tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-171076882024-03-07T07:54:53.018-08:00.Relentlessly documenting select portions of my life and opinions since 2005.Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.comBlogger913125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-76073346326368941332014-11-19T13:56:00.000-08:002014-11-19T13:56:11.536-08:00Camping Hunting Island<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I believe when we last spoke I'd said I was going to write about Ranger dog and, believe me, I have plenty to say about him (that endearing sumbitch), but there's been a Vacation--a CAMPING vacation--between then and now that demands to be chronicled. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It's a hobby of mine to research campgrounds, especially in the darkest most depressing days of winter, and so it was that way back in February I settled on <a href="http://www.huntingisland.com/">Hunting Island</a> , South Carolina as our next and most distant and ambitious camping destination yet. This was a trip to be embarked upon a full nine months hence (you may recall that between then and now, <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2014/09/site-six-glamping-part-one.html">our original pop-up died</a> jeopardizing the entire plan until we bought another camper five minutes later). After acquiring the new camper, we planned a weekend excursion about a month prior to the Hunting Island trip to Land Between the Lakes, our closest camping destination (our camping "home" if you will), about forty miles east of here, in order to vet the new camper for any kinks or issues that we would not want to discover for the first time 750 miles away in South Carolina.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zhx2Mx8szuQMdoKYErsr19Z2_pAtO3IMRMeVlDn8yXUZ36QH0wEHnajz0YkyXxqRmgLOiOA0_DdL-6wT0sy_uc2laLC_2E4wPv-kLdvrimDAXIRg393wMpOadMhS_zff2ZJ5/s1600/pippii+at+site+six.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zhx2Mx8szuQMdoKYErsr19Z2_pAtO3IMRMeVlDn8yXUZ36QH0wEHnajz0YkyXxqRmgLOiOA0_DdL-6wT0sy_uc2laLC_2E4wPv-kLdvrimDAXIRg393wMpOadMhS_zff2ZJ5/s1600/pippii+at+site+six.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pippii on her maiden camp at LBL</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had planned to blog about that weekend, our first with "Pippii" as we've named the new camper, but alas, the winds of time are making that more and more unlikely. To sum up: It was cold, it rained, Ranger got loose in the dark instantly turning our blood to terrified ice water until we re-apprehended him via a clever stunt of loading the other two dogs in the truck and pretending we were going out for ice cream (Ranger, unable to help himself, leapt into the backseat of his own accord thus sparing either of us the need for defibrillation), the wind blew and blew and it stormed, we went home one night and the next day was beautiful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But MOST importantly, we did discover a problem with Pippii: we could run the lights or the air conditioner, but not at the same time. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinImEFCKKpJTg1nCrMKtXuz0z2my9SWQfuYacDZdFQKm67Pp2PFLbkoHAjMFLZ8bsleB1fFTXz0t1ZNTfv75Qx82sve0iZubmZ3ZSufp4jZlcEIrtTjT907ab5kKfWUMxBBWmP/s1600/view+from+site+six.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinImEFCKKpJTg1nCrMKtXuz0z2my9SWQfuYacDZdFQKm67Pp2PFLbkoHAjMFLZ8bsleB1fFTXz0t1ZNTfv75Qx82sve0iZubmZ3ZSufp4jZlcEIrtTjT907ab5kKfWUMxBBWmP/s1600/view+from+site+six.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from Site Six, LBL</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">This was, of course, a very annoying discovery and one that would have changed the negotiations leading to Pippii's purchase. Hindsight, etc.! We threw money at the problem, a faulty power converter, and it went away. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The trip to Hunting Island began on a rainy Friday night the first week of October. We faced between an eleven and thirteen hour drive with the snarling traffic bitch of Atlanta between us and camping nirvana. Our goal was more like "get out of town" than "make good time". Which is lucky, because we sure as hell weren't going to make good time towing a fourteen foot pop-up with two bikes on the back in the dark with an SUV drinking gas at approximately the same pace a pre-liver transplant David Crosby did drugs [read: insatiably!]. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Fortunately, I was in possession of the perfect antidote to many hundreds of slow going miles: the unabridged audio version of Untouchable: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Untouchable-Strange-Tragic-Michael-Jackson/dp/0802145825/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1414273598&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=untouchable+michael+jackson+audio+recording">The Strange Life and Tragic Death of Michael Jackson</a>. That's right, TWENTY-FOUR cd's on the minutia of Jackson's last years and the complicated legal aftermath of his death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And if you think that would be a boring and interminable 24 hours you'd be right and wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The book is, as its length would imply, nothing short of an exhaustive account. So much so that as the writer relates the dramatic details of Doctor Conrad Murray (ineptly) performing CPR on a dead or dying Michael Jackson, he feels the need to toss in information on the origin(s) of Murray's Trinidadian accent. Beside the point? Absolutely. But also, strangely mesmerizing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We became fascinated with the oft repeated names and places that comprised the landscape of the last act of Jackson's life: the "<a href="http://www.theagencyre.com/for-sale/100-n-carolwood-holmby-hills/">Carrolwood Chateau</a>" (the LA residence where Jackson was living during rehearsals of the ill-fated "This is It" tour and where he would eventually die), Neverland Ranch (of course), the <a href="http://www.tmz.com/2012/02/23/katherine-jackson-michael-jackson-estate-sell-home-havenhurst/">Hayvenherst Estate</a> (Los Angeles residence of the Jackson family headed by matriarch Kathryn). A truly bewildering cast of characters inhabited Jackson's reality most of whom were a part of the juggernaut that was his unprecedented musical career--people managing, profiting, and manipulating. Few, if any, come off as innocent in his demise (or at least in the regular disturbance of his tenuous peace of mind), with the list headed by Jackson's own family, a group of money hungry jackals so relentless in their pursuit of a piece of the action that Jackson often literally physically hid from them weeping in response to the pressure they applied. Only Kathryn, Jackson's mother, consistently comes off as an appropriate source of support and comfort though even she at times fell victim to the manipulations of her villanous husband, Joe Jackson, and the demands of her other children to assist them in their endless quests and various harebrained schemes to part Jackson from his bankroll. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgbvz1Px8RZOJDCTQ0hBgmQKUuSBAcSTLQq-h2HGDZbqg3lpKFOaXuLsmC2QT0Pgo2T_Hy8pE41blk_csjLTkAEDxEzgcOzk7sdQI1JgkQcMfXhyphenhyphen4wCQPBWJ11P2ddkdlF7qf/s1600/bobby+driscoll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgbvz1Px8RZOJDCTQ0hBgmQKUuSBAcSTLQq-h2HGDZbqg3lpKFOaXuLsmC2QT0Pgo2T_Hy8pE41blk_csjLTkAEDxEzgcOzk7sdQI1JgkQcMfXhyphenhyphen4wCQPBWJ11P2ddkdlF7qf/s1600/bobby+driscoll.jpg" height="320" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bobby Driscoll and the nose MJ never had.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The portrait of Jackson himself that emerges is complicated. A guy with, literally, a large glass jar full of fake nose tips that had to be adhered to and blended into his face with make-up, his original nose having long since collapsed into little more than gaping nostril holes, a guy astute enough to buy the Sony-ATV catalog after a chat with an unsuspecting Paul McCartney (during the recording of "Ebony and Ivory") who advised him that song rights was the best investment going. Jackson would purchase the catalog, that included a hefty amount of Beatles tunes, for $47 million in 1984, an investment that is now worth in the neighborhood of $2 billion (McCartney would later come to resent having given that advice). A guy who clearly manipulated Lisa Marie Presley into an ill-advised marriage in the hope she would act as a brood cow and little else, a guy who very likely had a sexual relationship with minor Jordan Chandler (the extent to which Jordan's parents were a part of and in collusion with the situation is hotly disputed, but it seems likely that at least Jordan's mother turned a blind eye until she thought there was money to be made), a guy so stunted by his father's abuse and any semblance of a normal childhood, that he "never" wanted to grow up. So wedded was Jackson to this idea, that his nose surgeries were, if the book is to be believed, in pursuit of a "turned up" nose like that of <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=bobby+driscoll&biw=1366&bih=674&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=0bpPVMoTwavIBNyhgvgD&sqi=2&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAQ">Bobby Driscoll</a>, the 1930s version of Peter Pan (Spoiler: that, ahem, didn't work out).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The ever widening group of music industry executives and lawyers that surrounded Jackson became our own merry cast of imaginary friends as we drove through the rainy night into Tennessee, headed for first Monteagle, then Atlanta and then the next day, on through Georgia and South Carolina to the coast. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">HER</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>Do you think we should stop at this exit?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ME</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>Not sure, we should probably get some advice from </em><a href="http://www.johnbranca.com/"><em>John Branca</em></a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And later:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">ME</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>I'd like to have dessert, but I really need to get back to </em><a href="http://www.billboard.com/articles/news/1569431/kenny-ortega-was-frightened-by-michael-jacksons-condition-director-testifies"><em>Kenny Ortega</em></a><em> and the "This is It" </em><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NAbDnbz-W1M"><em>rehearsals</em></a><em>.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Despite these hefty distractions, I'm not going to lie, the trip was long. By the time we were dragging the camper around Atlanta, boxed in with three stalled lanes of traffic on each side, I had to ask myself if the whole idea wasn't just the <em>teensiest </em>bit cray, if perhaps, exploring campgrounds within, say, a mere 250 miles from home (of which there are <em>many</em>) as opposed to a trek of 700+ might be a better, even saner, idea.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> But here's the thing. Hunting Island has something those other campgrounds haven't got: </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpLRRP2VZn06BfBZlcA57phLiJhQn1EhCNXxzDnT-BGevbEAAimOF8dtBpiKQDYUhkZfmJflXcRxx26g-g_tKj_-tWHd4EPCEtm9Vcjl9wJakFYaa-kBiKjgb6D0w5nWuDqzT/s1600/beach+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbpLRRP2VZn06BfBZlcA57phLiJhQn1EhCNXxzDnT-BGevbEAAimOF8dtBpiKQDYUhkZfmJflXcRxx26g-g_tKj_-tWHd4EPCEtm9Vcjl9wJakFYaa-kBiKjgb6D0w5nWuDqzT/s1600/beach+4.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you click and look close, you can see shrimp boats in the distance.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ladies and gentlemen, I give you THE BEACH. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A vast, beautiful beach available only to other island campers, a short bike ride or hike from your campsite (you can camp nearly on the beach if you don't mind close quarters with other campers or excessive wind--we do mind both). </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_DLJ0_EUCSHKGYrZAMzwjEFvaYDWfcKCTJXIdqSISdswXMIeRM5eOlsf6TI9iK7yy2MYlAz67RutYorsuTxdBZD3k0SRJNNLWQo6FLwQJRMhronRTYDyAb1RJHaWqV_NnuN4/s1600/beach+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_DLJ0_EUCSHKGYrZAMzwjEFvaYDWfcKCTJXIdqSISdswXMIeRM5eOlsf6TI9iK7yy2MYlAz67RutYorsuTxdBZD3k0SRJNNLWQo6FLwQJRMhronRTYDyAb1RJHaWqV_NnuN4/s1600/beach+2.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We spent a full day and a half of our five days luxuriating on this beach in absolutely perfect weather (mid-80's) reading, staring off into space, and chomping on the occasional apple. I'm not much of a sun worshiper, but this set up with the umbrella and the breeze was the absolute shiz. I daresay "<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/09/24/books/lena-dunhams-memoir-ish-not-that-kind-of-girl.html?_r=0">Not that Kind of Girl</a>" was the perfect vacation read (<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I could take what I’ve learned,” she writes in the introduction, “and make one menial job easier for you, or prevent you from having the kind of sex where you feel you must keep your sneakers on in case you want to run away during the act, then every misstep of mine was worthwhile.”).</span> Thus entertained, and fully anesthetized by the waves and the wind is absolutely what a camping vacation--any vacation, really-- is all about, in my book.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp50kAo8t_DYF1PWBgE1Jz4VZO0PlP65rzynrhXw-LjsvldL_ZK6o-yNsIhqwugcbNp9tuhglSUcGZ0PyGeF3261j-DJqHhktcQMb2K3UJyqJRzqf8tP4yKSDsGajl2DYifBG9/s1600/beach+sky.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp50kAo8t_DYF1PWBgE1Jz4VZO0PlP65rzynrhXw-LjsvldL_ZK6o-yNsIhqwugcbNp9tuhglSUcGZ0PyGeF3261j-DJqHhktcQMb2K3UJyqJRzqf8tP4yKSDsGajl2DYifBG9/s1600/beach+sky.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Our campsite itself, exhaustively researched by yours truly, number 158 to be exact, was perfect. My strategy and criteria is thus: a site on the extreme edge of the grounds, so as to minimize the number of sides on which the site borders other occupied sites, still not more than a two-site walk from the facilities, and shade. MUST be shaded. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DcRyF16RHNVd40Ub8vbCvIq2wwiYMXmE2dK5yJY7Mvlqqu3IOtT26jYkqeZ3AFznNTT5q9W_yu5b7XmPtcrNjnq1dxHDk0obF25HIO2gxI5pNTUmkGpMTzFL5V58qtvrxvDK/s1600/campsite.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DcRyF16RHNVd40Ub8vbCvIq2wwiYMXmE2dK5yJY7Mvlqqu3IOtT26jYkqeZ3AFznNTT5q9W_yu5b7XmPtcrNjnq1dxHDk0obF25HIO2gxI5pNTUmkGpMTzFL5V58qtvrxvDK/s1600/campsite.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Site 158</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm happy to report site 158 met or exceeded all expectations. My usual worries about shade, I discovered upon arrival, were laughable as the entire campground is nestled in a Jurassic park like jungle that whiffs of toasted hickory mixed with beach wind. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLfj0akQe8Wu8L2b0fZ_9NQ3bIHGUWEtknYiPcZ3pdUu98qP5J2yA-BeixplfR6lJhyLu0h2OtM-r0y-qWRUfnF3PcYPDfEmPkoAlicIJZZNt5JQLb_1pTURmLEjFq1mAhGMB/s1600/campground+road.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLfj0akQe8Wu8L2b0fZ_9NQ3bIHGUWEtknYiPcZ3pdUu98qP5J2yA-BeixplfR6lJhyLu0h2OtM-r0y-qWRUfnF3PcYPDfEmPkoAlicIJZZNt5JQLb_1pTURmLEjFq1mAhGMB/s1600/campground+road.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Site 158 is just beyond the bend on the right.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A creek separated us from the campsite to the right, and the landscape provided a plant barrier and a bit of a berm of huge palmettos on the left (most sites are a bit less private overall). A walk straight ahead from the picnic table would land one at the beach if there was a path (and I'm not saying you couldn't get there that way, just that we preferred riding our bikes via the roads). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCIsmptH64KzpD6U9HwZUj2gSKQ1Dyh4CMmRmAiNCyk9wBVjXKf7TkIdXt4oaQrcnSnfAftdCikGeJoRQxTRxzKn8QzxwJkYm85xTiIeEiWpuDyRQa0tfUVSCGtyIyQuSPMEn/s1600/campsite+view.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCIsmptH64KzpD6U9HwZUj2gSKQ1Dyh4CMmRmAiNCyk9wBVjXKf7TkIdXt4oaQrcnSnfAftdCikGeJoRQxTRxzKn8QzxwJkYm85xTiIeEiWpuDyRQa0tfUVSCGtyIyQuSPMEn/s1600/campsite+view.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view if one is sitting at the picnic table</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Our days settled into a pattern of breakfast outside, then daily adventure (beach or day trip), then a nightly spin on the bikes around the campground at dusk to survey all other sites and camper situations (because we're nosy like that). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5bzXHz0fent41oLfklfGxC2Fl9RmK0kgVSI2J5pS9iRm-o75Q4G9bOpUDVQM4NghQjf0AjiBfBTYieqVKGYgu_-8tmW_rQrWQsMESTQPBpBFNqLCIrLwrJypXdo0Ftq2HoeA/s1600/food.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5bzXHz0fent41oLfklfGxC2Fl9RmK0kgVSI2J5pS9iRm-o75Q4G9bOpUDVQM4NghQjf0AjiBfBTYieqVKGYgu_-8tmW_rQrWQsMESTQPBpBFNqLCIrLwrJypXdo0Ftq2HoeA/s1600/food.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The perspective tilt on this photo is a bit wonky, but you get the idea. Dining alfresco! Dinner amongst the palmettos!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've said it before and I'll say it again, even the humblest of foods take on an extra flair of deliciousness served outside (or on a stick, but that's another blog post). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBl7KE2GzNbrXKteD03iw-fskkQSmikFpRpO8cs08Yv5hB-jCgNYYjzdxW7tAv9KBcfaZ_oEeERs9hgHAYR6vJin-k2N_emjwL2_mtQde-tLjq4TJyt7-Pw1Nxn4Jj0E9uDedu/s1600/beaufort+house.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBl7KE2GzNbrXKteD03iw-fskkQSmikFpRpO8cs08Yv5hB-jCgNYYjzdxW7tAv9KBcfaZ_oEeERs9hgHAYR6vJin-k2N_emjwL2_mtQde-tLjq4TJyt7-Pw1Nxn4Jj0E9uDedu/s1600/beaufort+house.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A home in the Beaufort historic district</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We were absolutely charmed by Beaufort, NC, the small city nearest Hunting Island. We spent a day on our bikes exploring the town which is adorable. There were many historic tours in progress conducted in large open horse drawn carriage (buses?). We quickly learned we could surreptitiously take free advantage of these by following at a discreet distance on the bikes. We spent an entire afternoon shopping Beautfort's picturesque downtown, and whiled away a half hour on one of the porch swings available for dawdling on the city's waterfront. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQDPUriba2JWPeVJ3EsbanF-fA6TkFaN0hTyt6n2vt8JWgEq1N-kKN5Ut9U_znlMimsXqdAmgTKOpGN__e7NEeT2Z95oH0x8goi8MlVsIUmO0UGeW_JM9Hin7xzLm9Ie8p3um/s1600/beaufort+moss.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQDPUriba2JWPeVJ3EsbanF-fA6TkFaN0hTyt6n2vt8JWgEq1N-kKN5Ut9U_znlMimsXqdAmgTKOpGN__e7NEeT2Z95oH0x8goi8MlVsIUmO0UGeW_JM9Hin7xzLm9Ie8p3um/s1600/beaufort+moss.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Beaufort side street.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Also? Please note moss in the trees. Hello. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Since we were only about 60 miles from Savannah, a trip there would be another day excursion. And while I had high expectations, the day was far less than I had hoped. While all the lovely squares are still there along with great restaurants, etc., the town, in my opinion, is no longer the bike-able semi-sleepy southern city a generation discovered reading "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Garden-Good-Evil-Savannah/dp/0679751521">Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil</a>." Apparently, all those readers picked up and moved to Savannah in the ensuing years.The place is now so choked with people and traffic that the day, while not a total waste, was a fight to do or see anything start to finish. Still worth visiting if you've never been, but expect delays, unpleasant crowding situations with loud sweaty tourists, and don't take your bike (except to ride in Bonaventure Cemetery). Hrmph! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVs4pj3X7HEaLhd3KALgMu4V1KfW9v2_h3QDOcBnWDROkPJIyZL4LkmFCnaFciyQjZgJacLSB6XAtiHU6hdnV6DL_1YxeDZgut9yuZfsiImPMNuUhUfXNaG-VraGcK8SmD6vn/s1600/bonaventure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVs4pj3X7HEaLhd3KALgMu4V1KfW9v2_h3QDOcBnWDROkPJIyZL4LkmFCnaFciyQjZgJacLSB6XAtiHU6hdnV6DL_1YxeDZgut9yuZfsiImPMNuUhUfXNaG-VraGcK8SmD6vn/s1600/bonaventure.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Speaking of which, we did enjoy a visit to Bonaventure (I mean, you HAVE to visit this cemetery, it's the law). Since it was, after all, October, I'd hoped to benefit from the Halloween effect of the situation, however, in sunny Savannah that day the mercury was well north of ninety, and it's a well known fact that ghosts don't [bona]venture out in such weather, preferring instead to languish in the cooler recesses of their crypts until at least dusk. We could have repeated our trick of surreptitiously joining walking tours in progress all around us that day, however, I don't (as I'm fond of saying) "do well" in the heat. We mostly stuck to brisk biking and an occasional photo. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Overall, we were blown away by Hunting Island. This is the camping experience against which all others will be measured, friends.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A few caveats if you're considering a visit: I think the mosquitos would be off the charts unbearable there March-September, as in do not visit this campground during those months (the campground is open year round). The mosquito problem is well documented on Trip Advisor. We were bitten some in October, but came prepared with Off and citronella candles that we burnt constantly while hanging around camp at night. As always, leave no food accessible, the raccoons are as bad as anywhere and possibly more brazen. One loped disgustedly through our campsite in broad daylight, clearly annoyed at our proclivity for keeping the food locked down and in search of greener pastures. Lastly, book well in advance, this place is (deservedly) popular! </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-8232551879927388892014-09-19T13:54:00.000-07:002014-09-20T12:01:53.983-07:00Site Six: The Glamping (Part Three)<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Part two is <a href="http://bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2014/09/site-six-glamping-part-two.html">here</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And so Pippii was ready. We were ready. I booked a campsite. And that campsite was the eponymous Site Six. Site six is, by far, the most beautiful and desirous campsite in the campground we favor. Since we've had a camper, we've been trying to reserve it to no avail. Camping enthusiasts apparently book and pay for the site and then can't be bothered to camp there. They just want everyone else who is actually camping to feel bad that the primo waterfront spot is both empty and unavailable. I wrote about Site Six <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/08/pippas-maiden-voyage-and-birfday-party.html">here</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> And, because we like to complicate our lives even further, we says to ourselves, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">"Hey! Why don't we take ALL THREE of our dogs?!