The Fervent Beachcomber

 Steve took me to Savannah for a few days, 

a sweet birthday gift, maybe the very nicest part of turning fifty.

We left our spectacular room at the East Bay Inn and made the twenty-minute 

drive to Tybee Island.

 The early morning view was jaw-dropping. We roamed the beach and found a small, live sand dollar. 

Completely engaged in watching its tiny bristles move in the stiff beach breeze, 

 we didn't notice her approach. 

A hat-wearing beachcomber leaned in like an old friend, wanting a better view of the sand dollar. 

In shaky, ominous tones, the older woman narrated the plight of the sea creatures around

 Tybee due to recent offshore dredging. Obviously concerned for the life 

of the sand dollar still bristling

 in my husband's hand, she testified that the best policy is to 

"throw it back into the waves, and give it a fighting chance."

 As she edged nearer, I got the idea that she planned to snatch the sand dollar  

from my husband's hand and run into the waves, alone on a daring 

rescue mission to return it safely to Neptune's bosom. 

So my husband threw it into the waves himself, saving her the trouble, 

and she walked on with a smile and a casual (but triumphant) wave. 

Ladder to Nowhere

As I drive along, I notice unusual things in yards. 

The men in my life do not appreciate this—they say I'm swerving, but of course, I'm not. 

If you happen to be gawking along with me, you know there's lots to see.

For example, not far from here, an entire (plastic) holy family huddles on the front porch of a small white cottage. I'm sure someone intended to put them back in the shed until next year, but they just haven't gotten around to it. 

In another yard, there's a life-size bear figure, standing tall and menacing. The owners may think it's hidden behind that pampas grass, but people with excellent observation skills will notice these things. They also have a fake white pony, frozen mid-trot, not far from the bear—is there a story in the mind of the yard decorator?

Perhaps my favorite oddity is in the yard of a pink Cape Cod home, set high on a hill. A yeti statue strides through the side yard, perhaps on its way to the next meeting of the RUFO Society. 

And what about this ladder? 

It's propped against a tree with no apparent purpose at all.

I may have an overactive imagination, as some say, but doesn't this spark your

sense of wonder? A room full of first graders would be bursting with ideas about 

the mystery of this ladder to nowhere.

*******

Here's mine—a Story Snapshot called (what else?) 

"The Ladder to Nowhere"

     Benji walked around the ladder to better see it from all sides. His fingers, sticky with the evidence of three s'mores, brushed rounded wooden edges and skimmed embedded, crusty nails. It was almost too dark to really inspect the mysterious ladder now that the sun was going down. He thought about calling J.D., but then everyone would follow, and he might get in trouble for wandering too far from camp. "Don't leave the circle of firelight," the scout leaders kept repeating. But they were only moms anyway, not real scoutmasters like he used to have in Indiana. 

     Bracing his hands on the side rails, he put his weight the bottom rung with one sneaker. Was it strong enough to hold his weight? He climbed six more rungs without taking a breath—still safe! From this perch, Benji peered up, up, up through the gloom, but the tree's neighbors huddled too close, blocking any final fingers of sunlight. If he was going to get to the top, he'd have to be fast ...

Personality Plus

Stubborn.

Stubborn as a mule.

Or this Shakertown donkey.

Drying Linens

From the Shaker Village Get-Away:

At Pleasant Hill, back in the day, Shaker 'sisters' were expected to spend most of the day 

glorifying God through work in the kitchens, the weaving rooms, or the laundry buildings...  

Women of all ages labored in this small set of rooms and turned out 

clean clothes and linens for hundreds of people. 

Can you feel the peace of drying linens racked so closely, a concrete display of 

joyful community, each owner represented by initials carefully sewn on a cloth corner or seam?

 Or could there be hints of competition here? 

Did certain pieces always win space on upper racks ...

whose linens were the most carefully made, woven in the most brilliant patterns ...

which linens displayed the neatest stitches? 

