When I swore I’d remain astern this year, I went ahead and took the helm of another nonprofit fundraiser
“Were you soused on grog when you agreed to do this again?” spouse queried while we both crouched on hands and knees scrubbing the Leap of Faith’s deck (our personal money-sink—a retired Navy boat).
“I was perfectly sober. It’s just that, somehow, I’m unsure how, but, well, no one else would, and, grants are nearly a thing of the past, and the costs keep coming, and well, what could I do?”
“No?” I mocked with a salty laugh. Forcing the scrub brush harder against the boat’s moldy deck, I continued, “If I didn’t say ‘no’ to this floating-project-without-end, you can pretty well guess my bleeding heart would just say yes to the cause. Call it a boat project that might actually bring in money,” I continued in full snarky-regalia. “And, anyway, I’ve got an idea for an entirely different kind of event.”
My fundraising experience suspected time had come to set a new course from the nonprofit’s traditional fundraiser (dinner, dance, silent auction). When I considered sailing from the safe harbor of tradition to new moorings I wondered if I cinched my captain’s cap a little too tight.
But our boat’s captain, AKA spouse, kept cruising for a good dousing. “Well, how are you going to finish your book?” “What about your blogs?” “How will you find time to exercise more?” “What about volunteers—you gonna do everything?” “How much money do you really think you can raise in this economy?” “What about your garden?” “Is this worth your time?”
I made my awkward attempt to get off my stiff knees and stand, and then pointed to the 12-inch tall words in green and gold paint behind the boat’s stern, “Leap of Faith.”
So I’ve set afloat in a different boat with the goal of raising a modest five-figure profit for Friends of The Elephant Seal.
Finding volunteers to collect donated merchandise from local businesses listing in the economic storm, is like hoisting your boat’s sails in windless conditions.
Dinner. Whoopee! Another banquet with over-cooked chicken and soggy vegetables. Time to close that galley.
And while politicos might sell a lunch ticket for $5000 a person, that kind of donation won’t be found in this fundraiser’s treasure chest dreams. A survey I sent to past event participants indicated that one-percent of that $5000 dream ticket is closer to the ticket price they prefer paying.
Fortunately, an enthusiastic crew signed up for this voyage. Welcome aboard the new Leap of Faith. To be continued.