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Which brings us to...Ranger. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I've written about all my dogs here, but the latest adoptee. Well, almost all. I've spared you the sad story of Gatsby the Hospice Dog who was with us but briefly approximately October, 2012 to August, 2013 when she met her maker. Believe me, you are glad. Poor Gatsby, an adorable Wire Fox Terrier, abandoned in the wilds of Reidland most likely by an owner without the wherewithal (nerve?) to put the dying dog down, hobbled into our lives like everyone else does these days: via Facebook. A picture post by the local Vet who found the dog attracted a certain more sympathetic resident of this household to her cause. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Wait. I'm telling the Gatsby story, aren't I?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadDFQtSFi3Do62VW6suHM8AgYjWgGsRKZLJzLpTND4qNYRo0tfYWgEPB848gdQJ43QO0bFghYYY9FdU9kHHEQgdEVaTZw_HyjJlH6EMqFZfQp59WCp3su9ATs854fct_Esb1Z/s1600/gatsby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadDFQtSFi3Do62VW6suHM8AgYjWgGsRKZLJzLpTND4qNYRo0tfYWgEPB848gdQJ43QO0bFghYYY9FdU9kHHEQgdEVaTZw_HyjJlH6EMqFZfQp59WCp3su9ATs854fct_Esb1Z/s1600/gatsby.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gatsby and her champion. This is the sight that met me that first day in October. "Can we adopt this dog?" Would you say no? NO, no you would not. But I wanted to. And I probably should have. Disclaimer: Gatsby had a singular ability to photograph as if she were a MUCH younger dog. I assure you she is 115 years old and very nearly on her last leg here. Her less than stellar condition was much more apparent when viewing the dog as a whole. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Anyway, the Gatsby story brings into sharp focus the fact that we are a house deeply divided when it comes to doggie adoption. I, personally, am Team Give Me a Bouncing (preferably) Purebred Puppy and in the other corner is Team All Dogs Must Be Adopted From a Precarious Situation And Their Resulting Foibles Dealt With. I realize mine is probably the more politically incorrect position at this point. And, guess what? I don't care. I have hand raised two marvelous, exceptional, loving, loyal dogs from puppyhood. They trusted me implicitly in large part, I believe, due to our early association. The bond that results from rearing a dog from babyhood is nothing short of sublime. It has produced some of the best relationships of my life, and I have no regrets about the origins of these former and current family members (I speak here of the departed Isabelle and my precious Westie, Tallulah). I would, in fact, purchase a puppy again. Suck it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">On the other side of the fence is: <em>Hey, want a dog? How about that one-eyed dog over there chained to a dumpster howling crazily at the moon? He's lonely!</em> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Okay, so maybe I exaggerate a tad. But you understand my point.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I have <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/08/pippas-maiden-voyage-and-birfday-party.html">written before</a> of our other dog, Vance Shepherd, a Katrina rescue who has spent the majority of his life convinced we will murder him in his sleep. Which isn't to say I don't love him. Or that he doesn't have redeeming qualities. I <em>do</em> love him. But, Lord, there is an easier way if a person has a choice. And if you ask me <em>we do collectively have a choice</em>. (Somebody, please tell me we have a choice?)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Despite my philosophical opinions about adopting dogs and personal misgivings about the health of this dog in particular, Gatsby limped into our lives that Fall an adorable, if failing, addition. It was clear from the beginning that, in a previous life, she'd been To the Manor Born. She considered car rides her royal due and assumed a queenly, if vaguely disinterested, pose when driven about. She appreciated but also obviously expected her treats. She immediately took to her new soft bed as something she'd never doubted would be provided ("Thank you, you may go now"). She blended with the other two dogs seamlessly forming an easily managed three-dog pack. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">All would have been well if not for, as previously mentioned, her extremely advanced age. The vet cautiously confirmed it at "probably twelve" which I considered generous. The dog was fifteen if she was a day. Plagued with cataracts and a terrible case of arthritis in her back and hips which made her entire rear half increasingly unstable, the dog had tooth problems that made us all cringe, and, oh, did I mention that Gatsby grew tumors as a hobby? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">True story. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">All this did not, in the beginning, impinge upon Gatsby's sunny (if imperial) disposition. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">We became a regular stop on our Vet's home visit rounds. Gatsby was placed on an arthritis med which gave her some relief and increased mobility. We traded some furniture (I'm not kidding) for a series of acupuncture treatments for the dog also aimed at easing her arthritis symptoms (and they did for a time!). We took to dressing her in baby tee-shirts to treat an itchy rash she'd developed. Her tumors were surgically removed. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">And, in response to this shitstorm of food, shelter, love, cash, furniture, attention, medicine and medical treatments--surprise--Gatsby <em>did</em> improve. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But we all knew it was temporary. Of course it was. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The winter hit Gatsby hard. The benefit curve from her medicine and treatments, fairly sharp in the beginning, began to level out. The cold was an insult that, as the months went by, ground down her tenuous early gains. It was a beautiful Spring morning when we began to have The Discussion. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It looked like, maybe, it was time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">As we were talking, the dogs assembled for their morning potty and the back door was duly opened for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">What happened next was that Gatsby, clad in her K-Mart baby tee-shirt that graphically invited everyone to "Get Funky!" staggered out on the deck at the exact moment that a baby robin living in a nest tucked above the door decided to test its newly minted wings. The effect on Gatsby of spying the struggling baby bird as it floated to the ground was galvanizing. Her cloudy eyes cleared in an instant, the formerly feeble dog hurled herself toward the bird, leapt off the deck, and covered the last few steps between her and her prey at a full gallop, pouncing on and killing the bird in one swift, ferocious motion. By the time I got there in response, to screams of "WHAT JUST HAPPENED??" I found a near hysterical girlfriend, a dead bird, and a reinvigorated Gatsby, her mouth smeared with blood looking twice as perky I'd ever seen her. The murder had erased a good five years from her visage and her eyes sparkled and snapped with the renewed energy of a conquering Hun. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The remarkable medicinal benefits (who knew?) of baby bird blood was a wave Gatsby would ride throughout that spring and early summer. But even that boost was not enough to allow her to outrun her significant deficiencies forever. By that August, she was gone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I could tell you the details, but then I'd cry and you'd cry and we'd all cry and it's bad enough as it is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My point is (and I think I have one) is that by the time Ranger would become a possible new addition, I was, shall we say, less than enthusiastic. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">(To be continued. Apparently forever. And in directions I myself do not anticipate.)</span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-73593933371697842014-09-17T12:05:00.000-07:002014-09-17T12:05:39.825-07:00Site Six: The Glamping (Part Two)<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Part one is <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2014/09/site-six-glamping-part-one.html">here</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the next day, I'd lined up a trip to Mayfield to check out a promising pop-up for sale there and we'd received a flood of tips on other campers for sale in locations ranging from Mt. Vernon to Fulton. Our specifications were simple: Must have a/c. Must be weather-tight. Must be [relatively] easy to crank (we were tired of nursing our hernias). We aren't, and may never be, prepared to move beyond tent camper as our primary "wilderness" residence. For one, we aren't able to camp enough for a huge (or, let's say, even huger) expenditure to make any economic sense at all, and secondly, I do not relish the thought of, as I'm fond of declaring, "Driving down the road with my own poop sloshing around in a tank behind me". What can I say? I'm a big fan of the public sewer system and leaving that sort of thing behind whenever possible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As it turned out, the Mayfield camper was bought from under us five minutes before we arrived. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We were not deterred.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the end, we found Pippii crouching sadly in tall grass in a small yard in Lone Oak. She hadn't been camped in in a very long time and less discerning buyers may have overlooked her stellar qualities or mistaken her (very) slight ant infestation for a deal breaker. In fact, Pippii boasted a roomy bonus storage compartment in front. Safety features such as additional bracing for the four retractable metal columns that support, once cranked, the roof (we learned that day that, apparently, we were in constant real and imminent danger of being pancaked in Pippa without these, especially in light of the retrofitted a/c unit on her roof, the main cause of our twin cranking hernias). Stabilizing feet similar those of a lunar lander raised and lowered with the effortless turn of a tiny jack--this as opposed to Pippa's obstinate rusty feet which often had to be kicked, beaten and cursed into place. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, we put Pippii to the ultimate test: we each cranked her. She was awarded a five out of ten hernia points for ease of cranking up (Pippa was a fifteen) and two out of ten hernia points for ease of the down crank (Pippa was a nine). Couple that with her age, a full decade younger than Pippa, and Pippii was, most definitely, <i>THE ONE</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After playing the Kentucky game (a social process that starts with "who's your mama/who's your daddy" and ends when each party identifies a mutual acquaintance) with Pippii's current owner, he agreed to come off the asking price slightly, slapped his knee, and invited us to come on down to the Legion for a beer with him just any old time. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We sealed the deal with hugs all around. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our new camper secured, we turned our attention to the sad task of retrieving the now completely obsolete Pippa who is at this point, recall, still marginally set up at the lake at the campsite where we'd abandoned her to search for her replacement a few days before. It was a sad and beautiful Spring day when we cranked her mildewed canvas down for the last time. The loons called to each other across the lake. Wild monkeys screamed in the distance. We did not speak of Pippii as we hitched Pippa to the truck for the last time and drove the 40 miles home. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pippa had been an effective, if difficult, camper while she lasted. And, in fact, she changed hands again. I'm told Pippa is currently serving out her declining years as a makeshift hunting shelter somewhere in the wilds of Ballard County. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or somethinglikethat.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe it was my imagination, but Pippii looked a bit perked up when we arrived to take her home. Now cleared of her former owner's gear, she was lighter, brighter and seemingly eager to move on. She spent some time set up in the driveway while we banished the ants and replaced a portion of the floor that we'd learned--too late to use as a bargaining chip--was spongy. Pippii basked in the glow of our attention. To our delight, we discovered the custom banquette cushions we'd salvaged from Pippa fit perfectly at Pippii's table. We transferred our gear which more than fit in Pippii's more roomy interior; we were able to eliminate a large chuck box we'd been lugging around for years. A small decoupage project was completed on Pippii's removable outdoor shelf, a small homage to Pippa's larger "Great Gatsby" table project.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally, Pippii stood ready for her inaugural camping trip. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, we would not be able to get away for another four months.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(To be continued...) </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-73251555290110235072014-09-15T22:03:00.000-07:002014-09-15T22:03:01.694-07:00Site Six: The Glamping (Part One)<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/09/falling-for-fall-creeks-falls-in-fall.html">last we spoke</a> of my camping adventures</span></span>, <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wrote of a lovely trip to Fall Creek Falls State Park in Tennessee, taken--could it really be?-- two years ago in our erstwhile pop-up, "Pippa". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Much has changed since then. After the Fall Creek Falls trip, we would enjoy one more extended trip in Pippa to <a href="http://parks.ky.gov/parks/resortparks/Natural-Bridge/default.aspx">Natural Bridge State Park</a> seven months later in May of 2013. It was fun, stuff happened, I zip-lined across Red River Gorge, but unbeknownst to us at the time, the most important detail of that trip would only reveal itself in hindsight. Because on that trip it rained. And it rained. Usually at night, but, significantly, it rained several nights in a row. At the time, all it meant to us was a few pre-bed time hours each night watching "House of Cards" on the laptop and eating Cheetos instead of taking in the night air outside the camper. Pippa, her seams having been sprayed and reinforced with sealant, was quite weather proof and the sound of rain on the sturdy canvas only added to the fine sleeping weather that damp, cool central Kentucky spring. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When it came time to return home, we cranked down the top with the usual difficulty--Pippa being an ancient and contrary contraption, this often involved cussing and sitting on the thing in various spots as one would a bulging suitcase in order to get the top to at least somewhat successfully meet and properly latch to the bottom. We drove the five hours home and backed Pippa into place without incident in the driveway where she was to sit, covered and untouched, for almost exactly one year. My desire to plow through school at an accelerated rate meant that I would not take off a semester or even a Christmas break from that time until I would finish in May of <i>this </i>year. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so it was with great anticipation in May that we again (finally!) booked a spot at <a href="http://www.landbetweenthelakes.us/about/overview/">LBL</a>, the place we consider our camping "home base". It would be our first trip in a year and we were eager to get back to the business of battling the elements while enjoying a constant internet connection and the glowing convenience of Jeff & Emily's IGA less than a quarter of a mile away. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our joy was short lived, however. We had strained only half our guts out over the crank before noticing Pippa was emitting a less than fresh scent from her interior. A full dual hernia inducing crank revealed the whole horrible truth: Pippa had developed a chronic and irreversible case of mildew. Likely due to lingering (if only slight) dampness from the rain a year before and the extremely long period of compression without airing. The canvas was perhaps a fourth covered in the dark creeping mold and in the worst spots, was peppered with small holes. The smell was intolerable. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All was lost.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dejected, we left Pippa in her partially set up state, and drove home. Like a woman obsessed I pushed back against my feelings of sadness and loss by launching an immediate internet scouring search for a replacement. I checked local for sale listings and dickered with a dealership that sold pop-ups as far away as Indianapolis. We put the word out to all our friends: FOR GOD'S SAKE WE NEED A POP-UP CAMPER. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, before you go pointing out the obvious, let me just say that on the face of it, it might not make too much sense for a woman who hasn't camped in a year to be searching for a new pop-up life her life depended on it. I get that. But here's the thing about having a pop-up in one's driveway: there IS a pop-up in your driveway. The possibility of a camping adventure lives and breathes, right outside your front door, every day, just steps away. Those cold, crappy depressing Monday mornings backing out of your driveway can be interrupted, if only for a moment, by the seductive lure of the pop-up. A brief ray of outdoorsy sunshine suddenly beamed into your work week. It whispers: <i>really, if you wanted to, you could just hitch up and GO</i>. Of course, you can't and you won't, but the thing is... you could.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unless, of course, you don't have a camper. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A situation that I was determined would be rectified. And quickly. </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-60427207550327086262014-09-07T09:42:00.000-07:002014-09-07T09:42:08.400-07:00The Five Post Challenge (#1)<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I'm finished. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Finished with school, temporarily finished with work, finished with all those pesky things that demanded time away from this, the thing I used to like to do most in the world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Well, <em>almost</em> most in the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Since last we spoke I've been on camping trips, had a big birthday, had travel adventures, written a thousand papers, adopted (another) dog, made friends, lost friends, been happy, sad, surprised, discouraged and overjoyed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I am riddled with anxiety and hope in almost equal parts. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In short I've continued to marvel at the big jokey metaphor that is life and shared none of it here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">And that, my friends, isn't going to work for me anymore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">For a while I thought I couldn't access this site again, thanks to Google's takeover of Blogger and additional swipe at taking over the interwebs by chaining everything together and forcing one to log into absolutely everything with only one email and only one password. I announced as much over coffee (OH MY GOD Y'ALL, I ALSO BECAME A COFFEE DRINKER ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE) at Etcetera coffee shop to my friend, <a href="http://www.bluefrogdesigns.com/">Nikki May</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">ME</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I can't get into my blog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">NIKKI</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">What do you mean you can't get into your blog?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">ME</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Because, you know, Google and stuff. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">NIKKI</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">*sigh* </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">[I've meant to get back to this little project all along. Of course I have! However, I've also recently decided that after, oh, a mere nine years, the site needs a redesign. Blog pillows must be fluffed, new paint colors chosen, furniture rearranged, tchotchkes slid one inch to the left, irrelevant and unfashionable pieces discarded.] </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">ME</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">(Brightening suddenly)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">You should design me a new blog!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">NIKKI</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">(Another sigh; this time that of the weary, tortured, perpetually annoyed web designer.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Five blog posts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">ME<br />What?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">NIKKI</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Write five blog posts. And I'll design a new blog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">ME</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Seems extreme.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">NIKKI </span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I can migrate all your old stuff into the new blog.</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">She grinned evilly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Of course, that's the kicker. All my old stuff? Just hanging around with my potential new stuff? All in one place? With a shiny new cover? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">SCHWING!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I sped home. Fired up the laptop. Unsheathed my internet machete. Hacked my way through Amazon, Facebook, online spades. Ruthlessly chopped down the other forty-seven open windows open on my desktop. I turned off "Property Brothers". (Sorry Jonathan, it just wasn't meant to be.) I turned off "Say Yes to the Dress" (Step away from the Pnina). I slogged through swamps of online applications and half completed forms, online banking. I swiped away the Joan Didion. Finally, I dove into Google. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">By God, I'd blast my way in if I had to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Username</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Password</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I took a deep breath. Entered my <em>old</em> email address, my <em>old</em> password.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">HEY! How YOU doin'?!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">(Four to go.)</span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-11182163505982227902012-10-06T07:41:00.000-07:002012-10-07T07:43:11.886-07:00Top Ten Things I Learned from my Father<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3snz1p-Q2_QP1yzXtz71W2UKnrBDb2LBSeccZjDIleWeCZrrQEh9tjlyGOaNQ_VvWxnlQcr8IKbH_gJ70ee5yYxKF52bbyhLpdLS9WVYPRID_OUvToR8LI5VSE-6ushIMQF1_/s1600/dad+and+suzanne+in+leroy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3snz1p-Q2_QP1yzXtz71W2UKnrBDb2LBSeccZjDIleWeCZrrQEh9tjlyGOaNQ_VvWxnlQcr8IKbH_gJ70ee5yYxKF52bbyhLpdLS9WVYPRID_OUvToR8LI5VSE-6ushIMQF1_/s320/dad+and+suzanne+in+leroy.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">For my Dad's birthday this year, in lieu of a fancy gift, (because who wants a fancy gift anyway--okay, don't answer that) I'm writing a little essay, an essay that's a month and change late. An essay about the top ten lessons I learned (but don't always in all cases heed) from my Dad. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Ten:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take care
