Years of dreaming and planning later, the boat and trailer were legally registered in our name yesterday. Sitting by the fire, chatting, curled up in cozy blankets, sipping coffee, sketchbook in hand is one thing, standing in line at the DMV while the computers keep going down, the clerk tells you that you need to go find six points of personal identification, and its pouring outside are slightly different.
So we run through the rain and go back to the place we are living out of suitcases while we fix up the boat. Rummaging through those belongings we schlepped this far, we are thankful we threw in the passports, last minute. Otherwise we would not be able to prove we exist. The two page list of verifiable existence documents are not the types of things we typically own. The blood donor card didn’t count.
Back at the DMV we wait for the teen driver taking her first test, the vet in his wheelchair doing the eye exam, the family glued to devices, with sweatpants that don’t quite fit over their expanse, and the business woman multi-tasking while she looks at the clock. The computers resurface. Our number is called. We pay, the sticker passes into our hands. High taxes, registration numbers, lists of codes and laws later, we can legally splash the boat.
Now lets go see if the engine works…