I broke the last of my 2013 New Year’s resolutions yesterday: I waited to the last moment to drain our summer house pipes. But where is the adventure in battling with wrenches and pliers with hands that have feeling in them? No, I choose to live the frontier life . . . and then go inside to watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
I thought I had found a rather large and sparkling diamond on my lawn this morning, but it was only a chunk of ice left over from yesterday’s sleet. Oh nature, why must you taunt me so?
With Thanksgiving sneaking up on us on pointy turkey talons, we begin to reflect upon all that for which we are grateful ... which leaves us precious little time to brood upon those things that annoy us.
Anne Heywood has lost her knitting. And no, “knitting” is not a euphemism for “mind”. She was searching for it in all the likely corners of town and Chappy, but had yet to uncover it when she met me on the ferry. So if anyone finds knitting of any sort, please contact Anne.
Big news week here! In deference to the federal government’s recent shut-down, Chappy has also suspended all government activities. All employees have been furloughed until further notice. This will hit the seagulls particularly hard as they depend on their weekly paycheck for dropping mollusks on the hoods of Mercedes.
The northeast wind stopped by early this week just to remind me that she’d be back later to rattle my windows and sandblast my shingles. Thanks, northeast.
The skunks and geese have returned as well, and won’t be leaving any time soon. The skunks arrive green side at my golf course to enjoy a ripe crop of grubs rustling just below the surface. The geese are content just to hang out, poop on stuff, chit-chat, and stumble about (like my nephews). I’d call them lazy but I understand that they fly quite a bit and maybe deserve a rest.
This is an odd time of year on Chappy. For me, at least. Summer is still doing its thing, being all summery and such, but I feel a marked shift in the energy — a slowing down. There’s always a great lead up to summer here, then a brief peak, then a slow winding down. Like the Super Bowl, but with fewer ads.
I feel that the weather deserves mention. Widely criticized for its July failures, it is coming through with some stellar efforts of late. Kudos to you, weather, for recognizing your poor showing in July and taking the steps to provide some August magic.
Someone has been stealing our whelk shells from the fifth tee. Maybe there is a crime ring of elderly lady crafters, hoarding attractive white shells to decorate and display next to their Hummel figurines. That’s my guess. But I don’t intimidate easily, so I will come down hard with harsh words and stern looks upon the culprits, no matter their number or age.
I have a new friend. He is a turtle. I think we get along because we see ourselves in each other. Like me, he is a procrastinator. Without fail he begins his trek across the ninth fairway of my golf course only after he hears the oncoming hum of my mower. I imagine him at home with best intentions to “this time” begin his journey to the swamp before the advent of my intrusive mowing, but each time finds himself only heading out the door once it is a bit too late. He crosses the hundred or so yards that bisect my back and forth mowing in about 30 minutes; his top speed is slower than most others’ lower gears (again, a reminder of myself).