of your shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
I don’t really do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, I’m sorry. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I know I should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Especially in the case of expensive boots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Y’all know how I love my tall boots. And when
they fall apart for lack of oiling and polishing I’ll be sorry. DAMN sorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father, on
the other hand, held a shoe polishing party every Sunday afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wingtips were hauled out and inspected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strong smelling polish assiduously applied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Thorough and </span>enthusiastic buffing ensued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The shoes. They always looked good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Nine: For GOD’S SAKE, know your multiplication
tables.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was not a problem child in terms of my school work. Ahem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grades were not an issue, really, and so my
Father stayed largely checked out of my scholastic situation UNTIL:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">multiplication tables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once he learned multiplication tables were
upon me, it lit a parental fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Starting with my two’s, grilling sessions were held each night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I became reasonably proficient, I was
randomly grilled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately, races were
held with his adding machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed
to demonstrate the ability to come up with the answer faster than the machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once I could do this reliably?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He could go back to Mutual of
Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. Forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Eight:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never
use regular boring old words when a pithy phrase can be substituted.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That’s not just a big pothole in the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Bridge out!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The guy wasn’t just nervous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“His butt was working buttonholes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That person didn’t just spend way too much for that insert
major purchase: [house, car, boat].<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He has more money
than sense.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A girl is not simply unattractive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“She’s so ugly she has to slap herself to sleep.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They person isn't big or large.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">"He's/she's big enough to hunt bear with a switch."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">You're not flat broke, you're...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">"Financially embarrassed"</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
You get the picture.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I believe it's safe to say I’ve mastered this skill. At least to a certain degree. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Seven:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chew with your mouth CLOSED.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent my entire childhood wondering why my Dad was so obsessed
with me doing this and my entire adulthood being embarrassed for and wanting to
slap the shit out of those who didn’t learn this important lesson. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hear me now believe me later: there is no substitute for
table manners. Tell all your friends. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But especially tell your kids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Six: It’s all relative.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll never forget, during my starter divorce (cringe), when I was
enumerating to my Dad the egregious wrong that had been perpetrated upon my
poor defenseless person as a result of the marriage from which I now sought to
extricate myself, what he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And it
was this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You think the situation is really bad because,
in your experience, it’s the worst thing that’s happened to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it isn’t the worst thing that’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i> happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s not even the worst thing that ever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Can I just say? </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I get that now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oy vey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Five:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Car Maintenance,
Car Maintenance, Car Maintenance.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">CHANGE THE OIL. ROTATE THE TIRES.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WASH. WAX.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(I’m very good about changing the oil.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Four:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Debt is
BAD.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Get a low interest rate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pay it off as quickly as you can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Number Three: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be skeptical</strong>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The ol’ if it sounds too good to be true?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It probably is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My Dad is a skeptic, people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nowhere was my Dad’s skepticism more in evident than in
church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, he went, don’t get me wrong.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He himself was brought up in the church
and I think he felt duty bound to warm a pew on Sundays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it was way more a sociological study than
a religious exercise in his case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Annoyed first of all that it meant forgoing a Winston for a sizable
chunk of time, and second of all that, well, let’s face it, there were more
than a few pompous asses in evidence, my Dad spent his Sunday mornings
Observing as opposed to Believing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Albeit fairly quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it set the clock ticking for the inevitable collision: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the Pastor would eventually have to pay us an in-person
visit and ask my Dad that age-old, dramatic question. In a voice aquiver with righteous
concern, brotherly love, Pastorly emotion, and religious fervor, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Do you know where you’ll spend eternity?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At which time Dad was forced to point out, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And neither do
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Horrors! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THE TRUTH,</i> God's sake! ((cringe!))<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anything but that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The battle for Jesus that followed there in the living room
on Truman Drive, the space we hardly ever sat in, the room with a floor clad in
glorious golden shag a full inch in length (I ought to know I vacuumed it
enough), <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was arduous, hard fought, and at least an hour
in length (I was a youngster at the time, it seemed to me to go on forever).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Pastor would eventually throw out all the
tools in his big bag of Jesus:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bible verses,
fear of hell, peer pressure, prayer, pleading, ye olde Roman’s Road, what I’ve
now come think of as the “Patrick Swayze Argument”: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jesus is like the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cause you can just FEEL him!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The one thing the Pastor didn’t have in his big bag of
righteousness was this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>proof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As my Dad put it, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Unless you’ve ever had a conversation with someone who has
managed to die, go to heaven, and then somehow reappear, the truth is you don’t
know where you’ll spend eternity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And
you’ll <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never</i> know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This sort of bare naked truth was clearly not part of the
Pastor’s everyday reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was unused to thinking of his sizable Sunday morning congregation as “one thousand
voices all singing together about a heaven they have no real reason to believe
exists”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That is not how the Pastor viewed his world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But he had to at least glance through the lens of reason on
that day. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Did his shoulders seem a little stooped as he was ultimately forced to
accept defeat and head back out to his brand new expensively appointed Lincoln Continental (purchased
for him as a birthday gift by his deacons) after shaking hands and stepping off
the golden shag, never to return?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think they might have.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can still see the Pastor that day now, through the panes of the big bay
window, heading off down the driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Only now my mind adds a quiet phrase, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“girl, BYE.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Number Two: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WORK<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As explanation:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WORK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong>And the Number One Lesson my Dad Taught me:</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[While sliding with him driving an out of control Mustang driving on a Midwestern road
that had frozen into a solid sheet of ice, as I cringed in terror and braced myself
in anticipation of the impact that was sure to occur at any second…]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Don’t sweat the
small stuff, Bizzy!”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[Yah, we didn’t wreck.]</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">HAPPY BELATED SIXTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY TO MY DAD! </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm trying not to sweat the small stuff. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(And--don't tell me-- it's mostly all small stuff, right?)</span></div>
Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-53294546770066692112012-09-30T00:00:00.001-07:002012-09-30T00:19:06.562-07:00Falling for Fall Creeks Falls in the Fall (Sorry 'bout that.)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg91nb5_fV0nyMuPHaz1lVQQp1NB_6heM-vBJ44ht9YeZ4oy_uweJ4G7WjxGvNOsXKk6l3apRwVdiYSUJIw7zilhuOjrCgBVQTJuaG5bCYmLaUNOPRPF9CgidGwjdjxNwSthQa-/s1600/heading+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg91nb5_fV0nyMuPHaz1lVQQp1NB_6heM-vBJ44ht9YeZ4oy_uweJ4G7WjxGvNOsXKk6l3apRwVdiYSUJIw7zilhuOjrCgBVQTJuaG5bCYmLaUNOPRPF9CgidGwjdjxNwSthQa-/s640/heading+out.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading out</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span id="goog_803190075"></span><span id="goog_803190076"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And so I am back from </span><a href="http://www.tn.gov/environment/parks/FallCreekFalls/"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Fall Creek Falls</span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Tennessee. I had hoped to write about the trip much sooner upon arriving home (September 23rd), but as I may have not mentioned here, I am once again working full time and in <a href="http://www.murraystate.edu/">school</a> full time. It is a pattern for me to be either utterly unoccupied or obligated every minute. Either way is actually fine with me for some reason.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDi0pB0enTYOk-TJzrjyDuHiqU3yOo-wAauoVEQwi9u9bDp646DP2r82kmK3c_IhApA8OcwIGEQ-MbYuwMukvbRXIFo4b_4Xxe6HPdZM69ezE2kMGctKcRAIkQ-U62TgOG23w/s1600/camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDi0pB0enTYOk-TJzrjyDuHiqU3yOo-wAauoVEQwi9u9bDp646DP2r82kmK3c_IhApA8OcwIGEQ-MbYuwMukvbRXIFo4b_4Xxe6HPdZM69ezE2kMGctKcRAIkQ-U62TgOG23w/s400/camp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp Pippa, FCF (click for larger version)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">For anyone who might not be my three regular readers, this camping excursion would be our second in a new/old somewhat renovated pop-up tent camper named "Pippa" and this trip follows on Pippa's recent <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/08/pippas-maiden-voyage-and-birfday-party.html">maiden voyage</a> (in August) to the nearby camping paradise of Land Between the Lakes more commonly known as "LBL" some thirty miles southeast of here on I-24. For this trip, With a week off work, the original plan was to take Pippa pretty far afield and camp in or around the Smoky Mountains, but alas, I could not weasel out of my (three hour) Tuesday night class. This meant we could not set out sooner than Wednesday morning, and so after a considerable amount of research, we settled on Fall Creek Falls as a destination, some four hours away. As it happens, Nashville marks midpoint of the the trip. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Despite our earlier difficulties with the dreaded <em>trailer backing</em> (related classic quote, "THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS MOTHERFUCKER"), we got Pippa positioned in only three tries. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Down from a high of twenty-seven thousand. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We were quite pleased with the uncommon levelness of the campsite, practically on the bubble. This couldn't possibly have been a coincidence considering the drastically uneven terrain of the park. Thank you, park planners! We're also becoming wildly efficient with Pippa's set-up and breakdown, and I predict we will achieve McGuyveresque-level proficiency by our next trip. We keep forgetting to time ourselves until we're half way through the process, but we can certainly get the job done in under an hour start to finish and that's including setting up and breaking down everything else (like camp chairs, stove, blah, blah...). While still not the easiest task, cranking (har) has become considerably less difficult thanks to an enthusiastic lube job by a tragically misguided and smitten mechanic who shall remain nameless. Said smitten mechanic spent quite a while, I'm told, up under Pippa's business smearing grease on all the cranking mechanisms (no extra charge of course. *wink!*).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Since we arrived on a Wednesday, we had our whole section of camp to ourselves, certainly no one on either side or behind us. Thrilling, to say the least. After setting up, we still had daylight left to burn and managed our first visit to the eponymous Fall Creek Falls.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZaPWRNq1ii2fdcJW_wpzJoZZjONby1D84-VxjZQ67dlkTNzOswkNbzQqkI7ky-xYTLmaPPqZILr4e3pJrdO1ssGTWs31KiOj74cmRe1otQJ0p77o97uAuYEEZ9HDzSy-6Xo7/s1600/view+from+the+top+of+fcf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZaPWRNq1ii2fdcJW_wpzJoZZjONby1D84-VxjZQ67dlkTNzOswkNbzQqkI7ky-xYTLmaPPqZILr4e3pJrdO1ssGTWs31KiOj74cmRe1otQJ0p77o97uAuYEEZ9HDzSy-6Xo7/s400/view+from+the+top+of+fcf.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the top of Fall Creek Falls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> While I can tell you, with certainty, that the picture above is of Fall Creek Falls, that's where my ability to name and recognize falls on sight ends. We would hike to at least four more falls, likely Piney Falls and Cane Falls, Cascade Falls, and (other?) Falls, but since there wasn't (thankfully) a banner sign draped across each of them, I don't know which one is which. I can tell you that the Fall Creek Falls gulch you see here is two and a half football fields deep and we resolved to hike to the bottom first thing in the morning. Right after...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCMFCCpYw6zbT-QqSuTNbV-aGIQ98Uq_drFiV5ZVv23MQw1ppd0dAtGA76t60U8nnGHYuFxQgIe9-czUcFvwkE3N4Pizo8-SpqIhRjuH6FFgAcB_HWSkOModq33BjX6zl-wMC/s1600/camp+stove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCMFCCpYw6zbT-QqSuTNbV-aGIQ98Uq_drFiV5ZVv23MQw1ppd0dAtGA76t60U8nnGHYuFxQgIe9-czUcFvwkE3N4Pizo8-SpqIhRjuH6FFgAcB_HWSkOModq33BjX6zl-wMC/s400/camp+stove.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The makings of breakfast burritos: onion, peppers, corn.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The MOST wonderful PART of the trip! Camp breakfast! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">This is the little-used camp stove that came with Pippa that I spoke of in my last camp post. While Pippa is fifteen years old, I'm not sure anyone ever hooked up this stove before we did. It works like brand new, running off a propane tank that is stored inside the camper. A hose is threaded through a hatch to power the stove. The only thing even very rustic about it is that the burners must be lit with a match. Otherwise, it cooks as well as any indoor gas range. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACiwnWSg5vIrUxl7zbuQWsgorksDuPZGVy9KssNT1spKL_QB5_m87maTkcbjQ2YuXcAjJR4VpSpgdbXyvX4jmEGWZTPXLMIazDKqpdvxYSZGbAVy3CYE3c42VRnTFEERYWjl-/s1600/squatch+tee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACiwnWSg5vIrUxl7zbuQWsgorksDuPZGVy9KssNT1spKL_QB5_m87maTkcbjQ2YuXcAjJR4VpSpgdbXyvX4jmEGWZTPXLMIazDKqpdvxYSZGbAVy3CYE3c42VRnTFEERYWjl-/s640/squatch+tee.jpg" width="475" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Essential camping gear: your own personal squatch tee.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Except everything tastes better outside. Have I mentioned?