I wonder if it was it peaceful, truly, among those Shaker laundresses 

in early January of the 1800s?

* photo of the restored laundry rooms as they would have looked in the early 1800s 

Side Note:

When my sons were small, they were blessed with the same good health that most American children enjoy. But when they became sick with whatever virus was going around,  I took pleasure in playing the mamma-caretaker to each, and maybe even spoiled them a little bit. Women often complain that men are such babies when illness strikes - this sort of indulgence by mothers like me might be the reason. I savored any opportunity to snuggle one of my sweet little boys who would normally be running, leaping and squirming to get away. 

Now my sons are mostly-grown, all tall and strong - I'm so grateful for them. When they get ill, to my amazement, they find the appropriate over-the-counter medication and dose themselves. They judge when, or IF, a doctor will be called. It's crazy! Just one more thing I always did for my children which they now do for themselves. 

For the last six months, one of my sons has faced the challenge of an auto-immune disease. He regularly drives himself to the doctor and endures a difficult procedure with admirable fortitude. Early this morning he came downstairs with resolve painted across his face; he shrugged into his coat, grabbed his keys and (again) turned down my offer to come along. 

But he did let me linger a tiny bit longer than usual on the goodbye hug.

The (un)Holy Couple

At Christmastime, we visit Fountain Square in Cincinnati. 

There's a skating rink where we stand around the edges and wait for the ever-hilarious

sight of falling skaters, and a Graeter's bakery nearby. Food and entertainment - definite holiday

luxuries. It's one of our traditions, from when the boys were little and the main attraction was chasing 

pigeons and eating a cheap donut. Now we take whoever among them will go, along with 

any of their friends; it's different, but the same in the essential ways. 

Different, but the same - that's the stuff of life, isn't it?

AND THIS YEAR ... something more! An immigration demonstration attended by

Mary and Joseph, the Holy Couple themselves. Skipping over the pesky politics of the whole

situation, since that is clearly not the point here, you must look more closely at Mary and Joseph. 

Look at their chests...

Gaahh! 

Is that the creepiest thing you ever saw???

I couldn't drag my eyes away! 

Joseph's 'assistant' needing air - a little less creepy, but still - a startlingly weird backdrop to the 

kindly-looking interpreter who waits for the tearful Mexican woman to pause in her pleas.

There was also random group dancing of the Macarena sort pretty similar to this.

I tell you, it was the best year ever for gawking! 

(Don't miss that Macarena link ...)

Estate Sale Vultures

We went to an estate sale today, held along the way I drive My Youngest to school everyday.

I looked forward to it all week. 

Now, we don't usually make it to a sale like this one at its opening. 

Somewhere around the middle, or even toward the end of the sale - that's when we usually arrive.

Today, we were within thirty minutes of the  (official)  start.

We parked fairly far away from the house - a little brick ranch with a spacious yard.

I felt a slight touch of panic when I saw so many things being carried out to vehicles

before I could even begin my perusal. We started in the garage and moved through the house, 

room by room, ending in the laundry area of the basement. 

It was  who gets to go down the hallway first  crowded. 

Employees of the estate liquidation team were everywhere, ready to quickly

and firmly quote an unreasonable price for every bit of flotsam I brought for inquiry.

After it became obvious that the prices were not in my range, 

I was free to just browse and ponder without any competition to consider.

A story was written, ever so obscurely, right there in their leavings.

She left a charmingly mismatched set of china plates.

He left a tidy garage with perfectly pegboarded tools.

She must have loved quilting, and he fishing.

Their clothes were hanging on a rack in the basement - 

his smallish dapper blazers and her polyester slacks.

A man rooted through a huge box of hangers, ramming the wooden ones in his back pockets. 

A chic blonde woman put her readers on top of her head and pulled iron garden-markers  from the dirt.

Two old men discussed UK basketball at the bottom of the basement stairs.

