My prodigal dinghy was found today, intact and outboard running. I even got a bonus: there was a huge red fuel tank in it that wasn’t there before…ha ha ha.
Three policemen in plainclothes came to see me at work; they’d caught the guy who did it (no, not the heroin addict at all…shame on me for being such a sucker for movie stereotypes!), and wanted badly to prosecute, as he is also responsible for thousands of dollars stolen in credit cards, electronics, and a caravan, I think they said. So I signed a statement and came home and towed the rowing dinghy behind the motorised dinghy. The mood at the club was celebratory, and I was getting waves from people on boats and thumbs-up-signs from passing dinghies…I waved back, returned a small smile, but didn’t really feel as elated as, I guess, they thought I’d be.
A lesson has been learned, and I cannot consciously, purposely, go back to ignorance, so I will continue to row, now that I know how easy and quick it is from our new spot in the Sadgroves Creek. Also, to put it mildly, I do not love that outboard.
All’s well that ends well. At least I have my dinghy and oars back! And I AM sincerely glad that I have recovered what was really Kris’ property. It will come in handy on craft fair days, anyway, and has proven invaluable for moving four friends at a time, to and from the big boat on party nights.
Isn’t it funny how, when you accept a situation fully—to the point of actually falling in love wiit the new conditions—whatever the problem was in the first place often rights itself?
The best part is that I now enjoy a new FREEDOM: I no longer need nor am dependent upon what I originally thought I had lost.