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The only way FCF State Park could have been any more lovely would have been for us to be there a few weeks hence for fall foliage. As it was, the weather was PERFECT, 70s to 80's during the day and 30 to 40 degrees at night. That may sound a little brisk, but it's really nothing a puffy vest, a campfire, and a roasted marshmallow can't cure. Though we brought a heater, once still and covered in the camper, it was actually perfect sleeping weather. Though I will say it was a bit of a chilly hike to the potty, some 150 feet or so away. It was the price we paid for having our camp well away from the knot of what I call "friendly campers" or people who want to camp up each other's asses and chat with strangers, of which I am most certainly NOT one (surprise!). I generally pre-bring people with me that I like to talk to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Perhaps most importantly, the showers were clean enough AND there was plenty of hot water to be had. While I've evolved quite a long way as a camper and outdoorsy person, you won't find me pooping in a hole of my own digging nor sponging off with wet wipes as a means of cleaning myself nor wearing stank absorbing clothes (though I'll admit they are ingenious) as a matter of necessity any time soon. Nope. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl88w2l5aKrYay-EYk5S6WfvFg_eCcdY0zw5O5FBJ3okUZmJcgRVJEJ-Gyu0CCl2Wg6CLZ02eO8eraThI9ZrPmmbEwZ7mHrsn3CsMZR5kbDKbBDqTpz11PyrAoF3aAKPZx8DPT/s1600/beginning+descent+to+base+of+fcf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl88w2l5aKrYay-EYk5S6WfvFg_eCcdY0zw5O5FBJ3okUZmJcgRVJEJ-Gyu0CCl2Wg6CLZ02eO8eraThI9ZrPmmbEwZ7mHrsn3CsMZR5kbDKbBDqTpz11PyrAoF3aAKPZx8DPT/s640/beginning+descent+to+base+of+fcf.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginning the hike to the base of Fall Creek Falls. This wide, stepped path in no way represents 90% of the trail which was narrow, knotty with three roots, and a heavy dose of rocks ranging from boulder-sized on down. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The hike to the bottom of the falls was steep as one would expect and, while wearing my hiking boots is far more often than not a fashion statement, that certainly wasn't true of hiking FCF Park. While hiking/climbing back up is harder on the muscles and more winding, heading down is scarier because of the very real possibility of grandma taking a header to the bottom. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdw8lBg18S1jUWvE3rtk9eE8nsDBQiOmm253ZNg0qR2cyP0lgwNHvO7KxU18HNshHqGKirkIs-8BWQRPEMVaspZSmC3FXGMdX3WDl1_xIIb69buipE4lq-RovFMRoQ6QhsVcu/s1600/trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdw8lBg18S1jUWvE3rtk9eE8nsDBQiOmm253ZNg0qR2cyP0lgwNHvO7KxU18HNshHqGKirkIs-8BWQRPEMVaspZSmC3FXGMdX3WDl1_xIIb69buipE4lq-RovFMRoQ6QhsVcu/s640/trail.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I'm very happy to report that never happened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15zrw-lB872_GARtbjO1QK-tiw_uKvzzc8EU2w10vrzVJYXWKcj5Br0Mrqt3o5Q7MlOEQ1SaXDh2eqvlnbwXnpO10HQdxO0EhD12DI4slIK0q1rC9X4f2cs0Tt5ER51R0JH4G/s1600/looking+up+at+trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15zrw-lB872_GARtbjO1QK-tiw_uKvzzc8EU2w10vrzVJYXWKcj5Br0Mrqt3o5Q7MlOEQ1SaXDh2eqvlnbwXnpO10HQdxO0EhD12DI4slIK0q1rC9X4f2cs0Tt5ER51R0JH4G/s640/looking+up+at+trees.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw98KSCgBSkNX1OYblOhyphenhyphenL1Yl2vssk-xHxSzzccc3AnogDOHZCPHekmTYSZ2gaRBdkCFj1gQvs8xjG3lKe3qN66jg4shTyXwzXUgVN6cMElnZqgzQzfaSla8voHwv0S4uYyWQN/s1600/railing+going+down.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw98KSCgBSkNX1OYblOhyphenhyphenL1Yl2vssk-xHxSzzccc3AnogDOHZCPHekmTYSZ2gaRBdkCFj1gQvs8xjG3lKe3qN66jg4shTyXwzXUgVN6cMElnZqgzQzfaSla8voHwv0S4uYyWQN/s640/railing+going+down.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmj0Gn_MzfEPCik4lV5DQrJJgmKwUEtlMyHFpQXbUy9keJrIS_cv47EGVrY3IpAofDpbjxbUVA5x4ddLqhraenQUlP4qGhiCEhq15n55Uvv1zDo_l1lUj33wSmap1jiYQSBQky/s1600/bottom+of+fcf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmj0Gn_MzfEPCik4lV5DQrJJgmKwUEtlMyHFpQXbUy9keJrIS_cv47EGVrY3IpAofDpbjxbUVA5x4ddLqhraenQUlP4qGhiCEhq15n55Uvv1zDo_l1lUj33wSmap1jiYQSBQky/s400/bottom+of+fcf.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The base of FCF. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We were rewarded at the bottom with a beautiful view and a nice sprawl on a huge, flat rock thoughtfully placed by the Almighty (orsomethinglikethat) at the bottom for just such an activity. Eventually we had to give it up, though, because for some unknown reason there were... "other people" (?) on the trail.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We found it convenient between wilderness adventures to eat out only at lunch time at the one restaurant that necessarily monopolized the FCF meal-time trade located in the (state-run) hotel. The building had the "executive inn syndrome" meaning it looked like a prison. The dining room was cavernous, could have easily seated hundreds, and, in the midst of a Forest paradise, was inexplicably dotted with a bazillion fake plants suspended from the soaring ceiling (?). I have nothing good to say about the food, which was served buffet-style, and included way too much iceberg lettuce, sadly. Everything was labeled with calorie content (?) and cooked within an inch of its life. The carrots melted in your mouth. Literally. I will say I was delighted to discover a passable chili-like substance offered up day #3. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Also, not sure what's up with this: (?).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We suffered our first wildlife attack on Night #2. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Ye olde raccoon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My romance with raccoons, much like my first marriage, was short lived. It went something like this:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Stage One</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>"Oh, look! A raccoon, isn't he he ADORABLE?"</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Stage Two</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> "<em>Ohmygod! Raccoons are attacking camp! We're all going to die!"</em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Stage Three</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>(Raccoons amuse themselves by sneaking up behind my camp chair in the dark until...)</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>SCREEEEEEEEEEEAM!</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>(They do this repeatedly always resulting in...)</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>SCREEEEEEEEEEEAM!</em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Stage Four</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>"If you'll pass me that lighter fluid and a match? I'm pretty sure I can herd that sumbitch into that storm drain and blow him straight to hell. Not kidding.</em> "</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In the case of the FCF attack, "someone" (me) repeatedly suggested to "someone" (not me) they <em>MIGHT</em> want to lock the food filled cooler in the truck for the night (bears, anyone?). However, "someone" (not me) has taken to amusing themselves by engaging in raccoon warfare by leaving the food cooler in plain sight but bungee cording (with 19 bungee cords) the lid closed so the coon is driven mad by the inaccessible, yet tantalizingly close, supply of snacks. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We lost our hamburger to this little game. A perfect nasty little coon print pressed into the ground chuck.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I was, however, ASSURED the coon did not touch anything else in the cooler. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And how do we know this, you ask? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Because "somebody" (not me) actually claims to have <em>actually</em> <em>heard it</em> the very first time the coon's mangy disease-ridden little coon hand touched the cooler. In the dead of night. While the hearer was only seconds before asleep. With the cooler, of course, being located <em>outside</em> the camper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Why, yes, people are frequently wakened by the sound of a coon hand hitting plastic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Riiiiiiiiight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Day two found us at the riding stables. We met a friendly older married couple from Georgia who, as we were getting signed up, enthusiastically clued us in to the knowledge that Friday night was "Seafood Buffet" night back at the fake plant dining room. I wincingly nodded, imaging the man enthusiastically tearing into limp, overcooked shrimp and thousand year old crab legs following an iceberg salad smothered in Thousand Island dressing. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpX0771rQeji8zaQIJKeGLd6KB6rxrtsq0-gmP6k4jmeQNoF_eU07dIOk2cpgJDY0DZIUuEtcNlHLyDVF3YbxaL_y7pfo22bCS-_AY84X4frWaBZ5VGAo55Yrh4moNe64NNan/s1600/instagrammed+riding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpX0771rQeji8zaQIJKeGLd6KB6rxrtsq0-gmP6k4jmeQNoF_eU07dIOk2cpgJDY0DZIUuEtcNlHLyDVF3YbxaL_y7pfo22bCS-_AY84X4frWaBZ5VGAo55Yrh4moNe64NNan/s400/instagrammed+riding.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. and Mrs. Crab Leg</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We had to sign so many liability release forms that I imagined them saddling up a mighty steed I would be charged with the responsibility of managing, but "Hank" was in fact a mild-mannered fairly disinterested brown horse on the short side. Any remaining apprehension I may have had about riding evaporated as I watched the stable worker swing her four-year-old daughter onto a horse, sans helmet, and send her off on the ride with us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We may not have ridden to the hounds, but it was lovely just the same. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQaaicNfhdV1vf_HzKhI0AwDgndwwbawBE94BgeWwTvfnfRJ-DwDWynsVE7lBP9-lX5clPSqisBCiOusYnFbrm1XGMndCUJVeCPpdTRt6bbSCDCgG4rnVHCCThlX85oMz0_ZP/s1600/black+beauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQaaicNfhdV1vf_HzKhI0AwDgndwwbawBE94BgeWwTvfnfRJ-DwDWynsVE7lBP9-lX5clPSqisBCiOusYnFbrm1XGMndCUJVeCPpdTRt6bbSCDCgG4rnVHCCThlX85oMz0_ZP/s640/black+beauty.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This may or may not be "Elvis"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Once we returned, and better than the ride, almost, was the fact that they told us we could visit all the horses in their stables if we wanted to. There must have been twenty or more of them in all shapes and sizes. We spent as much time petting (or trying to pet) all the horses there as we did on the ride. I have a terrible fear that these kinds of "amusement" animals aren't treated well (too much "Black Beauty" as a child), though I saw no evidence of this and we had all kinds of fun giving them some love and attention. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowrDv9hYr2cPrtBtsTiQxNTBtga061eSFhTyEcLxbMwTL8Yr3DDmIwOSCLpyRRUUMJnYKlGyYbjFiRLSXzcfUzBp_utlGfIL6qJWx6XVV1o8Kwh8Ior_zpCXiR_OviEB2JHcN/s1600/amanda+and+friend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowrDv9hYr2cPrtBtsTiQxNTBtga061eSFhTyEcLxbMwTL8Yr3DDmIwOSCLpyRRUUMJnYKlGyYbjFiRLSXzcfUzBp_utlGfIL6qJWx6XVV1o8Kwh8Ior_zpCXiR_OviEB2JHcN/s400/amanda+and+friend.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dreaded interspecies crush.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Back at camp that night, we experienced our first real bout of adversity when the loons at Camp 217 decided to listen to a little preachifyin'. On the radio? Recorded? No idea. Problem was, Camp 217 wasn't satisfied to have just their own souls saved and ponder the implications of hellfire and damnation all by their theirselfs. They figured, I guess, that all us heathens at camp that night needed a dose of proselytizing. And so, for the better part of an hour, we were all treated at top volume to the booming, paranoid ramblings of some preacher or another. Recall, also, that our camp was located somewhat more remotely than the others so I can only imagine how miserable it was for the majority of everyone else, located as they were much closer to the madness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We considered our alternatives...complain? have a conversation with 217? as we sipped delicious ice cold beer by the campfire and the rantings of Preacher X (?) continued to insult the night. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We did nothing, in the end. The crazy leaking out of Camp 217 and polluting the fresh air around it was pretty palpable, honestly. Peering over there through the darkness at their campfire made me shiver. And not from the cold. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2QuYzt9ediU2e_4g4g7Jv_OVEsyw48qJRg9NtJOqEZWznx7ucqkBw87TTvb2Ox8LdRxwDlToeQZiqXSX8-DIuaM0Ftho6PAOrr0UTeCVizbXQWHy9TCJNva4u_BFFmxJKLfw/s1600/inquisitive+horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2QuYzt9ediU2e_4g4g7Jv_OVEsyw48qJRg9NtJOqEZWznx7ucqkBw87TTvb2Ox8LdRxwDlToeQZiqXSX8-DIuaM0Ftho6PAOrr0UTeCVizbXQWHy9TCJNva4u_BFFmxJKLfw/s640/inquisitive+horse.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can I help you?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We discovered what might well be our favorite FCF hideaway the next day: Buzzard's Roost. Located at one of those marked scenic vantage points, you have to take a short hike below and around and down a trail to get to the actual point, but the breathtaking vista AND 3G's made it well worth the effort. Almost nobody else ever went to the trouble to go beyond cheesing it up at the photo spot. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Here's a shot of it <a href="http://www.wallsarena.com/Buzzards-Roost-Fall-Creek-Falls-State-Park-Tennessee-253.htm">from a distance</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">What little Facebooking we managed took place here because, for the most part, there are no G's to be had elsewhere at FCF. (Which is, I guess, kinda the point? Even if it seems a little excessive). I spent some time laid out on the rock at Buzzard's Roost wallowing in the luxury of all 3 G's, my head propped on the binocular case, my butt tucked into a gentle indentation in the rock, obviously once again engineered by nature for this very purpose, the banjo picking strains of "Rocky Top" echoing in my head, wondering if Tennessee is, in fact, the most beautiful place on earth. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBX6GTNSq86Y6Yf5pkTFVDFPkeXFSASDuxU41f1piARj8F6wUhdeWIOforVzOAgoIO9r-HOHLN6qf9j_KsgACEbcLRJRrKlFzA84SKEl8Wi1o-JGxL55ARIRZbQB3d7noRTdHp/s1600/rocky+top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBX6GTNSq86Y6Yf5pkTFVDFPkeXFSASDuxU41f1piARj8F6wUhdeWIOforVzOAgoIO9r-HOHLN6qf9j_KsgACEbcLRJRrKlFzA84SKEl8Wi1o-JGxL55ARIRZbQB3d7noRTdHp/s640/rocky+top.jpg" width="476" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It was that day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGZ7O89heMCE88h82V12hZ7SJBeyxxxwLR5Hp3Ke9k66N2eXRX1oem49D0sfhhwSmak0RG6zUhosZ2If40K-2nuCZgMLnTLdqzBGFppPhRYDqdavjSljaEKWEVze9a5ja1dUN/s1600/another+falls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGZ7O89heMCE88h82V12hZ7SJBeyxxxwLR5Hp3Ke9k66N2eXRX1oem49D0sfhhwSmak0RG6zUhosZ2If40K-2nuCZgMLnTLdqzBGFppPhRYDqdavjSljaEKWEVze9a5ja1dUN/s640/another+falls.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lookie! An unidentified falls! PWETTY!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Thursday night brought all sorts of fresh hell to the campground...PEOPLE. And backing in their camp trailers IN THE DARK! Show-off bastards. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Although, I'm happy to report they did occasionally run into things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And I know this because <i>I've</i> taken to sipping beer by the campfire and smugly watching people back in their camp trailers now that we're genius and can do it in three tries. Anyway, the dreaded PEOPLE brought their dreaded kids, one group of which took to "blood curdling screaming" as a means of amusement. Haha! Yah! Good times. And I would have been really mad too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Except that I was distracted from all my problems by the sudden emergence of a skunk from the woods. A big, wide, kind of silvery one likely driven from his lair by, oh, I don't know...maybe (I'm guessing) BLOOD CURDLING SCREAMS? He looked none too amused and while we thought surely he'd deviate from his course of heading STRAIGHT FOR US, he did not. Unperturbed by us jumping from our camp chairs and waving our arms about, he continued his steady progress in our direction. I suppose if I had any sense, I would have tried a blood curdling scream of my own (and I'll admit to briefly wondering if there was any way we could possibly herd him to camp 217), but I was too frightened by my extensive knowledge of skunk spraying gleaned entirely from that one Brady Bunch episode. You know the one, right? Where everybody has to take a bath in tomato juice and they STILL stink? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVL9s-efxMiH8YABuQ0qp0SSqM8GkGBR7CiybXMq4Whn46-qfkpyRRovttF2pzPKWZ9QDhP-aj11af7svyHwi9Qu7ty8RAOQzO77yVyehoFhyZqHlOrwpRRMgMIvz6XhI5_mq/s1600/two+waterfalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVL9s-efxMiH8YABuQ0qp0SSqM8GkGBR7CiybXMq4Whn46-qfkpyRRovttF2pzPKWZ9QDhP-aj11af7svyHwi9Qu7ty8RAOQzO77yVyehoFhyZqHlOrwpRRMgMIvz6XhI5_mq/s400/two+waterfalls.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TWO falls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Not a fate I want to experience. We shut ourselves up in Pippa and the skunk was gone by morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But Friday would blow us a a much iller wind than skunks or screams. Because Friday was the day the plague of JeffChrisandDrew arrived. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Along with sharing the beigest and most middle class American names possible on the planet, JeffChrisandDrew were all decked out in North Face and heinously ugly Teva "show your whole damn ungroomed manfoot" sandals. And I would know this about JeffChrisandDrew because they rolled into the camp RIGHT NEXT TO ours. Worse still than </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">JeffChrisandDrew</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> and their manfoot sandals was what they brought WITH them. You see this coming, right? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Their <em>five</em> kids: Loud, Louder, Loudest. Oh, and the twins, Bitch and Moan. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjauS7Mhuo42o7tb54qLWsYPOy9aDRz6yw_xr8IDi8gVc47LvVXRSp-Rt1OI-lnVtATa3VuQlk1KzAVl0kHnGbFu2yF5TGrwkaq0icJzDwmwVGbwJEHA-8HxZmxyXystCuLCV5j/s1600/forrest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjauS7Mhuo42o7tb54qLWsYPOy9aDRz6yw_xr8IDi8gVc47LvVXRSp-Rt1OI-lnVtATa3VuQlk1KzAVl0kHnGbFu2yF5TGrwkaq0icJzDwmwVGbwJEHA-8HxZmxyXystCuLCV5j/s400/forrest.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The forest!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Not one of these kids was over the age of five. Not. One. All boys. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Clearly, </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">JeffChrisandDrew</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">, at some point, had taken leave of their senses. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> While the kids screamed and cried and, especially, bitch and moan (in pull-ups, no less) bitched and moaned, </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">JeffChrisandDrew</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> went about the exhausting business of pitching THREE tents on ONE campsite, corralling five kids, and making endless trips to the bathroom (which, recall, is rather far away, especially if you're an unreliable toddler). Once unfurled and set, the tents left </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">JeffChrisandDrew</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';"> and loud, louder, loudest, bitch and moan about five square feet to stand in although, helpfully, one kid was often dangling from the top of a short pole on the site. I'm telling you, that place was like the Superbowl during hurricane Katrina.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">A hot screaming desperate mess.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLDYg4rB7P2a6y1F6nPkFFLwBysnU41aoOO8uV910neQEQQDRywCxcxjNEe-_cMQnqyj2l-UJJnNjOPfP4XPySNaX8acYcpYttlT1L2PazeuJD2RqByXTvO6lqlUa0YCZLoxff/s1600/the+descent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLDYg4rB7P2a6y1F6nPkFFLwBysnU41aoOO8uV910neQEQQDRywCxcxjNEe-_cMQnqyj2l-UJJnNjOPfP4XPySNaX8acYcpYttlT1L2PazeuJD2RqByXTvO6lqlUa0YCZLoxff/s640/the+descent.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The descent to the bottom of (Cascade?) Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We were never so glad to set out for another day of hiking as we were on </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">JeffChrisandDrew</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7Ai0kKh3aRJyxesSVo9REXdatcIc3GNd1VW-up9S5nVwPF_rTnpjAouArl4rsLxlro4K0fn5N0H4OJp0l32nIt9totrySaEWF7zIJ6D0qvaIObLHv64rCkhT1P-3oKQYtvuE/s1600/suspension+bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7Ai0kKh3aRJyxesSVo9REXdatcIc3GNd1VW-up9S5nVwPF_rTnpjAouArl4rsLxlro4K0fn5N0H4OJp0l32nIt9totrySaEWF7zIJ6D0qvaIObLHv64rCkhT1P-3oKQYtvuE/s640/suspension+bridge.jpg" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suspension bridge over (Cascade?) Falls. Only six people at a time could cross.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> And I'm happy to report we found FCF was otherwise as serene and lovely as ever. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZctQAtSEneNfNEC2HoJ61nCZ4B9Qm3cM-dmnt1F-n-ZSJxpBs2jrLznHBZbtSipi70-gbYPCjpNtmEsfHwl9_aRaml_k-67GqMbxYwem0qtnPmfVfbw0RuZMYxjgXuJBbD1pW/s1600/panorama+cascade+falls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZctQAtSEneNfNEC2HoJ61nCZ4B9Qm3cM-dmnt1F-n-ZSJxpBs2jrLznHBZbtSipi70-gbYPCjpNtmEsfHwl9_aRaml_k-67GqMbxYwem0qtnPmfVfbw0RuZMYxjgXuJBbD1pW/s400/panorama+cascade+falls.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cascade Falls (?). You can see the suspension bridge over the falls at the top left of the photo. Also, if you click for a larger version, you can see the swimming family dad just to the left of the falls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> The hike down to Cascade Falls was perhaps the steepest thus far in a land of very steep hikes. There was listed in the guide a hike so steep it required one to actually cling to a cable, but we opted to save that excursion for another trip. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As an aside, at the base of these falls, we found "the swimming family" stripped down to their bathing suits. This was a family with a mother and baby in a sling and a father and their two, perhaps 7 and 9 year old daughters. For some reason the Dad and daughters felt compelled each time they encountered a body of water, to strip down to their bathing suits and wade in while Mom photographed the whole bizarre unseasonable process. This though it was rather too cold for it and, er, nobody else was doing it? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We first noticed the swimming family the day before shivering and balancing precariously on rocks in a stream on one of the trails, but finding them wading about at the base of Cascade falls among prominently posted "NO SWIMMING" signs was a little shocking. The Dad was coaching the girls (who were clearly nervous and freezing) from slippery rock to slippery rock to nearly the actual ROARING falls and back again. I spent some time pondering what the Dad's overall message to these kids might be? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i>"Girls! Wear your bathing suits at all times! Whenever you see a body of water... STRIP DOWN! WADE IN! CONQUER IT! Find a slippery rock and cling to it with just your toes! You'll be a better person for the experience!" </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Back at camp, things with JeffChrisandDrew had not improved. Several of the children were in full "I want my Mommy" meltdown crying stage and the others were beating the hell out of each other with sticks. The squealing, screeching and squawking continued until nearly 10 pm and we were awakened at six o'clock sharp the next morning by the musings of Loudest, who picked that pre-dawn moment to try and have a top volume discussion with his father about his favorite song at a location that sounded to be about three inches from our sleeping heads.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From there, the cacophony began anew and the demon spawn of JeffChrisandDrew tuned up for another day of misery. I fixed a delightful breakfast as the squealing and screaming grew louder and higher in pitch and intensity with each passing moment. Just when you thought it couldn't get any louder? It did. When Loudest took to shout/screaming at the top of his lungs, I'd had enough. Plugged my iPod into the truck speakers and rolled up the volume on some Notorious B.I.G. until we could no longer hear the pandemonium emanating from camp super dome over the smooth song stylings of Biggie Smalls.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Ah!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">JeffChrisandDrew, in their first wise move of the weekend, decided it was time to take the kids out for breakfast (lucky for all those unsuspecting bastards at the restaurant, eh?!) and we decided to break down camp before they could return. Truth be told, we'd considered going home then anyway and it was as good a time as any. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Not gonna lie. I can hardly wait for our next excursion!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(Is there something wrong with me?)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-38497898546127147242012-09-02T22:35:00.000-07:002012-09-02T22:35:18.917-07:00Customized<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now my dog doesn't just <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/08/pippas-maiden-voyage-and-birfday-party.html">have a stroller</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXb7dXGUpROT7dLFc5u4tCALZr3A599qE9reG5d_XEKPPfq9PqB2Sp9eBR3ivD_Z7L9jv9Zr7-poh96oC7iKLEBn18kX4FrRqqAKTgMqrZoEk0LHlE-j4sz_PAaOxZlNm2LGd/s1600/tallulah+in+stroller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXb7dXGUpROT7dLFc5u4tCALZr3A599qE9reG5d_XEKPPfq9PqB2Sp9eBR3ivD_Z7L9jv9Zr7-poh96oC7iKLEBn18kX4FrRqqAKTgMqrZoEk0LHlE-j4sz_PAaOxZlNm2LGd/s320/tallulah+in+stroller.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She has a <em>modified, customized</em> stroller. Yah... </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-78486389019228227102012-09-01T21:44:00.003-07:002012-09-01T21:48:23.990-07:00Lunchability<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9qt-t-RrqcAcehJWUyrye3cIF25JH-9UqayjhzlSS2exGL3-_Nro_ndqtsL7Op30TyUYQurUlCwOjgpPXhtPM6yN59sP3ejJrdsA0QBRGzlpGZVMluDicdLgq99FzLd_s32s/s1600/chicken+chili+lunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9qt-t-RrqcAcehJWUyrye3cIF25JH-9UqayjhzlSS2exGL3-_Nro_ndqtsL7Op30TyUYQurUlCwOjgpPXhtPM6yN59sP3ejJrdsA0QBRGzlpGZVMluDicdLgq99FzLd_s32s/s400/chicken+chili+lunch.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicken chili topped with shredded sharp cheddar cheese, along with salsa verde, and good old fashioned Premium saltines.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm starting a new job next week and have recently become obsessed with the idea of the creatively packed healthy lunch. Okay, well, at least <em>marginally</em> healthy. And a tad creative. Honestly, just about anything one can bring from home is bound to be a better choice than the crap available at your average drive through. And it's certainly more cost effective. I'm trying to concentrate mostly on whole foods though I don't think I'll ever get over my cracker/carb obsession. Also, I would like to work toward making dinners that easily translate into delicious, lunch-friendly leftovers like you see above. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I hope to chronicle my efforts here as I go. Provided I keep up with making the lunches (and working and going to school and everything else), the documenting shouldn't be a problem, obsessed as I am with photographing my food. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The lunches you see here are packed in divided 3-compartment <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ziploc-Divided-Container-Rectangle/dp/B002LFLYT8">Ziploc containers</a> and ready to go into the freezer until Tuesday. My newly acquired lunch obsession definitely extends to and is even heightened by the number of cool, compact, handy, eco-friendly lunch container choices on the market these days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I mean, really, it's all about the accessories, people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I am tempted by <a href="http://www.goodbyn.com/">Goodbyn</a> and their hip containers especially the <a href="http://store.goodbyn.com/category_s/87.htm">bynto box </a>and the <a href="http://store.goodbyn.com/Goodbyn_Mix_Match_Set_Green_p/20115.htm">mix and match set</a>. Doubt if one could go wrong with Rubbermaid <a href="http://www.rubbermaid.com/category/pages/subcategorylanding.aspx?CatName=foodstorage&SubCatId=LunchBlox">Lunchblox</a>. I love love LOVE the Citizenpip "<a href="http://www.inhabitots.com/citizenpip-waste-free-lunch-soup-to-nuts-kit/">Soup to Nuts" kit</a>, especially since it includes containers for liquids (iced tea from home!) and a (tiny!) fork and spoon. Then there is the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/BUILT-Gourmet-Getaway-Lunch-Tote/dp/B001FUDAGK%3FSubscriptionId%3D19BAZMZQFZJ6G2QYGCG2%26tag%3Dsquid1279990-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3DB001FUDAGK">lunch tote</a>, which definitely appeals. A girl can never have enough bags, after all. Although I do have to confess to having at least one lunch tote already, actually the cutest lunch tote in the world:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzAwnJNRK6K50kkV1sBn-5ZTOeHgtad2PoubP8vZ6b4V1CpkxYfNnZHBNHkQSOoYmXacBZrIwLBoRIRWXw7xBR0OKO2ElS7Q6Sn4wpCVQQVMlJyaE-bbRq_oQpz4Yb9abL3eU/s1600/skip_hop_lunch_owl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzAwnJNRK6K50kkV1sBn-5ZTOeHgtad2PoubP8vZ6b4V1CpkxYfNnZHBNHkQSOoYmXacBZrIwLBoRIRWXw7xBR0OKO2ElS7Q6Sn4wpCVQQVMlJyaE-bbRq_oQpz4Yb9abL3eU/s320/skip_hop_lunch_owl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I just kind of want to squeal when I see it (the leaf zipper pull?). In some ways, it's too small to be practical, but there will mos def be days when it will work and I will be thrilled. It's a <a href="http://www.peapods.com/browse.cfm/owl-lunchie-insulated-lunch-bag-by-skip-hop/4,1231.html">"skip hop" lunch box</a> and I got mine at Target.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'll leave you with the recipe for the <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/slow-cooker-chicken-taco-soup/detail.aspx?event8=1&prop24=SR_Title&e11=chicken%20taco%20soup&e8=Quick%20Search&event10=1&e7=Home%20Page">Chicken Chili</a> pictured above. I used all the ingredients listed except I cooked my chicken breasts in a little olive oil with garlic and shallots then fork shredded it and added it to a dutch oven where I had assembled all the other ingredients, and simmered it all for an hour or so and served. DELISH!</span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-30553269796035374682012-08-28T10:18:00.000-07:002012-08-28T10:20:54.243-07:00Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Ho69H2bLbNS8zQWEbVzJA5qtLVFXjq8O0KcrCGrAuvfIS-lkC8SF33yV2ayfJAWnKXXEOmWi8VIzurNduUcym3C7RtAc7J8JXPdRf6nxkoH7LBry0P9ZmgPNWvLa2JLO6Rb8/s1600/train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Ho69H2bLbNS8zQWEbVzJA5qtLVFXjq8O0KcrCGrAuvfIS-lkC8SF33yV2ayfJAWnKXXEOmWi8VIzurNduUcym3C7RtAc7J8JXPdRf6nxkoH7LBry0P9ZmgPNWvLa2JLO6Rb8/s400/train.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Decided to take to the streets with my exercise routine this morning and hauled out my bike. It had two flat tires and I decided rather than cursing the situation, I'd concentrate on enjoying the fact that manually airing them up substituted nicely for weight work on my arms. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I couldn't resist stopping and snapping this photo on the overpass along the way. I had to wonder, since I've always heard going <i>under </i>a train is good luck, if standing over one constitutes the opposite. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Let's hope not. </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-90726735197136957612012-08-26T09:30:00.002-07:002012-08-26T09:30:53.077-07:00Rydell 4-EVER! At Maiden Alley Cinema's 11th Birthday Bash/Costume Party <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You know how it sometimes kind of sucks to live in a small(ish) town? Where there's little opportunity, John Cougar Mellencamp? Where everybody kind of knows everybody? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But, then again, sometimes, something happens that's just so damn much fun partially <em>because</em> it's a small town. Where everybody kind of knows everybody. And if you don't know everybody you kind of think you do. Or should. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Orsomethinglikethat?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Let's just say the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/215961455191399/">Maiden Alley Cinema's 11th Birthday Bash/Costume Contest</a> was just such an event. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Movie People. Gotta love 'em.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHWHNwksOF9dYhlcuEKVW1PmLDlHNcO0N3fkxlEMsLvulvajjn8Sc73zISuJziPbjPe9ZyvT3gS_uk2MlOOSoCDpGL36nT3py6MJUDNmGd8k07Rk1KtkkkfDYhYi8NVQt1xdZ/s1600/maj+christa+suz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHWHNwksOF9dYhlcuEKVW1PmLDlHNcO0N3fkxlEMsLvulvajjn8Sc73zISuJziPbjPe9ZyvT3gS_uk2MlOOSoCDpGL36nT3py6MJUDNmGd8k07Rk1KtkkkfDYhYi8NVQt1xdZ/s400/maj+christa+suz.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Danny Zuko, a Pink Lady, Sandy</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Honestly, it's not like I need a lot of encouragement to dig out my "Grease" CD, listen to it obsessively for a week, and throw together an ensemble from Rydell High. Really? It's the most. To say the least. (Word to the wise: crinolines go on LAST. Ahem.) As I mused on crackbook the other day, somehow I still know every <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRJMg3LWIkE">lyric and harmony</a> from the Grease soundtrack, but have no real recollection of what happened Wednesday. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FTGZ_GyzoY_wiP2Ou0oMYCzw2WqLuV1GJznz6NJHNS6nyyXjzbVdeaGNbEFl3VHWX57Drmv982tk_6Z9qgSG_KcksjWvPq2oEFhYzX48E7IDA1sGazO9is_sANFYn7UpLb6_/s1600/hopelessly+devoted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FTGZ_GyzoY_wiP2Ou0oMYCzw2WqLuV1GJznz6NJHNS6nyyXjzbVdeaGNbEFl3VHWX57Drmv982tk_6Z9qgSG_KcksjWvPq2oEFhYzX48E7IDA1sGazO9is_sANFYn7UpLb6_/s400/hopelessly+devoted.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hopelessly devoted (and shiny). </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Not that I care.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I read an article not long ago that discussed some recent research that indicated listening to the music of one's youth has a major depression lifting effect. While I'm happy they did the research, all they really needed to do is ride along with us in our costumes on the way to the party as we <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edffynKrkaE">sang along</a>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwB6xIXo6PzctLFla_lRjdY781HjZFUTy2rtVvguAVHqPwzaZl0JJ0r1MyyqWMWLsGeJKUeVCG4tCW7npFzxzu9t8QE3rVGhuQa5LhxvqKbmmyzsur0ZEtZ2ar6u-SkksfZ0A/s1600/christa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwB6xIXo6PzctLFla_lRjdY781HjZFUTy2rtVvguAVHqPwzaZl0JJ0r1MyyqWMWLsGeJKUeVCG4tCW7npFzxzu9t8QE3rVGhuQa5LhxvqKbmmyzsur0ZEtZ2ar6u-SkksfZ0A/s400/christa.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Stupid, ridiculous, giggle-snorting happy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">And that's <em>before</em> we started drinking...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVxR3uyJfcnOE5GL79X8wLwNPR6e0FLR8LgN5FkL3GTtq5dO_qcWCtqWTG_LpdwjsFwozrGvebMeGhAjSUKEp6C9Hpbs1gQeWBb5zpXsvyGY1J948TKU4_WD5_rwmT4EhX81Z/s1600/raising+arizone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVxR3uyJfcnOE5GL79X8wLwNPR6e0FLR8LgN5FkL3GTtq5dO_qcWCtqWTG_LpdwjsFwozrGvebMeGhAjSUKEp6C9Hpbs1gQeWBb5zpXsvyGY1J948TKU4_WD5_rwmT4EhX81Z/s400/raising+arizone.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">...and giggling some more at the world's most fabulous movie get-ups. You see here <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AIfVoGUs6c">H. I. & Ed with little Nathan junior</a> in his car seat, the infamously hard-won Huggies, and --look closely-- a copy of Dr. Spock's "Baby and Child Care". These two won the costume contest and, damnit, I have to admit, they deserved the award even as wonderful as our costumes were. (Danny Zuko sneaked into a lot of photos. He's very gregarious.) </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYagEj4kDER8cYIrvp-7TW5a7fXH7wePYo9Iz0ZKhLF6S4rlSyEnzQAWHt6AWJ2E0ZBq3t1RL0YaHsOY_od6Lqp7vSlcDxsUT0spOHxwWkhjouzi7d-K9P-DvRAFiXqAzrcIT/s1600/holly+golightly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYagEj4kDER8cYIrvp-7TW5a7fXH7wePYo9Iz0ZKhLF6S4rlSyEnzQAWHt6AWJ2E0ZBq3t1RL0YaHsOY_od6Lqp7vSlcDxsUT0spOHxwWkhjouzi7d-K9P-DvRAFiXqAzrcIT/s400/holly+golightly.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Nice guns, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDddAKtELZ8">Holly Golightly</a>! I'm happy to say this particular Holly clearly did not have a case of the Mean Reds and was but one of a large contingent of Hollies in Ethan Allen sponsor, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kenn-Gray-Design/204166512943544">Kenn Gray's</a>, entourage. Not only did Gray treat us to a flock of Hollies, </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlj_kx_oJaVDsM7RwjBbI6gZlOGzMPKwXDTfyL8lqm_VQ7w3BWpwau6NFHrjBgLpuInCMk9P2vkuXr9wFhEwkR6DytYeiSCLe_h4uv8x_CN3fhkyCVoZMn7yE56NFnld0LMaQ/s1600/tiffany+tablescape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlj_kx_oJaVDsM7RwjBbI6gZlOGzMPKwXDTfyL8lqm_VQ7w3BWpwau6NFHrjBgLpuInCMk9P2vkuXr9wFhEwkR6DytYeiSCLe_h4uv8x_CN3fhkyCVoZMn7yE56NFnld0LMaQ/s400/tiffany+tablescape.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">but he won the tablescape contest with the Tiffany theme. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJofUWucfV0ENXwms3JLT4OGr8aMdT98tOSbzm2Q5Lt80Ytd5UESYmRYCbWDCjF8QgWLaNFwjzps7ExNxemkOMW0lXJkmNGqrqRNQDzwflC0Hl7bFI6XacBQ0SXbKIaUv6MrpN/s1600/shark+week.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJofUWucfV0ENXwms3JLT4OGr8aMdT98tOSbzm2Q5Lt80Ytd5UESYmRYCbWDCjF8QgWLaNFwjzps7ExNxemkOMW0lXJkmNGqrqRNQDzwflC0Hl7bFI6XacBQ0SXbKIaUv6MrpN/s400/shark+week.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Timing award to Heather Anderson here. After all it is Shark Week.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fB_1FmWLMQWqkdaMSWGw09FZJNrZfSeT7lfCaz8fbbc-zvvagfgbP3fGIPcyuuxMOA8efeBcA6bfGYEKhp7481RkLFTYWyM3XXXN8jZ8DlYa3dqV3NSZoqAxIJrE0g0Y3Fha/s1600/shaun+of+the+dead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fB_1FmWLMQWqkdaMSWGw09FZJNrZfSeT7lfCaz8fbbc-zvvagfgbP3fGIPcyuuxMOA8efeBcA6bfGYEKhp7481RkLFTYWyM3XXXN8jZ8DlYa3dqV3NSZoqAxIJrE0g0Y3Fha/s400/shaun+of+the+dead.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It may be simple, but I love Love LOVE this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imsHXpEuxX0">Shaun of the Dead</a> costume from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4MArrZpsjg">demon baby</a> (wolf pussy!) creator, Cory Green. Hi, Danny. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWbf9CGWg0NiDl9ncaNQtNFOnPR9ZaCbUBjgDQ6CfpBJE1rx7MQZ_nZTrJx6n9cchlky9uN-6Rhz8szx63K5XWKjfazgteP7thYwwc8zjsfjPsnDgWLv78k1R7BMrSlNyYGO9x/s1600/lily+and+her+jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWbf9CGWg0NiDl9ncaNQtNFOnPR9ZaCbUBjgDQ6CfpBJE1rx7MQZ_nZTrJx6n9cchlky9uN-6Rhz8szx63K5XWKjfazgteP7thYwwc8zjsfjPsnDgWLv78k1R7BMrSlNyYGO9x/s400/lily+and+her+jacket.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And then? I, like, ohmygod! Ran into my old jacket worn by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHDcD_xhwAo">Valley Girl</a>, Lily Shapiro. I'm so totally sure! I actually owned this stonewashed fringey nightmare back in, maybe, the late eighties? It required very big hair, a vat of Bud Lite, two packs of Marlboros, and irresponsible decision making at every donning. What can I say? It was a very demanding jacket. I hope Lily can bear up under the strain (and resist the call of the wild better than I). </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7-2TRkNaZ6IKlJN00OF6L8dO2m9MKl_mstFnM0ESNbe4i7lYwY_Zz09apLLtzfqvrJc01mqCntIcDPT-J1HkL5QaeB4W6OHjs9NyWER9OhyphenhyphenhQW1w8TDnw6Vfs4slPiMo9tr7/s1600/billie+jean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7-2TRkNaZ6IKlJN00OF6L8dO2m9MKl_mstFnM0ESNbe4i7lYwY_Zz09apLLtzfqvrJc01mqCntIcDPT-J1HkL5QaeB4W6OHjs9NyWER9OhyphenhyphenhQW1w8TDnw6Vfs4slPiMo9tr7/s320/billie+jean.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Event originator and <a href="http://www.maidenalleycinema.com/">MAC</a> Executive Director, Landee Bryant aka <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMzTItRnx4k">Billie Jean</a>. She's everywhere. Also? She dyed her hair just for this costume. That's dedication, people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Miss Scarlett O'Hara, y'all! And in Miss Ellen's portieres. Also? Team: Open. You gotta pay the taxes on Tara <em>some</em>how, after all. Fiddle dee dee! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHso4gtJSkCESSyi2LZ3ZZRgFvH3v2DulcTQM3cvjFCi4iwHg1bknnADXDYBnxK46IyBtGX3_0wuaaL6uyngjoayC8Q2v7ek-ial_oMJCE-nRiueY8WLtaoJ0H4W1k1C0Rd1yQ/s1600/murdering+nurse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHso4gtJSkCESSyi2LZ3ZZRgFvH3v2DulcTQM3cvjFCi4iwHg1bknnADXDYBnxK46IyBtGX3_0wuaaL6uyngjoayC8Q2v7ek-ial_oMJCE-nRiueY8WLtaoJ0H4W1k1C0Rd1yQ/s400/murdering+nurse.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Could I love this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZwsK36BzcY">Elle Driver</a> costume a little more? I don't think so. Apparently, she hangs with Ed and H. I. Small world!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09BZi9WULcYRmwm0yVwJMugzbSQ8TAs_N3OIEccEP1MeNt8K-glKk1zs3hb-H928bDC8wtgpPDOsOJ2whSE4exQ3KWRTV7M_YibIoxj3zqPCzg9pu2Kogznzvi6veXK0S7qO9/s1600/lars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09BZi9WULcYRmwm0yVwJMugzbSQ8TAs_N3OIEccEP1MeNt8K-glKk1zs3hb-H928bDC8wtgpPDOsOJ2whSE4exQ3KWRTV7M_YibIoxj3zqPCzg9pu2Kogznzvi6veXK0S7qO9/s320/lars.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And just when you think these partygoers can't get more inventive? In rolls <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eivm8o07e0I">Lars and his real girl</a> . No small feat as this is an "upstairs" party.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There were so, so many more you guys. But I had too many Red Stripes to keep up. Just remember, kids, it doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's what you do with your dancin' shoes.</span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-458740298021768882012-08-25T11:25:00.004-07:002012-08-25T11:50:35.161-07:00Design Find: Vintage Taylor Smith & Taylor Boutonniere Dishware Set<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3W5I6QXVyP6q3SqzH1xyq2_9M1g5isMV8pUUq1BJGxHe1nuP3-_olmM55PqlCNG-Vfw71cdLM-VC5dkA_6sacNE9fzEtBrcI0hgHQbUxWAN41Ya_4STWCf3v3UL8WcyHJ7Ja2/s1600/retro+dishes+set.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3W5I6QXVyP6q3SqzH1xyq2_9M1g5isMV8pUUq1BJGxHe1nuP3-_olmM55PqlCNG-Vfw71cdLM-VC5dkA_6sacNE9fzEtBrcI0hgHQbUxWAN41Ya_4STWCf3v3UL8WcyHJ7Ja2/s400/retro+dishes+set.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was poking around a consignment shop yesterday looking for possible clothing items for a costume I was putting together (more on that later) when I literally stumbled across a couple of boxes containing the dishes you see pictured above. It's not an unusual pattern, in fact it's one I've actually seen many times before and liked for the combined elements of mid-century and that super yummy interior turquoise, though I would normally prefer a more geometric and less floral pattern, given a choice. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8qe8FUqzjSsFRCKHumQbRJ5H6Sr-ZMDP9BJBF7TQOcJGbBCJjvqY_UVs5q1ZiOHoioALnTJTP5U-1fpWzHACzfWxELWaV913KvJlfU5ZV57gL-WDsiJnz3VzeXVK3SaviHND/s1600/retro+dishes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8qe8FUqzjSsFRCKHumQbRJ5H6Sr-ZMDP9BJBF7TQOcJGbBCJjvqY_UVs5q1ZiOHoioALnTJTP5U-1fpWzHACzfWxELWaV913KvJlfU5ZV57gL-WDsiJnz3VzeXVK3SaviHND/s400/retro+dishes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What made this find unusual are the many <a href="http://compare.ebay.com/like/221100279130?var=lv&ltyp=AllFixedPriceItemTypes&var=sbar">serving dishes</a> that were included with the set. These I'd never seen. I nearly plotzed when, first thing, I pulled that coffee pot (carafe?) from the box and the tiny lid was with it and intact. Then, the <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/107206636/vintage-taylor-smith-and-taylor">tiny sugar bowl <i>and lid</i></a>. It actually gave me that light headed thready heartbeat feeling and I had to sit down on my butt real quick on the floor (I was already squatting and it was hot in there).