had her out in open water for a very long time and I owe this to her as well, for at our age how many more times will there be for the two us."

Leaving the air conditioning and out into the blustering Florida heat on an older man's twelve hour office worn legs I walked the short distance to my Escalade and after realizing that I had worked through lunch again, I started to feel hungry and I thought about stopping at 'The Columbian' for an early dinner knowing that if I went directly to Publix for the trip's supplies hungry, I would over buy: "Any way there's time," I thought to myself knowing that always I keep my liquor, canned and dry goods stowed onboard: "Besides." I considered: "I only need a pound of bacon, a dozen or so eggs, two or three steaks and maybe some cheese fresh fruit and vegetables."

When I finally arrived home with a content full belly, a bag of too many groceries and the anxious thoughts of the wind and the sea, the childlike anticipation and excitement started welling up in my chest and I hurried to put everything away while staging it so it would be easy to grab first thing in the morning for my quick getaway.

As I sat in my favorite easy chair to sip a Booker's nightcap and review in my mind every planned detail of that next day's voyage, I knew that if I didn't relax for a moment to unwind before turning in I wouldn't have been be able to sleep at all that night.

I woke at four a.m. (as I always do) but from a troubled sleep this time due to childish over anxiousness and while fighting back the urge to blow off my morning workout, I begrudgingly started that habitual daily regiment while grumbling under my breath of how it was much easier and more enjoyable when I was a younger man: "Oh well." I reasoned to myself for what seemed to be the millionth morning: "This must have its health benefits; I've already outlived the life span of both grandfathers and avoided the massive heart attack and eventual related death that my father suffered at a much younger age than me."

After toweling off the post workout sweat, I remember fumbling in the dark to make the morning espresso that I normally sit to savor poolside while watching the dawn remembering how may Mother often said that we were on the wrong side of the state to actually see the sun rise and at best, all we could do (according to her) was watch it get light.

But that particular morning there was no time for such pleasantries. I threw back my espresso like I was taking a shot of liquor and hurried off to shower for I wanted to get an early jump on the winter fisherman who inevitably start gathering early to sit in their cars and talk over coffee while comparing bates and lies prior to stowing their day's selected gear onboard whatever they would be piling into to take out that day.

Before first light I was actually parked on the Marina Jack lot and I can still remember that feel of cool, crisp clean air and the intoxicating ocean scent of the Bay as I exited my vehicle.

After raising the rear hatch I grabbed my duffel bag and on the agile legs of a much younger man I swiftly walked toward the main building's side entrance while noticing through the dim light how the dockside parking was already full of fisherman. I was right, for there they were sipping convenient mart drinks and bullshitting while awaiting their slower buddies to finally show up so they could get underway.

Then to my surprise, I noticed that I had actually quickened my pace to a slow jog: "Damn it Swiftt, grow up, you've got four whole days!" I can remember scolding myself: "Save your energy for your girl Old Man, for tomorrow you'll be sixty-eight not thirty-five, so try to act like it."

"Being a regular and friend of the owner certainly has its privileges," I thought to myself as I followed the Sue Chef and a waiting fish monger in through the service entrance many hours before their actual opening time. Yes I was over anxious and hoping that their tender pilot Troy was already there because I wanted to get underway before that parking lot fishing boat crowd was able to congest things preventing any chance for my earliest departure.

While seeing me first, "Hey Peter, Time for a coffee?" He asked as I walked through the kitchen into their main bar and dining area.

I didn't have to stop and think: "If it's all the same to you Troy I'd just a soon get underway, but thank you anyway... perhaps a rain check." I responded.

Obviously catching my drift from the serious look on my face, he smiled, stood and grabbed the duffle from under my arm and we walked through the empty "Blue Oyster Grill" out the sliding glass doors past their dockside café and again came that crisp chill of predawn air and the smell of the cove actually made me even more energized as it dissipated all thoughts or concerns of any new problems developing back at my office.

Through a few choppy waves and a light salt spray we sped out in the darkness towards my boat and within minutes she showed herself up ahead as a large dark shadowy presence standing all eloquent, proud, long, tall and powerful as she quietly awaited me.

Even in the dim glow of that predawn I could tell she was anxiously wanting to put out to sea and as I pressed the key fob and watched through the final seconds of darkness, she lowered her rear deck and boarding ladder literally beckoning me to come aboard.

As the skiff operator slowed to a coast, with the agility of a twenty year old man I leapt onto her platform and that now surprised pilot handed an old man his bag and without even tying off he asked: "When should we expect you back Mr. Swiftt?"

"I plan to be back here Sunday evening by four and eat on my boat." I answered: "But I may decide to have dinner at The Blue Oyster" and I advised: "Why not plan on picking me up sometime after five that evening. If things change and I decide to extend this trip I will call ahead," and he nodded and motored off into the misty darkness.

Shouldering the duffle and still on the legs of that much younger man, I climbed the ladder using every other step some ten feet to her deck and rose the platform behind me. Heart of Joy is truly magical; she never fails to make me feel totally invulnerable to time somehow. Kind of a bullet proof feeling, all young, gnarly, pumped full of testosterone and I feel much, much more alive each and every time that we are together.

After a quick visual inspection of the upper deck, I unlocked her hatch and went below to stow my perishables in the galley fridge. I started the ice and water makers and I opened the ceiling hatch vents to rid the salon, master suite and cabins of any stale air. After grabbing a cigar from my bar top humidor, I quickly gave the galley and salon a quick visual then once again using every other step I was back on deck toggling switches and checking all systems.

Within thirty minutes of boarding I had removed all of her sail covers, raised her fore and aft anchors and started her engines for our slow wake free departure from the other tired and sleepy looking motor yachts that their owners keep moored around her.

As my finger test cycled her cable switches that raise the mighty sheets of canvas, her electric wenches begged me to add sail: "Not just yet pretty lady" I mumbled as that oh so familiar power rush of pure pride purged through my body and manifested in the center my chest: "Wait Captain." I thought to myself: "Wait Old Man" and together we were finally underway.

With just the low guttural rumble of her mighty twin Caterpillar diesels, together we smoothly glided from her home mooring spot like a single drop of rain on a clean plate glass window.

As we headed toward more open water I stood at the wheel all upright and tiptoed, stretching my neck to see if there were any small craft lurking just out of our electronic line of sight: "Those are the tricky ones, the ones that we need to avoid old girl." I was thinking, when I noticed the few overnight fisherman far ahead.

They were apparently working a submerged structure as I've heard fisherman often do, all hoping for the biggest single fish of the day before having to sneak back to their office late on that mid week day: "But not me, no office for me today Old Girl!" I told her aloud as I adjusted our path a bit more port side to afford them the courtesy of a wide berth.

Sensing our approach, they all instinctively stood to take note our passing. I always find it amusing when the operators of other boats first notice the presence of mine. It's funny they always seem to stand at attention to just watch and admire us as we sail by and even in that soft pending dawn glow, the sight of her high gloss dark blue/black hull topped with the eighteen inch bright red stripe, capped with her glowing white gunwales makes her truly a sight to behold and her sleek, military, almost predatory lines seems to always make it impossible for them to look away.

After we had passed them on our approach of the waters where the bay becomes the gulf I shut her engines down and fully raised her main sails and instantly the northwest winds filled them to capacity and somewhere just beyond.