An odd character with a long ponytail and an even longer beard sported a fedora with a

hawk's feather and clutched doilies to his chest. 

We seemed to be a flock of oddly feathered vultures, picking over the meat and bones 

of a once-full lifetime condensed within a 2,000 square foot boundary. 

A downward focused group of Mrs Dilbers and Ol' Joes, 

busily unhooking bedcurtains as brisk, early morning exercise. 

*****

We brought home their impossibly heavy concrete table and benches set to anchor our own front yard.

None of the other vultures even cast a glance our way as it was loaded.

Balloons and More

We went to Cincinnati's Mirror Lake in Eden Park to see these -

But we also saw other interesting things.

There's alot to look at in a crowd that size, especially in the heart of a city like Cincinnati.

So many different kinds of people! It is always amazing to me.

For example, I don't think I've ever seen anyone wear red and white checks as

well as this guy. The woman in purple is admiring him, too. 

The Big Boy is just noticing the most adorable baby -

- and he bends over the stroller to get a better look. 

He probably wanted to just say hello to the little tyke. 

I wonder how that went? 

I know how that would've gone if it had been one of my kids in the stroller.

shock

terror / horror

panic / screaming / possible spitting 

 Here's another casual attender of the festivities.

How'd you like to have him bend over the stroller?

Guaranteed ruined Holiday Event and at least three sleepless nights

 spent trying to calm your nightmare plagued child.

 But as far as I could tell, he kept his nutcrackers out of the strollers.

Whew!

Linking to Flower Patch Farmgirl and Lowercase Letters.
Visit them too!

Oddities

 ... back to the 2012 vacation.

There's so much to gawk at on the strip in Gatlinburg. 

Thought you might enjoy seeing a few more interesting snapshots from the trip.

Who would expect to see something of Dickens just down the street from Moonshine Holler? That's the beauty of it, friends. 

Moonshine Holler, by the way, had interesting effects on my sons. The Oldest was game for free tastes, The Middle didn't seem to know that free tastes existed, and The Youngest was traumatized by the thought that mom might have a free taste with his oldest brother. 

I was just calling the bluff of the Oldest, 

this is a necessary skill to develop when you live with teenagers, 

but My Youngest was horribly shocked. And the bluff is ruined if you admit that you were never really going to down some moonshine ... Poor kid.

The free moonshine tastes were served in communion cups.  !!!

In a crowd of men and almost-men, shopping downtown Gatlinburg is not what you might have experienced if you went with girlfriends. Let's just say I saw lots of gun/knife/gadget stores. After about five such visits, I was relieved to hear one of them observe, "Those stores are all the same!"   

Yes, they are. 

ANYway, I didn't go in most of those (mildly disturbing) stores - there's plenty to entertain on the sidewalk and in store window. 

Had to get a photo of the Witch King's helmet. 

Any other Lord of the Rings fans out there?

My Youngest just passed by and commented, "Mom, don't put that on there! People will know you're a nerd!" So true, son, but they probably already knew.

We call it  Street Food  - the best choice for at least one meal. Defined: walk along and buy/eat as much food as your parents can afford. 

It turns out to cost about the same as a sit-down meal in a restaurant. 

Look how happy this kid is, stuffing his face with a big ol' sausage, and get a look at that corn dog in the background! I got to share a few bites of that.

Really? A KILT? I just never believe that these kilt-wearing men are really  ethnically entitled to sport this gear, do you? 

And I have managed to ask a few.

Scottish Posers. 

This photo was not easy to get - even I am hesitant to photograph unaware odd people in close quarters. You never know what might happen. 

I checked the price on the Flying Blue Monkey mask - $55.  Way too much, even for such a desirable item. I know you want one, too. 

How great would it be to wear while handing out candy to trick-or-treaters? October is right around the corner, people! Plan ahead!

The Frankenstein mask came from the same store - only $10. 

Fun to leave in the cabin refrigerator. 

*** My Halloween outfit is all ready, do you see that? ***