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrLco8pwD7v-1IyqdYCeB2ocbV4nIVC-I_Mzeg8eBHmAnRshLjhDK-JZgYCNHdMmLz6sWKiiJVvLmx6yzjLiMT0kmPlywiBP403G1GC9m9UTGRBBw5DDIxpNpe__fMvSwD7Rf/s1600/retro+dishes+top+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrLco8pwD7v-1IyqdYCeB2ocbV4nIVC-I_Mzeg8eBHmAnRshLjhDK-JZgYCNHdMmLz6sWKiiJVvLmx6yzjLiMT0kmPlywiBP403G1GC9m9UTGRBBw5DDIxpNpe__fMvSwD7Rf/s400/retro+dishes+top+view.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Next came the <a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/Vintage-Ever-Yours-Boutonniere-Covered-Serving-Bowl-Taylor-Smith-Taylor-/261070830560?_trksid=p3284.m263&_trkparms=algo%3DSIC%26its%3DI%26itu%3DUCI%252BIA%252BUA%252BFICS%252BUFI%26otn%3D21%26pmod%3D221100279130%26ps%3D54">casserole dish </a><i>and lid</i> which caused me to break out in the cold sweat of desire and set me to digging around for the price. TWENTY-EIGHT dollars, friends. For 62 pieces. Luckily, this was a shop where I'm always selling my own stuff and a quick check of my account gave me another $14 to work with. Got the whole shootin' match for $15.68 (that's a quarter a piece if you're counting which, of course, <a href="http://www.thefind.com/kitchen/browse-taylor-smith-boutonniere">I am</a>). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">SCORE!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have not written much about it here, but I have for the last year or so, been delving pretty heavily into the world of thrift and consignment. If you're not aware, it is a world that is booming in this economy. Booming, but still always with treasure to be had. I shudder to think of the hundreds of dollars of clothing I threw away at the Salvation Army in years past. Not that it isn't a deserving organization! But, dang. Sell, sell, sell, girls. Jewelry! Shoes! Purses! (And buy low!)</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEPTfWkafE6g-TqankCY6L3SU_IogjxFEXh_Xg3xALiWxPxjZ-rzPPyBXZFbFc5Ws1csRGrXE-IAZdKeM4tK-5CnY3WoWpTKJbXRPP0ZiF-n1Oo3SE-bTE5iCpl4ICcJzJD6e/s1600/retro+dishes+mfg+mark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEPTfWkafE6g-TqankCY6L3SU_IogjxFEXh_Xg3xALiWxPxjZ-rzPPyBXZFbFc5Ws1csRGrXE-IAZdKeM4tK-5CnY3WoWpTKJbXRPP0ZiF-n1Oo3SE-bTE5iCpl4ICcJzJD6e/s400/retro+dishes+mfg+mark.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The manufacturer's mark found on the underside of each dinner plate.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While I can Google an approximate a value for almost every piece in the Boutonniere set, I find the carafe/coffee pot piece nowhere (not even available for <a href="http://www.replacements.com/webquote/TSTBOU.htm?s1=FIN&2468221&">reproduction</a> as many pieces are). The closest thing I can find to it is </span><a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/93946621/vintage-1950s-taylor-smith-taylor" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">this</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">; what they are calling a "carafe" or pitcher. I would love to know what the "pitcher" or coffee pot (?) I have is worth. Please do message me if you have thoughts about this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Otherwise, I've learned that the original large set was made up of NINETY-EIGHT pieces. It included an exhaustive list of items like <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/79337877/vintage-taylor-smith-taylor-boutonniere">tiny salt and pepper shakers</a>, a <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/92686514/taylor-smith-tst-mid-century-modern">vase</a>, this sweet little <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/80305129/vintage-taylor-smith-taylor-boutonniere">cake and pie server</a>, and what they're calling an "<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/103131570/boutonniere-pattern-olive-boat-and-more">olive boat</a>" or sometimes a "relish tray". Most sources put the time of manufacture and sale of the boutonniere dishes in the late 1950's. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The diminutive size of most of these dishes is but another huge (har!) thrill for me. The "cereal bowls" of which I have nearly a full (dozen) set are perhaps big enough to hold less than a cup of cereal and a similar amount of milk. Not to mention the itsy fruit/berry bowls and tiny "bread and butter" plates (for what my mother says they used to call "light bread"). The dinner plates are much larger and quite serviceable as is everything, really, given a small enough portion size. The <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/104605030/boutonniere-old-fashion-vintage-glasses">glasses </a>may have been part of this original set as well, though I have to confess I really don't find them appealing looks-wise (and there were none included in the boxes I bought). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Once I got the dishes home, I removed another more modern set of dishes from the cabinet to make room for them and then decided to turn around and sell the newer set. Hence, there is a very good almost certain chance I'll actually make money on this deal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As is, I plan to really use the boutonniere set for the time being, though I may sell them in the future at some point. I spent the rest of the day smugly running the less delicate pieces through the dishwasher and later that night slipped easily into the deep, dreamless sleep of the thoroughly satisfied bargain huntress. </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-59926082729329057582012-08-22T11:57:00.000-07:002012-08-22T12:07:47.442-07:00Pippa's Maiden Voyage (and a birfday party)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4hKdglmn8dOl1YcUHYRRy5JDGH5aCOWSnTl1T048RYv6-BGXKVMnZIYkPOo4a1z_ahcOeUD7euESuuBDSEQz7PJDEc0lgTW_sX3ZssbVNnxxkmPmfid1eETKcOxDrWZ4FOe1/s1600/nikki's+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4hKdglmn8dOl1YcUHYRRy5JDGH5aCOWSnTl1T048RYv6-BGXKVMnZIYkPOo4a1z_ahcOeUD7euESuuBDSEQz7PJDEc0lgTW_sX3ZssbVNnxxkmPmfid1eETKcOxDrWZ4FOe1/s400/nikki's+photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ilistpaducah.com/site/index/">Nikki May's</a> photo.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was a very special week last week. For one, there was a birfday in the offing, and, for two, Pippa's maiden voyage began the day after the big partay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not always one for going "all out" for birthdays, however, that said, I was inspired while perusing this month's Southern Living by </span><a href="http://www.southernliving.com/food/entertaining/make-ahead-tex-mex-menu-00417000079189/page11.html"><span style="font-size: large;">this make ahead Tex-Mex menu</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> and recipes. I made everything listed except the Hibiscus Tea (who the hell needs tea when you have tequila?) and, yes, I'm saying I went ahead on like a nutball and invited five people to eat dishes prepared from heretofore untried recipes. I would trust no one but Southern Living to such a culinary extent, and once again, I'm happy to say my confidence was not misplaced. (But, let's be honest, my fallback position would have been to step up the tequila service enough so no one would notice had there been a last minute food mishap.)</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8xY4OPOuaoWWcWhWutspoyCpHpuhhiKWRBlUlMqqhdDLH9Qs3K9IjGrkA-vWd8N1zN8seb5mk1IaDDeyA_I89aey2fimV7xpWmQ4JQa-yhEIuRYulX1voQrrNOlRAUCZWPCV/s1600/jan+suzanne+amanda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8xY4OPOuaoWWcWhWutspoyCpHpuhhiKWRBlUlMqqhdDLH9Qs3K9IjGrkA-vWd8N1zN8seb5mk1IaDDeyA_I89aey2fimV7xpWmQ4JQa-yhEIuRYulX1voQrrNOlRAUCZWPCV/s400/jan+suzanne+amanda.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another <a href="http://www.ilistpaducah.com/about/">Nikki May</a> original.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">With a Tex-Mex menu set, a natural Mexican theme emerged. And you know how I am about a "theme". The whole thing suddenly screamed: GET A DAMN PINATA THIS INSTANT! MAKE EVERYONE (including yourself) WEAR SOMETHING STUPID ON THEIR HEADS!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Artiliciousness ensued.</span> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wI8UxuOLDCP3D5aJGxU7Idns_X9sQw73ks98k7vR9SYDysW189TPbesAw6TREGIsQ-R1lpotcff3uDrriE6Ywagrr2ryYbI4kG_EwIR_gN-aDp__-AVn36XwOJzf4d9vjLmV/s1600/pink+cadillac+margaritas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wI8UxuOLDCP3D5aJGxU7Idns_X9sQw73ks98k7vR9SYDysW189TPbesAw6TREGIsQ-R1lpotcff3uDrriE6Ywagrr2ryYbI4kG_EwIR_gN-aDp__-AVn36XwOJzf4d9vjLmV/s400/pink+cadillac+margaritas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">We're not fancy around here, so my tequila shakers were mason jars and they worked quite nicely for this purpose. The original idea was to enjoy the </span><a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/chocolate-ice-cream-pie-50400000122635/"><span style="font-size: large;">Mexican Chocolate Ice Cream Pie</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> dessert in the hot tub, but this plan was quickly nixed by the weather who heard I was having a party and quickly whipped up a driving rain (haha!) coupled with 54-mile-per hour winds (wee!) on the heels of the biggest drought in years, just for laughs.</span> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTHDPn_f5mSOuUUMY0jLhy7tQlIj18vmpbGlmEna2tLpGmu5mdThK3c8BSFHY9_mj5H2oIGtTrJLDXDk9PDB5X4n8RiH2wCbQFXsHX_s3InZNHLl0GyyQ6jHfhnLToIa_Vj0G/s1600/mexican+ice+cream+pie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTHDPn_f5mSOuUUMY0jLhy7tQlIj18vmpbGlmEna2tLpGmu5mdThK3c8BSFHY9_mj5H2oIGtTrJLDXDk9PDB5X4n8RiH2wCbQFXsHX_s3InZNHLl0GyyQ6jHfhnLToIa_Vj0G/s400/mexican+ice+cream+pie.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not that anybody cared by that time. The pie ate quite fine at the table, thankyouverymuch. That's a cinnamon graham cracker crust, by the way, spiked with red pepper flakes, making for a combination of hot/sweet that is quite uniquely delightful, I must say [insert Ed Grimley hop].</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgTTa3PsLUXe8gsFa9WEQ1pqR6XGKuhZEhzvwq_U7GB9r1lUNU-oPXV5GOKM8BGuQCQz5t0rpisk4D7za53Y0rp3C8hnstFHXhA9a7YMHTZ3D6Ac4gLIQG0QeYZobVsMsnFVk/s1600/tenacious.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgTTa3PsLUXe8gsFa9WEQ1pqR6XGKuhZEhzvwq_U7GB9r1lUNU-oPXV5GOKM8BGuQCQz5t0rpisk4D7za53Y0rp3C8hnstFHXhA9a7YMHTZ3D6Ac4gLIQG0QeYZobVsMsnFVk/s400/tenacious.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TenaciousF, the killer frog who took up residence in the Casbah and environs this spring and has been known to stalk the hot tub and enjoy chillin' in the grill. We found him indignantly clinging to the glass storm door after the party clearly annoyed that his invitation was lost in the mail. <a href="http://www.bluefrogdesigns.com/">Guess who</a> snapped this uber cool photo? Where, I ask you, would this blog post be with her? That's right, nowhere. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Eventually, after all that food, booze, and frog terror, we went unconscious. This meant, of course, that Pippa's maiden camping voyage, set for the next day, would happen none too early. The important thing is it <em>did</em> still happen. And it wasn't just us this time, we decided we'd try out, not only the pop-up, but the dogs as well. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMQMP-uL9tbgh1DlvwpW3_bPWl6JDXAXoqYOsKjU8BHcagtKdKK2jbJXupJL21hjLkC1DEoQYcQPp8F1ToR-m4iz7UGLaa0FW_fD9TzYavqXs2jyH71gvQjnR2OYwHZzJ8nL-/s1600/dogs+instagramed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMQMP-uL9tbgh1DlvwpW3_bPWl6JDXAXoqYOsKjU8BHcagtKdKK2jbJXupJL21hjLkC1DEoQYcQPp8F1ToR-m4iz7UGLaa0FW_fD9TzYavqXs2jyH71gvQjnR2OYwHZzJ8nL-/s400/dogs+instagramed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">HA, yes! Dogs! Because we don't already haul <em>enough</em> shit to the campsite. We need more crap, cosmetics, cooking gadgets, complications and supplies. We need to add a layer of fur, hysteria, unpredictability and slobber to the mix. Damn it, we need more stuff to worry about! That's Vance Shepherd (a suspicious Katrina rescue) on the left, and Tallulah (a spoiled purebred) on the right. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">See that look on Vance's face? The look says, </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Clearly, they've brought me to the campsite TO KILL ME and they think I don't know it.</i></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFyVnV8zP5cvs9RLrXwuG0zgV1CF8gd_Ed4J6ZzABaxz3Uk8G9liHhrjBhaK2IYVcnQqSWv2uPWPlAx7jVrDFuvXgd7d5m0xdZfKX_IpnHXPQ4FxA9bJ12-IC_hQiXjpj0Ewt/s1600/vance+alone+rearview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFyVnV8zP5cvs9RLrXwuG0zgV1CF8gd_Ed4J6ZzABaxz3Uk8G9liHhrjBhaK2IYVcnQqSWv2uPWPlAx7jVrDFuvXgd7d5m0xdZfKX_IpnHXPQ4FxA9bJ12-IC_hQiXjpj0Ewt/s320/vance+alone+rearview.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">But I digress. Here is a shot of Vance enjoying the unbearable lightness of interstate wind in his face on ride to the campsite, before he realized we were taking him there to die. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Unfortunately, before we could set about brutally murdering the dog, we had to do something much, much worse. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">We had to back the freaking camper into place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Friends? If you've never backed a trailer into place, I envy you. Because something happens when you hitch a trailer (camping or otherwise) to a vehicle. And I'm too stupid to know what that something is. But whatever it is, it means that turning the steering wheel (when in reverse gear) has an effect on where the trailer goes that is completely random and unpredictable. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vHFNCSJYMYq2VzlmWYNG4SKi-f-CuCGWMXtzP_wIXNHgOLPfqgxA1XsQBfB6ecWE_Shz-wGkXRDHsz-yfNdgyn9OGnaKlWp15Y2NW3dI698nJPLDgRLieR5fAcKb8rlUXiYB/s1600/leaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vHFNCSJYMYq2VzlmWYNG4SKi-f-CuCGWMXtzP_wIXNHgOLPfqgxA1XsQBfB6ecWE_Shz-wGkXRDHsz-yfNdgyn9OGnaKlWp15Y2NW3dI698nJPLDgRLieR5fAcKb8rlUXiYB/s400/leaf.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">It has the effect of causing people to invent completely new cuss words. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I'm not the least bit happy to say our camper backing (we took turns being completely ineffective) skills, or lack thereof, provided the entire campground (apparently full of people who have mastered the art of trailer backing) with a good half hour of fun and entertainment. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">People were standing and pointing. Telling their friends, even!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Good times!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Of course, we'd rather die choking in a pool of our own blood than ask for help. And so we didn't. And we eventually backed that bitch in place. All by our own selfs. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">That accomplished, we set about our next fun and exciting task. Unfurling the pop-up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Ever cranked a thousand year old pop-up?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">It's like a team of snickering invisible body builders oppose every click and turn of the rusty, wobbly ab-busting handle. Again, this is a task that requires inventive tag-team cursing. And beer. And hiking boot stomping. BITCH!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">DAMN IT, is camping is fun or what?! LOVE IT!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">And so, not a minute too soon, just as our supply of super offensive cuss words was exhausted, the very first Camp Pippa was established. In the late afternoon of a breezy August day, on the banks of Lake Barkley, amidst the swaying trees, and apparently not too far from a tribe of screaming monkeys in residence deep in the woods just to our north.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjux_aHOPbBRIFgKWEWw_yO1JjWGWHL1gijlPV1Mjpc7mdLJuuzS_Z_g0lvyHzPMtMhgt6-hKDHBKpVRszp1yXqibMm_Wauh5l0mEg_c-WRITP6MfQx9x4jKuwLY36ruA9VhSv6/s1600/pippa+in+place.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjux_aHOPbBRIFgKWEWw_yO1JjWGWHL1gijlPV1Mjpc7mdLJuuzS_Z_g0lvyHzPMtMhgt6-hKDHBKpVRszp1yXqibMm_Wauh5l0mEg_c-WRITP6MfQx9x4jKuwLY36ruA9VhSv6/s400/pippa+in+place.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I have, unfortunately, been dismissed from my original post of Fire Keeper, prohibited from touching the fire biscuits, and I'm told accelerant is no longer among our camping supply inventory. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">[Note: lie] </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I'm at a loss to understand how keeping a raging fire going even in the drippiest of weather is an actual <em>MINUS</em> in a camper, but there it is. I really shouldn't think a few singed eyelashes is that big of a deal in light of our constant need for comforting warmth and protection from flesh hungry coyotes and rabid monkeys after sundown. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I'm going to have to go ahead and say our campfire on this trip was what I'd consider paltry. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I do continue to be in charge of chow and so, before nightfall our first day, I made the long (five minute) trek to the grocery where the Jeff and Emily IGA gave it to us up the butt for some bacon, biscuits and sundries, as is their tradition. By the time I returned, Pippa was glowing with reassuring electric light and the air conditioner [insert chorus of heavenly angels] was humming along most efficiently. We enjoyed the world's most delicious ham sandwiches at our picnic table as the monkeys screamed in the distance and the dogs cautiously sniffed out the limits of their new territory. We quietly cussed a man we watched expertly back a boat trailer into the campsite next to ours (first try! motherfucking show-off!).</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSucIw3OzlQJJI_ryyfc_0O3G_oa5SPqDCm81hnpIXCD8ZJB6Be_edhx9zS1hKJh5yp7viO5IHRsILGRsPfgX6AucTEZXNCv78SMCkPu1QI75Tf5StmHKSKfWwpJ6VQ4bgl_bX/s1600/nighfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSucIw3OzlQJJI_ryyfc_0O3G_oa5SPqDCm81hnpIXCD8ZJB6Be_edhx9zS1hKJh5yp7viO5IHRsILGRsPfgX6AucTEZXNCv78SMCkPu1QI75Tf5StmHKSKfWwpJ6VQ4bgl_bX/s400/nighfall.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nightfall at illustrious Campsite #6. Always reserved and never camped in. Our campsite is the one immediately to the left (#8). On the water, but not nearly as fabulous a vista as this. Apparently, we shall never camp here despite our repeated requests. Nor, apparently, will anyone else. We visit often and perch atop the table and watch the turtles sunbathe and blue herons sweep across, just skimming the water, and of course sunrise/sunset. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Our first night in Pippa was noteworthy (other than being cool and delightfully tick-free) only because poor Vance Shepherd decided that his murder was clearly going to take place in there. At bedtime, Tallulah hopped in eagerly enough, but suspicious Shepherd was having none of it. He planted his front feet wide apart and dug in at the door. No way. No how. Was he going willingly to his demise in the camper-o-death. Coaching, encouragement, commanding, ordering, and threatening all failed to budge the dog. Even lifting his back end only caused his front end to become more fixed and stationary. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Finally, we would resort to (you guessed it) more cussing, and brute force. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Helpfully, the monkeys lent their screams in the distance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">After a mighty effort, Shepherd landed in the camper where he immediately noticed, to his great surprise, rather than a giant doggie meat sausage grinder, his own soft bed from home. He hopped in and gave us a look. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><em>Yah, whatever. I still don't trust you people. Go away.</em> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I was initially concerned that Tallulah would launch into her glass-shattering bark alerts at every twig crunch and falling acorn while in the camper, but the constant drone of the air conditioner had the unexpected effect of drowning out, for the most part, all outside noise, thus allowing both dogs to sleep without hearing much of anything. I woke the next day to a misty cool morning, and found Mr. Expert Backer next door had gone off to fish with neither dog the wiser. I initially thought the noise of him leaving early would send them into a bark alert frenzy; but for the a/c noise, the entirety of LBL would almost certainly have been made aware of The Situation. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQwv9kzxmzilqcbLYFkhvGVNE-TyqSntlP85vrSkZCC81WZMotQrFB8pypZs9emC5ZZ7PzEPFUguF3vCKyGnkiBhN-7uui2VFzdVCtNSarZEpUL1oE5zozEgn1NdIXh-0ZAxp/s1600/sunrise+two.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQwv9kzxmzilqcbLYFkhvGVNE-TyqSntlP85vrSkZCC81WZMotQrFB8pypZs9emC5ZZ7PzEPFUguF3vCKyGnkiBhN-7uui2VFzdVCtNSarZEpUL1oE5zozEgn1NdIXh-0ZAxp/s400/sunrise+two.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise at Camp #6.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">As it was, I had to actually wake the dogs for their sunrise potty. Tallulah deemed the entire camp her toileting area. She located the the epicenter of the site and then, after a leisurely stretch, promptly deposited a moist shit half the size of herself in the gravel. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaOIWJbO5Z58hOehdX1QIOR2Lr7cG-hJkNEVKYXqD-IydKiN644zvuPwFOxzHGZIEWwcDSxajXWE9v8ubDaekxIpJdLAe7M7MX91oHyJ1WIF47-D42M3UJLumttdsh80Hn62h/s1600/breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaOIWJbO5Z58hOehdX1QIOR2Lr7cG-hJkNEVKYXqD-IydKiN644zvuPwFOxzHGZIEWwcDSxajXWE9v8ubDaekxIpJdLAe7M7MX91oHyJ1WIF47-D42M3UJLumttdsh80Hn62h/s400/breakfast.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There is a drop-off just beyond the table that is, essentially, the shore of Lake Barkley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I wish I'd gotten a good photo of the camp cook stove on which you see me here frying up the bacon! It is a three-burner gas cook top that runs on propane and is every bit as convenient as any such indoor device. It came with Pippa and, despite its age, was obviously rarely used. As delicious as waking indoors to the smell of frying bacon is, I put it at twice as delicious a scent experienced at camp. This is doubly true for the cook. I love to whip up a camp breakfast for some reason (who am I?). I no longer fry real bacon at home. Turkey bacon is as good as it gets around here--fat! cholesterol!--but camp calls for the real thing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-qcjgDR_sKRiBgS950uijYP-_0fNyrCdszCAJ4c9htszQd5F_Ct_q3ffIBOna3BhYUfoVMd7rkTr1tmLY3-ujG4aczc5W5O9Ev2NJGPQj_oWsvgY853pDys86VyTfWMTsr8W/s1600/vance+and+fishermen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-qcjgDR_sKRiBgS950uijYP-_0fNyrCdszCAJ4c9htszQd5F_Ct_q3ffIBOna3BhYUfoVMd7rkTr1tmLY3-ujG4aczc5W5O9Ev2NJGPQj_oWsvgY853pDys86VyTfWMTsr8W/s400/vance+and+fishermen.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shepherd observes some morning fishermen as we took in some fresh air on a bench just outside the OK Corral.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">With our arteries properly clogged, it was time to try to counteract that with a multi-mile morning walk. We set out with the dogs to explore the rest of the campsite that, despite us having camped there twice before, we'd never gotten around to walking in its entirety. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3AqUU5I_0wRmHZYt4lhuGUlMptbkDYm97dZz4wtfMoycD4HjHTQ3YNOsGRwAOf87gKao4YIeXCuUajdLfQeaN0ahzbjXISP0itejj4oeME5OzLccydu24R11NC2OibDBEgAq/s1600/campsite+downunder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3AqUU5I_0wRmHZYt4lhuGUlMptbkDYm97dZz4wtfMoycD4HjHTQ3YNOsGRwAOf87gKao4YIeXCuUajdLfQeaN0ahzbjXISP0itejj4oeME5OzLccydu24R11NC2OibDBEgAq/s400/campsite+downunder.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just beyond the drop-off of our campsite. The edge of Lake Barkley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The area we camp in is considered "primitive" despite each woodsy, shaded camp having running water and electricity as well as bathroom and hot shower facilities within easy walking distance. We walked some of the areas that aren't considered primitive, basically, that amounts in some cases, to monstrous RV's circled in a parking lot in the piteous sun on the waterfront. I came to think of, and refer to it as, "The O.K. Corral" because it was absolutely a modern-day circling of the wagons. That is, if your wagon costs $100K and has satellite TV. The people here aren't as interested in "getting away from it all" or "getting back to nature" as they are in meeting other campers and drinking a beer or fifty with them. Or at least that's my perception. We were hailed and stopped many times as we strolled through by campers here who wanted to admire and pet the dogs and talk to us out of sheer friendly curiosity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Not surprisingly, Shepherd is walked on a leash as he is likely to try to escape from his death sentence at any moment, but Tallulah is trustworthy (and mommy spoiled) enough on such a walk to be largely off leash. She generally sticks close to the pack, but is also, in the end, a smaller dog with short legs. While us big people and Shepherd can cover long distances, this is harder for Tallulah, especially given her tendency to walk not only forward, but also to dart nervously back and forth, thus adding half as much again to any distance we cover. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Do you sense I'm getting at something?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">How about I just cut to the chase: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">We found this at a really crappy flea market in Eddyville (sorry, Eddyville, but it really IS crappy). It's a fairly high quality stroller, but was for some reason stripped of its baby seat cushion making it perfect for a fur friend ($8!). Tallulah prefers to stand, obviously. Chariot-style.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9S4FLMFTN826AqjVK4OHFPMNLHwIj3BUrkHK_MoogN5-wokjulAfsYJA_-x2d0zbuLGy_DwhkOXx5R6cjOUEBv4ZDteTtEyybosqHWW0_SRn7spS30q0rxe0SSdQKjLeQomcd/s1600/tallulah+in+stroller+side+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9S4FLMFTN826AqjVK4OHFPMNLHwIj3BUrkHK_MoogN5-wokjulAfsYJA_-x2d0zbuLGy_DwhkOXx5R6cjOUEBv4ZDteTtEyybosqHWW0_SRn7spS30q0rxe0SSdQKjLeQomcd/s400/tallulah+in+stroller+side+view.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">So, yah. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I'm THAT person. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">My dog has a stroller. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-76820706933371280232012-07-26T02:01:00.000-07:002012-07-26T02:01:13.708-07:00Paradise Found<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8MtXeGleFrg9BW5Su-oAwAuq-_Fz6P5cCvCM8Y4wHMk0bdxaX_q7r4SxAet5ql7M6OU8c7bPJQ4UdlVTKYJSAi9iB6tZvhjHmRxzXffy1tkKK9PuQ1rg2Bp0C8Y8DoQD2gCC/s1600/musha+cay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ8MtXeGleFrg9BW5Su-oAwAuq-_Fz6P5cCvCM8Y4wHMk0bdxaX_q7r4SxAet5ql7M6OU8c7bPJQ4UdlVTKYJSAi9iB6tZvhjHmRxzXffy1tkKK9PuQ1rg2Bp0C8Y8DoQD2gCC/s320/musha+cay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was awake in the wee hours last night and found myself flipping through the queued programs on my DVR. "Oprah's Next Chapter" held an episode featuring David Copperfield. This is something I'd normally never watch. I have an aversion for "magicians". And I put that word in quotes because pulling, say, a rabbit out of one's ass is not actually "magic" but, rather, a trick. At best the word is "illusion". </span><br />
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The thing is, I do believe in magic. <em>Real</em> magic. Magic as in love, giant snowflakes, inspiration, synchronicity and whiskers on kittens. And, of course, as I said on Crackbook the other day, Folgers in your cup. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">None of the magic I believe in, however, includes an overly bronzed bug-eyed wildly dramatic cocksman from Jersey. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Regardless, there I was at wee-thirty in the morning with nothing better to do. While it was at least mildly interesting to learn of Copperfield's triumph over the adversity of a difficult childhood (his mother beat him); meet his thirtysomething fiance (he's fifty-five, and previously married to Claudia Schiffer); the big takeaway is David's digs. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Y'all? Bronzy Copperfield doesn't just own an island in paradise. No. He owns a <em>string</em> of islands in paradise. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Eleven to be exact. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">And when Magie McMagicson decides to take a break from performing six hundred (?!) shows per year in his personalized theater at the MGM Grand in Vegas and needs a place to throw off his mighty codpiece and sit a spell, he heads south to "Copperfield Bay" in (guess where?) the Bahamas.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I guess the fact that I was <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/">just there</a> (generally speaking) only fueled my awe at the thought and images of this heavenly place. I mean, I know that it really, really is THAT beautiful. Even better? David would like to share paradise with you. That's right. You, too, can experience the magic of Copperfield Bay. All you need is a passport, a change of underpanties, and $37,500 per night. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Get a preview <a href="http://www.mushacay.com/#/home">right here</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(But forget about the bed on the beach. That spot's mine.)</span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-87155712627440798262012-07-11T12:32:00.001-07:002012-07-11T12:48:01.756-07:00Sailing the Abacos<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEIeMMgg6qTbSBYQVFlsO1IjVfcldHJev25pMpl7J4Y1qE26udZQ5U5dMipUT-ZdHcrfq-EknX2wPXvYg_cs_bI7QhiCjQ43LCbOjKVDKwl64u1YqRC69SgFgU2SzRphfPLIZ/s1600/starfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEIeMMgg6qTbSBYQVFlsO1IjVfcldHJev25pMpl7J4Y1qE26udZQ5U5dMipUT-ZdHcrfq-EknX2wPXvYg_cs_bI7QhiCjQ43LCbOjKVDKwl64u1YqRC69SgFgU2SzRphfPLIZ/s400/starfish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A starfish! Much petted but still alive in the water off Tilloo Beach. Click on any photo to see a larger version.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, yes! I went sailing in the Abacos. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKN1MYCFtSx-euPBYuwfVokp2PhyjUT6sIsxaAAcnMRvMHKLQt9_qx3CjTpKZkPNR3p6pSw2_U5kWECMHgx31EOXmQYTIYJECV1QMaFNX_gR2hb3JL3SLjSsoxSQqLdz8JhhN/s1600/amanda+sailing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKN1MYCFtSx-euPBYuwfVokp2PhyjUT6sIsxaAAcnMRvMHKLQt9_qx3CjTpKZkPNR3p6pSw2_U5kWECMHgx31EOXmQYTIYJECV1QMaFNX_gR2hb3JL3SLjSsoxSQqLdz8JhhN/s400/amanda+sailing.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insert your favorite seafaring song [here].</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I feel a lot of pressure to write about the experience. Especially since I blew in my <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/06/car-sick-blue-vacation-edition.html">last post</a> about THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE (which, yes, the Abacos are located in the BT) as well as my legendary and life-long motion sickness problem. The thing is, I have about one million photos to edit and I do not know when, if ever, I am going to get that task accomplished and my photos arranged into some kind of semblance of a storytelling order.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievFVCJy3ALKAvIRdzO4TH8tKqQKuGcM7m2bRf9kTR2CzXpeI1Q2M4DCUa2k3wspr18zODRakFex3afbQUulZKoxr-oKB3dCL0MOu_Ysi-wNKCjPX7sbmTXfRvJ52UKn0UV952/s1600/le+bel+air.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievFVCJy3ALKAvIRdzO4TH8tKqQKuGcM7m2bRf9kTR2CzXpeI1Q2M4DCUa2k3wspr18zODRakFex3afbQUulZKoxr-oKB3dCL0MOu_Ysi-wNKCjPX7sbmTXfRvJ52UKn0UV952/s400/le+bel+air.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Boat. Called Le Bel-Air. Because it sailed over from Le France. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, I don't know what else to do but just plunge ahead and post a few photos (in no particular order) and update you on perhaps the two most important facts:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZh-V_TisjJ-4fB5vcwTeLX_x46-n4B7O3oFZGh8lQQzX9br-lhG7YTzy0SuuDUViN_GlLpH4g7sxxMlZG-fom4MLnovLJ7OXgTpNI8PfYup1vKn03BWH_007fArcNiemwRZSU/s1600/me+at+nippers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZh-V_TisjJ-4fB5vcwTeLX_x46-n4B7O3oFZGh8lQQzX9br-lhG7YTzy0SuuDUViN_GlLpH4g7sxxMlZG-fom4MLnovLJ7OXgTpNI8PfYup1vKn03BWH_007fArcNiemwRZSU/s400/me+at+nippers.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smart-assing around at <a href="http://www.nippersbar.com/about_nippers.html">Nippers</a>.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">1) I SURVIVED THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE. Barely (but we'll get to that).</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TqyHfk5uzKcyWjaid5_LqYy53z6PgZmWjV9iXnTT9Nje7PeoIbM9cES7wysdDujO6Jt1Xl6UMZjutjXINxo2QrEZ7cp1TcopaTaujHoM4UzRyKpXll0_KX0PDJbnckJ3dbaQ/s1600/suzanne+sunbathing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TqyHfk5uzKcyWjaid5_LqYy53z6PgZmWjV9iXnTT9Nje7PeoIbM9cES7wysdDujO6Jt1Xl6UMZjutjXINxo2QrEZ7cp1TcopaTaujHoM4UzRyKpXll0_KX0PDJbnckJ3dbaQ/s400/suzanne+sunbathing.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We called the thing I'm collapsed on here, strung and bouncy in the front of the boat "the trampoline". Once settled upon (if you don't manage to bounce out and into the sea), it is the world's best sunbathing spot. Sailing rocks you to sleep while the water rushing by only a few feet beneath you prevents overheating. Good-bye cruel world... </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2) Oh my God, y'all. I. HAD. NO. MOTION. SICKNESS. Whatsoever. This is nothing short of miraculous. If you aren't a sufferer, you just won't understand, but cripes, for me to be able to stand in the TINY sleeping cabin of a small ship whist the vessel is being tossed about on the waves and NOT lose my lunch or even have a SHRED of nausea is just...something I would not have believed had I not experienced it myself. This was accomplished through months of taking ginger (2 capsules at night after dinner) as well as through the constant wearing of the Meclizine patch beginning an hour before we sailed. I knew the ginger was effective when I experienced no nausea during take off or landing during the flights to the islands (we flew Nashville-Ft. Lauderdale/Ft. Lauderdale-Marsh Harbour). Once on the boat, however, I was never without the Meclizine and continued to take ginger every day, so it's impossible for me to sort out what parts each treatment played in the suspension of my nausea on the water. Suffice it to say: Meclizine. Ginger. THEY WORK.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpv-epzcgi7AmAUqdrSuYATXhe-EYm12vcdpISoXopPL5irF67bbPeOOw-3vMt6LrBShnwiiP92hTDjRkbMPsL2c9Heka6b1yoqkdqrbiRuTaRupDtnM6BbXRR03i7LdyC8D0n/s1600/group+to+publish001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpv-epzcgi7AmAUqdrSuYATXhe-EYm12vcdpISoXopPL5irF67bbPeOOw-3vMt6LrBShnwiiP92hTDjRkbMPsL2c9Heka6b1yoqkdqrbiRuTaRupDtnM6BbXRR03i7LdyC8D0n/s400/group+to+publish001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lot of us.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Motion-wise, though, I should probably add that I did experience the phenom wherein when off the boat, I had the erroneous sensation that I was still "floating". Small spaces on land would sometimes seem to pitch back and forth a little as if they were suspended in water. I've read of people developing this condition chronically (sometimes after weeks long cruises), but my experience with it was short lived--it went away after a few hours on land--and was even a little pleasant.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What to say otherwise?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2O20eV9-HUvRFuVyVC9qNCnQZ-e-s9t4FqPCiisIcZDRr4baof4JWBqgsylWzmKdX6HBssyHnI-9BIyWAaLYha8zGCZ8T4LQVSt3-duS7ZJGSKIGi3y4QfcwB0jUMiDvRtPd/s1600/shore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2O20eV9-HUvRFuVyVC9qNCnQZ-e-s9t4FqPCiisIcZDRr4baof4JWBqgsylWzmKdX6HBssyHnI-9BIyWAaLYha8zGCZ8T4LQVSt3-duS7ZJGSKIGi3y4QfcwB0jUMiDvRtPd/s400/shore.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guana Cay</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How about the Abacos are a paradise? Crazy, stupid, sob-inducingly beautiful </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyro3jrxqsnjiIwWqpRFiduhYX4nph17glSqrrmxWqVDjahK2EOdazTRKFF_RtLcKXCnHN9ilm_l3HGZi_VlL9kmLnU1ATIgkyPNWSIhWDBVHpNSLU95_2ZQczNb9nRgHJcfhH/s1600/dingy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyro3jrxqsnjiIwWqpRFiduhYX4nph17glSqrrmxWqVDjahK2EOdazTRKFF_RtLcKXCnHN9ilm_l3HGZi_VlL9kmLnU1ATIgkyPNWSIhWDBVHpNSLU95_2ZQczNb9nRgHJcfhH/s400/dingy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tilloo Beach. Yes, we had to take The Dingy and a box of white wine there. You can see Le Bel Air (not my favorite boat name) anchored out to to see on the right.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It never rained a drop. The sky was an azure blue filled with fluffy white clouds suspended above an undulating sea that was at turns emerald, royal blue, turquoise, black, smooth as glass, choppy, rolling, most always calm. The islands are a landscape of white sand beaches dotted with coconut-laden palm trees but often developed with the cottages of the English fisherman that settled the place giving the whole thing a vibe I would call "beachy colonial".</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Native cab drivers ferry entitled tourists to and from the airport in ramshackle cabs driven the English way in the left lane. I was told a permit to drive a cab is among the most coveted of all possessions there and the these are often passed down for generations Grandparent to parent to son/daughter and so on. The fare is best settled on before committing to the ride, lest your bourgeois ass be taken advantage of (and, lets face it, you deserve it). </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMoxv3f9ZxoCsZLzzeh_k5iF0zbgQFNhvjRLnIspLtpiqJOH3avNWqVWbNPoUNGf6iysvdLdBeK9t8Um0at37VDzrc2_hPCJGqk5GBW9sxZBzYiyoTwqKixjhX4DRYMK7rnaTP/s1600/island+at+sea+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMoxv3f9ZxoCsZLzzeh_k5iF0zbgQFNhvjRLnIspLtpiqJOH3avNWqVWbNPoUNGf6iysvdLdBeK9t8Um0at37VDzrc2_hPCJGqk5GBW9sxZBzYiyoTwqKixjhX4DRYMK7rnaTP/s400/island+at+sea+panorama.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your own. Personal. Island.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The culture is unhurried, soaked in rum and fresh fruit juice, and the food conch-heavy and salty. Seafood most often "cracked" (fried). I never waited less than an hour for meal service. Fortunately one is easily lulled into slack-jawed complacency about this with a strong rum drink. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtLaDAi66KeOYB7eIGxq5EVl59kGOwkkJUubw4ZnlHoLdk_YSAZEfvA4CyCz4OWqTIIZSUkpTBUbN-juuWoWAVcMRHpwAh8zmKI1ICNLWAWj_f-W8yNmkmd5oVHZTbhpdT6dKv/s1600/rum+drinks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtLaDAi66KeOYB7eIGxq5EVl59kGOwkkJUubw4ZnlHoLdk_YSAZEfvA4CyCz4OWqTIIZSUkpTBUbN-juuWoWAVcMRHpwAh8zmKI1ICNLWAWj_f-W8yNmkmd5oVHZTbhpdT6dKv/s320/rum+drinks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That is, if you can even manage to retain any residual angst that hasn't already been lulled away by the rocking of the boat or gently puffed into [at least] next week by an island breeze or chased away by the relentlessly cheerful sun. I never journeyed far enough from the edges of that world to experience many of the native people, but instead existed (inappropriately) among the floating elite.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_ZDUA2-48HZeRaOiO-xIQXsSnjeif3MkNXhFjzz3gamCxF2jD8FzYKHxQHRAYmf2FYHmIzvvjAv_EcD0Qpam9C_LiIA0tIu20rfXCwLbIyp8sHjpYEYEAG5jKjgcjTnt7CvE/s1600/dog+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_ZDUA2-48HZeRaOiO-xIQXsSnjeif3MkNXhFjzz3gamCxF2jD8FzYKHxQHRAYmf2FYHmIzvvjAv_EcD0Qpam9C_LiIA0tIu20rfXCwLbIyp8sHjpYEYEAG5jKjgcjTnt7CvE/s400/dog+beach.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm congenitally unable to pass up a dog photo. This guy swam over from the buildings you see in the distance with his master. He's a paradise dog. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And, people? I do mean elite.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWMoBMURerrh3UtBJnC-7jJLlK79jReRe05oy-g5b6bH5-2jr8Q-txDttrXnme2wJRDOt6r4lMzQ9GMSggMWtWYtMDsIDJ_wjZ3X8oTAlmDeLmAssIzajWr7t_sgjHzz0tJR8/s1600/sunset+at+Guana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWMoBMURerrh3UtBJnC-7jJLlK79jReRe05oy-g5b6bH5-2jr8Q-txDttrXnme2wJRDOt6r4lMzQ9GMSggMWtWYtMDsIDJ_wjZ3X8oTAlmDeLmAssIzajWr7t_sgjHzz0tJR8/s400/sunset+at+Guana.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset at Guana Cay</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I didn't make it a habit to take photos of the more elaborate boats (in fact now, looking back through my photos I photographed none of them really--you see a fairly large one to the left in the photo above) I saw anchored in the ports of the Abacos, but many were floating yachts with many televisions, kitchens, everyimaginableconvenience boasting deep cushy furniture to flop down in after a hard day of planting your amazing self on the bow of your yacht, arms crossed, and surveying the seascape of paradise like the conquering hero that obviously you are. These boats were everywhere and often featured a twenty (or MAYBE) thirtysomething near naked trophy wife stained mahogany from the sun. These well maintained women were escorted by their wealthy sagging seagoing husbands from port to port. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqwD1I_U9zPkSLLpTjWhWA9GQ5ZZwnpG0vPgb4lxafy6suWkE-xG6pP79Ek2TTWwm8p6Mlboj2BmJWh2wQklUWFRAi4PwHeb63y2YoBqGwOAVFvp_kloJ7ZrBHpBTfqDgR04s/s1600/dog+golf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqwD1I_U9zPkSLLpTjWhWA9GQ5ZZwnpG0vPgb4lxafy6suWkE-xG6pP79Ek2TTWwm8p6Mlboj2BmJWh2wQklUWFRAi4PwHeb63y2YoBqGwOAVFvp_kloJ7ZrBHpBTfqDgR04s/s400/dog+golf.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After a while, I began to recognize people I'd seen before. ("Say, didn't I see you looking fabulous at Elbow Cay yesterday?") </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYoB0bSZxaDs1ykdki7VlYMWCxm3JSe1d1ANHp81UFtr6OOzujie23SFHDMq2yhDr3QTPtsFrrtH-QpYDSbSdCryZl2U61ofXWmYU3X84dpDwMecPhVNeuV6MvPpW2BcTE5vq/s1600/peace+and+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYoB0bSZxaDs1ykdki7VlYMWCxm3JSe1d1ANHp81UFtr6OOzujie23SFHDMq2yhDr3QTPtsFrrtH-QpYDSbSdCryZl2U61ofXWmYU3X84dpDwMecPhVNeuV6MvPpW2BcTE5vq/s400/peace+and+love.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from Nippers. Pictured here is the rock we stood on to take group photo posted earlier. This is a pretty immense vista--see two tiny sunbathers to the right.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is a circuit, really, like a roving seagoing camping trip. Elbow Cay, Guana Cay, Boat Harbor, Hopetown, Treasure. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TJj54Omdrcn_yr8LIZG9pKtH8-T-XkvTYqUeL8UWcIUWHoSWzjEow2SluIByAQ7MIhc_pTKF9G6lE7EgqWCe8NlgOFTe3wA4lOWZYlTShOzIb8Qb6DCLhaV5awaAXYOSH2XQ/s1600/landing+at+lighthouse+marina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TJj54Omdrcn_yr8LIZG9pKtH8-T-XkvTYqUeL8UWcIUWHoSWzjEow2SluIByAQ7MIhc_pTKF9G6lE7EgqWCe8NlgOFTe3wA4lOWZYlTShOzIb8Qb6DCLhaV5awaAXYOSH2XQ/s400/landing+at+lighthouse+marina.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Landing at Lighthouse Marina</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">By day boats glide from one island paradise to another, anchoring up in the afternoon for dinner ashore and a night spent at a new floating camp site, plugging in to electricity, taking on water and supplies, running up unimaginable tabs at the "gas station" in order to do it all again tomorrow. And the next day. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieobGMZsp3h3sJweJPhrjvKE24eBGiuszUixLSJGVtzLpyh_bDhxEdU59HfSDWND-HAu72vBb9z9T_FO-3xRdtaNzYpIoDE2IaiyH9DDRVIuUimo9u-hirmlulljIjUk69jmBb/s1600/bruise+butt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieobGMZsp3h3sJweJPhrjvKE24eBGiuszUixLSJGVtzLpyh_bDhxEdU59HfSDWND-HAu72vBb9z9T_FO-3xRdtaNzYpIoDE2IaiyH9DDRVIuUimo9u-hirmlulljIjUk69jmBb/s400/bruise+butt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This girl was shy and retiring. And shopping. In that. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the next. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIVmkW_hFGdNl8g_fMunzVB5zFJRAUe8nGygZ5VjiZAgc1kmmaYUPgWjj5BgtAvkkqAeWY0h1dXOVcK8KU6mWqCHC9g5lsL4IaFEKWKkxNohXJHlINbfv-ueKp0RSptQlwLCF/s1600/kalik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIVmkW_hFGdNl8g_fMunzVB5zFJRAUe8nGygZ5VjiZAgc1kmmaYUPgWjj5BgtAvkkqAeWY0h1dXOVcK8KU6mWqCHC9g5lsL4IaFEKWKkxNohXJHlINbfv-ueKp0RSptQlwLCF/s400/kalik.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your Bahama beer choices: Kalik or Kalik? Fortunately, it's yummy.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Get browner. Increasingly rum-soaked. More relaxed (if that's possible). </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMMGxpgzKn4YrES3gR51ji18zI2s7Wls1hWbo_RIuPrroL1es6u6Iea2642E_QnodxWR4F4dYGOBik3EvWT4MamCygQXcGvmdlZAsvAyi0MYS6w-tzzsz9uL_tK7biLBjZ1D0/s1600/man+o+war+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMMGxpgzKn4YrES3gR51ji18zI2s7Wls1hWbo_RIuPrroL1es6u6Iea2642E_QnodxWR4F4dYGOBik3EvWT4MamCygQXcGvmdlZAsvAyi0MYS6w-tzzsz9uL_tK7biLBjZ1D0/s400/man+o+war+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Man o War Cay</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Jimmy Buffet </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">does not exaggerate the laid-back, easygoing culture that surrounds the lifestyle. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Pretty sure he never found that lost shaker of salt. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7ZoPI1APHi9PUDbOGR-qii24Z3i3Kutni7eLLrp5HEVakaKZh99o02S9_o1i7U7Tf0sgx1lLYyj717fV9MXJqsDCP9nd7mLOls8o6nQZtNDVxoovtaXrorAxrS73KJ0rsH9g/s1600/robalco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7ZoPI1APHi9PUDbOGR-qii24Z3i3Kutni7eLLrp5HEVakaKZh99o02S9_o1i7U7Tf0sgx1lLYyj717fV9MXJqsDCP9nd7mLOls8o6nQZtNDVxoovtaXrorAxrS73KJ0rsH9g/s400/robalco.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Man O War again.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It all seemed to me rather lawless (I don't think "police" as such really exist in the Abacos</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">, nor do doctors, or the innernets) and drunken and lax and happy-go-lucky. To wear a sun dress to dinner is to dress up. Bathing suits with casual cotton cover up thrown on and flip flops are the norm. No cover-up? Fine. Drink? Yes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBMLD6yh08JhWq7IbGn0aAfUuJYy7ujUwUUuP_Jpkd99IGamn4wEaOxGskNRFnriseJ6TtICczlzuG8fq7-CW738WFvjtM3kAHYPbrDO8uNZzAYHY_43L3jOj6vDcyucoAk8U/s1600/nippers+group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBMLD6yh08JhWq7IbGn0aAfUuJYy7ujUwUUuP_Jpkd99IGamn4wEaOxGskNRFnriseJ6TtICczlzuG8fq7-CW738WFvjtM3kAHYPbrDO8uNZzAYHY_43L3jOj6vDcyucoAk8U/s400/nippers+group.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At "Nippers" on Guana Cay</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ah, yes. The Drink. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There is something about boaters and sailors that makes them think their insides need to be as awash in liquid as their boats, I've decided. Albeit in <i>fermented </i>liquid. I've never met a sailor that didn't enjoy a drink or twenty-seven, thankyouverymuch. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCrjuj_D2e58N1PJoLiGnvthABWai2RoBMgYZ9VrC5mMNw8pqrf2S6MUdimAkzs1GFvusYJE1QASXx18n3b8Yde97krQrcxGjzVG17c0UF2ZRMN6CtWDz9IkT6UNjtShd88x1/s1600/relax+in+the+sea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCrjuj_D2e58N1PJoLiGnvthABWai2RoBMgYZ9VrC5mMNw8pqrf2S6MUdimAkzs1GFvusYJE1QASXx18n3b8Yde97krQrcxGjzVG17c0UF2ZRMN6CtWDz9IkT6UNjtShd88x1/s400/relax+in+the+sea.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the answer is: I demand this be more idyllic and relaxing! Category: Shit We Never Said Except for that One Time</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(Okay, okay, so you've a sailing tee totaling Uncle Bob, whatever, but I'll still wager he is the exception to the rule). </span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYT27MqCGBMYnx4SZY2sQ66bxhCC-bs3FEvSXG-vjl6j-dp7qZKtOQ02IXIBg1zkxFFXngxD6CqRvJ0FYHK-RO3Q_tzNvrUd9cQrhgvgBLCatTsV7TVTV0qlQ-CXQWkCaZTcmp/s1600/elbow+cay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYT27MqCGBMYnx4SZY2sQ66bxhCC-bs3FEvSXG-vjl6j-dp7qZKtOQ02IXIBg1zkxFFXngxD6CqRvJ0FYHK-RO3Q_tzNvrUd9cQrhgvgBLCatTsV7TVTV0qlQ-CXQWkCaZTcmp/s400/elbow+cay.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A panoramic of the view at Elbow Cay from the candy striped lighthouse. You can see our boat in the center of the photo. It's the one docked on the right.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I suppose it was about day two that we decided to go snorkeling. Our fairly disinterested often uncommunicative captain (not that I cared!) offered to take the four of us excited to snorkel to some picturesque locale supposedly perfect for the activity. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWA5XK_Ty_nqIYogvBCesorVUSsztA4XOISvBSrhEfiOzXaQAQcYoMLK2pZGcciI5J9P3Mhh4wjeTEQfaEQOsHURjdU2J1DrLcLipA3CKFZe7y9Cx2pkC4I4NrHF3a2q2bZRn/s1600/landing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWA5XK_Ty_nqIYogvBCesorVUSsztA4XOISvBSrhEfiOzXaQAQcYoMLK2pZGcciI5J9P3Mhh4wjeTEQfaEQOsHURjdU2J1DrLcLipA3CKFZe7y9Cx2pkC4I4NrHF3a2q2bZRn/s320/landing.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's El Capitan managing the rope.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We had to use a smaller boat to get there, and this is the best picture I have of it (taken later in the day on the way to dinner):</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrm9GIXU22XTTU52-ekpG8A1F-DCZQiyS7g4T-ri1aINKESRlt2tS3e7XUgE3x-q4WvvK8SdCSKDdiWmv1QFi1ohOd5Mo_JmGhRMCyGlD12R9Cy5zE8BESy99nLoSYylpfk-t0/s1600/crossing+the+channel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrm9GIXU22XTTU52-ekpG8A1F-DCZQiyS7g4T-ri1aINKESRlt2tS3e7XUgE3x-q4WvvK8SdCSKDdiWmv1QFi1ohOd5Mo_JmGhRMCyGlD12R9Cy5zE8BESy99nLoSYylpfk-t0/s400/crossing+the+channel.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't suppose you can tell much about it from that angle, but suffice it to say it's a smaller fishing boat, a skiff is what I would think of it as, and it looked much like this:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3WW1Mr25HiF2kb7lyJKUruTYcb-biH236GoLWwMOWYaxRIpLH625K2qkSFTrwLsWEfECmM0OrMPhsxMxTIAsC_6Jqd2kp5obl48KTVNB2rLMIqK-CVLWUi8-VDSDCvaITvVi/s1600/dingy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3WW1Mr25HiF2kb7lyJKUruTYcb-biH236GoLWwMOWYaxRIpLH625K2qkSFTrwLsWEfECmM0OrMPhsxMxTIAsC_6Jqd2kp5obl48KTVNB2rLMIqK-CVLWUi8-VDSDCvaITvVi/s400/dingy2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Except not inflatable. Anyway, that isn't the point (But I love this photo, right? Another at Tilloo. Blue! Turquoise! *sob!*). The point is to snorkel, an activity I'd participated in exactly once before in the glassy smooth waters off Key West. The four of us set off that day excited about the prospect. When El Capitan stopped the skiff in choppy water not too many clicks from a fairly jagged looking rock formation, I won't lie, I was a little confused. Choppy water? Snorkeling?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPfoXlHoXJkOCXbWoYYb9mL6usO3v12sgpC3mfhtHIWXSrbDrzp3MK9t0nJBM_UOWXWjfKgFxjrEewfw_ogWA3yk0bGRBhtcmVnHnfB4o2SNBe1OSNWPDoPQjx_F2kkUWzIpq/s1600/beach+vista.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPfoXlHoXJkOCXbWoYYb9mL6usO3v12sgpC3mfhtHIWXSrbDrzp3MK9t0nJBM_UOWXWjfKgFxjrEewfw_ogWA3yk0bGRBhtcmVnHnfB4o2SNBe1OSNWPDoPQjx_F2kkUWzIpq/s640/beach+vista.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Really?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVGRAEZW-CVpzOD7vcpMSPjQBRXAI5_zAbPJFvaaPJb-LVBGVefYV8sZSQKV-2XV0L6IqvE-EF8Zb4gB_YG3PcAq6dn0jYxZyHulnTJRSYIp3ppXBue47BQzsQx0juewiP4cS/s1600/crazy+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVGRAEZW-CVpzOD7vcpMSPjQBRXAI5_zAbPJFvaaPJb-LVBGVefYV8sZSQKV-2XV0L6IqvE-EF8Zb4gB_YG3PcAq6dn0jYxZyHulnTJRSYIp3ppXBue47BQzsQx0juewiP4cS/s400/crazy+lady.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Well, hello gorgeous!" A seafaring lady. I. We. Didn't. Know what to make of this. So, like everybody else, we just stared. Well, except I, of course, took photos. Because I'm always thinking of you. YOU and only you.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">El Capitan gestured to the entrance to a natural bay half a mile or so in the distance. THAT BAY was the snorkeling locale. EC told us the current would "carry us down there" if only we'd jump in and, oh, don't crash in to the rock formation.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTBGzpTEm4HY8j24ZjNsp0u-G9xHhtJTxfYQ6tfuSK9pLGUe8fQRs7gWyibwvL15wB-TVGmLw0xv1EleAfNpvXH3g0H-JCGh9J3Lykwigoc6oNodBAmZ74WA3QA4-xOK3ojno/s1600/danger+dingy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTBGzpTEm4HY8j24ZjNsp0u-G9xHhtJTxfYQ6tfuSK9pLGUe8fQRs7gWyibwvL15wB-TVGmLw0xv1EleAfNpvXH3g0H-JCGh9J3Lykwigoc6oNodBAmZ74WA3QA4-xOK3ojno/s400/danger+dingy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An eventful trip in the the Danger Dingy</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The first two of us donned snorkel gear and went off the back of the boat. Leaving the second two of us (including me) to suit up. Normally, this wouldn't take long (a mask, a tube, flippers), but my flippers were mismatched and didn't fit, meaning I had to use another set--a set too big--and ratchet them tightly on my feet. My apprehension was growing by the time I jumped in, but hell, I'm the woman who'd conquered a life-long case of motion sickness only just one day prior, remember? I logged six miles on the treadmill before I left! I can SWIM!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjysIu0niafHTMNbpAHYMu7b8-vI2MFjkvRyUZ9oCCPRM_hCmzCRv_c_lhFwwxLpz80WQ2mmf70svUfolYd0qwxbMkJBNkeJEwnx00KdTfFKITOuPPIfmIyrix0lozdBQic9rz/s1600/hopetown+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjysIu0niafHTMNbpAHYMu7b8-vI2MFjkvRyUZ9oCCPRM_hCmzCRv_c_lhFwwxLpz80WQ2mmf70svUfolYd0qwxbMkJBNkeJEwnx00KdTfFKITOuPPIfmIyrix0lozdBQic9rz/s400/hopetown+beach.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snapped with iPhona on a stroll around Hopetown. One of my favorites</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yah, right.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0QnuCqRSnyS5XixM7mR9UbN3NnVsCjMfVAYTnTJ0Xb9cd5CIf3AVHbstufalJb21e155PPLmpORC-pu8sI60JRsl18YvJwgqnbLtoXdtCxyzXSecCKa6SWizAyHvxApE7uK2t/s1600/view+from+harbor+lodge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0QnuCqRSnyS5XixM7mR9UbN3NnVsCjMfVAYTnTJ0Xb9cd5CIf3AVHbstufalJb21e155PPLmpORC-pu8sI60JRsl18YvJwgqnbLtoXdtCxyzXSecCKa6SWizAyHvxApE7uK2t/s400/view+from+harbor+lodge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Hopetown Harbor Lodge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I plunged into the ocean. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5vaIPduUCGlbjDS322CpXLEiJCLdS-igLpnCeR2xJO1KGWZFqJ6J0ClorDvo1UcpLg2T4rLFy0j2ylIODthOpl4pm3pT_tXKqzy95pIsOChdEGY36OSy5eL0J827MDJ599ss/s1600/view+from+room+at+abaco+beach+resort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5vaIPduUCGlbjDS322CpXLEiJCLdS-igLpnCeR2xJO1KGWZFqJ6J0ClorDvo1UcpLg2T4rLFy0j2ylIODthOpl4pm3pT_tXKqzy95pIsOChdEGY36OSy5eL0J827MDJ599ss/s400/view+from+room+at+abaco+beach+resort.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the room at Abaco Beach Resort</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Let's just say what looked like choppy water from the boat was something of a bigger problem upon immersion. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZHvgGy-76vrIJBrze8NuYdCRylot-R18Xb1FrQPTHTEfCYMWwmcYliA78qE4346kbd1x-L8mD5kJ1D37sLUs2eA9yhbV-sf1rEVZWYK3WroTiN2WToLZ-A8NQPR15sSgHsLSc/s1600/sunset+at+boat+harbor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZHvgGy-76vrIJBrze8NuYdCRylot-R18Xb1FrQPTHTEfCYMWwmcYliA78qE4346kbd1x-L8mD5kJ1D37sLUs2eA9yhbV-sf1rEVZWYK3WroTiN2WToLZ-A8NQPR15sSgHsLSc/s400/sunset+at+boat+harbor.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise at Boat Harbor, our beginning and ending point.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I managed to tread water, right my mask, and get the breathing tube into my mouth. Then I kicked my feet back, put my face in the water, kicked, took a breath...and breathed sea water. The choppy water proved to much for the length of my tube. What's more, I was being swept toward the jagged rocks.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0vkF_BBp2XTHHFhHopvqwyChKT5kYoIJGlxWDJF_65MuEgmnFsdOCm8RcwYyAu7s742Y9K4lRmskij4PdI7q9nphUgKyr9bztxBRcRH2mtsf7dHrioAHyHTuLq83WD2y3L1n/s1600/huts+at+abaco+beach+resort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0vkF_BBp2XTHHFhHopvqwyChKT5kYoIJGlxWDJF_65MuEgmnFsdOCm8RcwYyAu7s742Y9K4lRmskij4PdI7q9nphUgKyr9bztxBRcRH2mtsf7dHrioAHyHTuLq83WD2y3L1n/s400/huts+at+abaco+beach+resort.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had this entire beach to ourselves (complete with ocean kayaks) for one whole day. [Insert Lou Reed's "It's Such a Perfect Day" here.] </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I decided to try again. Quickly.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zEjEj9BFYjY3f2ROtqArti6cjkyiT19b87ALZv4aDWeE2Ur22Ugth6TluGBGguXM4Mimm8vcg6s6W2_sidwJZv7IlBDUsqR-6TWW4h63C7Y_dwlaHpDkZyeZwH7ZNX8dk_00/s1600/mango.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zEjEj9BFYjY3f2ROtqArti6cjkyiT19b87ALZv4aDWeE2Ur22Ugth6TluGBGguXM4Mimm8vcg6s6W2_sidwJZv7IlBDUsqR-6TWW4h63C7Y_dwlaHpDkZyeZwH7ZNX8dk_00/s400/mango.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner at "Mango", Marsh Harbor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Tread water-right my mask-get the breathing tube...waitaminute. One of my kicking feet found purchase...</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgQtxGt-LfGo3Fb9XUOB8j51VsbK-GvB4vXmrKloPNvgGSY8SbaIO941EwQRE90a5ecQKO2H9K6vSWUHuOSBMbPGn4NWi-gelVm7wJckeebMdCYsQ9actgJctn2CAio0bPJQw/s1600/panoramic+sea+at+harbor+lodge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgQtxGt-LfGo3Fb9XUOB8j51VsbK-GvB4vXmrKloPNvgGSY8SbaIO941EwQRE90a5ecQKO2H9K6vSWUHuOSBMbPGn4NWi-gelVm7wJckeebMdCYsQ9actgJctn2CAio0bPJQw/s400/panoramic+sea+at+harbor+lodge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More of the view at Hopetown Harbor Lodge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">SHAAAAAAAAAAAARK!</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaOQkVw72Ej79coPBxNfU322fm0qF_F9mXCZyrBwceNgfiCXimFWYk7OKpE9Xx-K8cUKWEre00UXdhvwSzn3z9Qi0Hg-4zXbFbkwKEfv9n1KNIK-bgDw8Q89HXJmdPTuKQrKn/s1600/palm+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaOQkVw72Ej79coPBxNfU322fm0qF_F9mXCZyrBwceNgfiCXimFWYk7OKpE9Xx-K8cUKWEre00UXdhvwSzn3z9Qi0Hg-4zXbFbkwKEfv9n1KNIK-bgDw8Q89HXJmdPTuKQrKn/s400/palm+beach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hopetown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not really. <br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfx8M963Hsm09twhyphenhyphentAV4TBglpAabscYlrsmvpvrEjQq2HU3s_ctMlUGllnKJ_gFNAiJNDh_O5zzErbookCEvejQUhbCvXVakoHo2qZqZT7YjnpdiKPkWX2tWl1MtcKkE0fnwp/s1600/palm+trees+at+hopetown+harbor+lodge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfx8M963Hsm09twhyphenhyphentAV4TBglpAabscYlrsmvpvrEjQq2HU3s_ctMlUGllnKJ_gFNAiJNDh_O5zzErbookCEvejQUhbCvXVakoHo2qZqZT7YjnpdiKPkWX2tWl1MtcKkE0fnwp/s400/palm+trees+at+hopetown+harbor+lodge.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not a shark but I was close enough to the rocks that my foot had found their underwater edge. I could actually stand on it as I readied my mask for another try. Mask, tube, kick back...</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROSK8w_CeIDjQiLRgMZ1tH-uH2yuarAyoUJqP4RlzbNOX9YrWkofA61JbsU6FwzSNfpN8h3GnqMvW0kQ7r8b0f8f_B5C6Ms1EQp-6uIq78I05Wh1THQmyeiho89-ESWZ3bERN/s1600/pink+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhROSK8w_CeIDjQiLRgMZ1tH-uH2yuarAyoUJqP4RlzbNOX9YrWkofA61JbsU6FwzSNfpN8h3GnqMvW0kQ7r8b0f8f_B5C6Ms1EQp-6uIq78I05Wh1THQmyeiho89-ESWZ3bERN/s400/pink+sunset.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sea water. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJiAc0tNp5Ej5R0nU7J04rcairk7tpAWFaNiSUO_qqntIbWaHyV0hbjrCuDZGA6gVgeQ_OrglR9y342Jm50-pq2DkOV4Z-Fohb_hi24H-_IrdnG8Ld9CR7LHv5gGvmqakbclt/s1600/back+yard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJiAc0tNp5Ej5R0nU7J04rcairk7tpAWFaNiSUO_qqntIbWaHyV0hbjrCuDZGA6gVgeQ_OrglR9y342Jm50-pq2DkOV4Z-Fohb_hi24H-_IrdnG8Ld9CR7LHv5gGvmqakbclt/s320/back+yard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very lucky somebody's backyard in Hopetown.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Good times! </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFPq3PQtxNOc15AXzvTbL3b4-XIH143LJCXs-k1bhXBPHyZ7vo3Hu9M-xwaNI-eK-iMYaexiviPSikA1lVqKaNvgCbaMephfbGRz6NjfWBpCO02fMBPhRufPmCEZe9QkAp1EP/s1600/lizard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFPq3PQtxNOc15AXzvTbL3b4-XIH143LJCXs-k1bhXBPHyZ7vo3Hu9M-xwaNI-eK-iMYaexiviPSikA1lVqKaNvgCbaMephfbGRz6NjfWBpCO02fMBPhRufPmCEZe9QkAp1EP/s400/lizard.jpg" width="352" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We ended up back in the boat. And fairly waterlogged. Then, good ol' El Capitan blithely drove the effing boat on over to the "snorkeling bay". I'd randomly assumed this impossible in the first place due to shallowness. He picked up the other two snorkelers who remarked about the "strong undertow" when they climbed back in the boat looking none too relaxed.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8coJkUntK3AtDr_yQE3GfaSVD_9ZCWsGbGbAHQeIwCuFZUMEbg6rwf7QFEa2ufirhTvK4CvL7x5x1HLOCFsccgNhj74DPWIuv6JjB9foyH7var7_GXxzV3tKqmvwE2iDddEo/s1600/shells.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8coJkUntK3AtDr_yQE3GfaSVD_9ZCWsGbGbAHQeIwCuFZUMEbg6rwf7QFEa2ufirhTvK4CvL7x5x1HLOCFsccgNhj74DPWIuv6JjB9foyH7var7_GXxzV3tKqmvwE2iDddEo/s400/shells.jpg" width="352" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, yes, El</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Capitan tried to kill us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">UNSUCCESSFULLY, I might add. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5kMeFAkwPOovOB28Y0Csm1R43_-nM1UeYNZH30jWiUo78QU5oHBVV70N7dcmh19EhoynAkiErbUTc2oQJ0JQwNB3k7DGBn2Fl6e1U4AgvM5DJauogUIit794fXMlii176_pC/s1600/southern+cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5kMeFAkwPOovOB28Y0Csm1R43_-nM1UeYNZH30jWiUo78QU5oHBVV70N7dcmh19EhoynAkiErbUTc2oQJ0JQwNB3k7DGBn2Fl6e1U4AgvM5DJauogUIit794fXMlii176_pC/s400/southern+cross.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Happily, that dicey ten minutes was the exception to the rule. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-2dmFgP7vFbuHjkAF2BQ7RQrwQHeSmAHTA_2yyDESPWGKtvkIp-ShwKT471ro_r8XAV8brtDviT9RNA78tu135YiWdJ8PHarrP4x1u-VFsCaQPnNcKNV1JIDMFiGJLKrJ6yR/s1600/toast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-2dmFgP7vFbuHjkAF2BQ7RQrwQHeSmAHTA_2yyDESPWGKtvkIp-ShwKT471ro_r8XAV8brtDviT9RNA78tu135YiWdJ8PHarrP4x1u-VFsCaQPnNcKNV1JIDMFiGJLKrJ6yR/s400/toast.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner on our last night at Abaco Inn.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mostly, it was lazy, sunny, rum soaked, salty, turquoise, sloe. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mostly, it was heaven. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-70389611740178361462012-06-07T09:45:00.000-07:002012-06-07T10:16:53.017-07:00Car Sick Blue: The Vacation Edition<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are approximately one million things I should be doing right now. Laundry. Packing. Calling people. Test taking. Other Important Stuff. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">None of these one million things are "blogging".</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">*pause*</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">*pause*</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">*pause*</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><strong>HEY, Y'ALL!</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Guess what?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I'm going on vacation.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdZnxe3wjmX6r-5_pAO4JZGxUyvLWEviUgYmyqhDQIH337pavTpLI3Rm8JW4Dep7I_yoEvKW1DjP-18r1ODeLnvIl0Fr7OK_oJuWbuVP6JW9X94_Nztzzf0f9CqMkz62c4vWW/s1600/snoopy+dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdZnxe3wjmX6r-5_pAO4JZGxUyvLWEviUgYmyqhDQIH337pavTpLI3Rm8JW4Dep7I_yoEvKW1DjP-18r1ODeLnvIl0Fr7OK_oJuWbuVP6JW9X94_Nztzzf0f9CqMkz62c4vWW/s1600/snoopy+dance.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdZnxe3wjmX6r-5_pAO4JZGxUyvLWEviUgYmyqhDQIH337pavTpLI3Rm8JW4Dep7I_yoEvKW1DjP-18r1ODeLnvIl0Fr7OK_oJuWbuVP6JW9X94_Nztzzf0f9CqMkz62c4vWW/s1600/snoopy+dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdZnxe3wjmX6r-5_pAO4JZGxUyvLWEviUgYmyqhDQIH337pavTpLI3Rm8JW4Dep7I_yoEvKW1DjP-18r1ODeLnvIl0Fr7OK_oJuWbuVP6JW9X94_Nztzzf0f9CqMkz62c4vWW/s1600/snoopy+dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Because, you know, I need a break from my highly stressful lifestyle. I can't just garden, go out to dinner, and ponder the age old question of "blue" without surcease. What the hell? I'm exhausted. Spent. Withered. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">"Give out" as they say in the south. My bones. They ache (mostly due to the six miles I've logged on the treadmill this week with another 3 planned tomorrow...if only, <em>IF ONLY</em>...I would stop eating Pop Tarts).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Guess. JUST GUESS where I'm going!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Well, first, let's review:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1. I have no luck at all.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Pretty self explanatory. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">2. The weather is out to get me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">You may remember me from such films as, "A Tornado Chased Me on my Camping Trip" and "An Ice Storm Tried to Kill Me" and "Funnel Clouds Enjoy Hovering Over my House":</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LFprFuyAjXVBXC9UrxrrmKVSsQmER2wHOu3XozYTG_Eprmcc2T3MJkuBhNGPm34fKkR3m5ooiJuSwC-jvEkOp5mhuu4NZ4rwNeTCdfTy94Abeb9lY1nxdYbYEme9bKV3FKdB/s1600/funnel+cloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LFprFuyAjXVBXC9UrxrrmKVSsQmER2wHOu3XozYTG_Eprmcc2T3MJkuBhNGPm34fKkR3m5ooiJuSwC-jvEkOp5mhuu4NZ4rwNeTCdfTy94Abeb9lY1nxdYbYEme9bKV3FKdB/s320/funnel+cloud.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Who can forget? "Terror on the Beach":</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1sp5EkCDzRow0a1MFHih3nbyPnAxA4prADwRSuqgFW2KWCvYe1PdWOhnQOYCDFtK0pwhvVBZj9HryQWMmWkeedf-6apdSCrqZRV-UASYh23n393vYLTOOaihhRZ91D5kVXE7/s1600/wrightsville+beach+stom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1sp5EkCDzRow0a1MFHih3nbyPnAxA4prADwRSuqgFW2KWCvYe1PdWOhnQOYCDFtK0pwhvVBZj9HryQWMmWkeedf-6apdSCrqZRV-UASYh23n393vYLTOOaihhRZ91D5kVXE7/s320/wrightsville+beach+stom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">(Say hello to my last beach vacation.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">3. I am susceptible--very susceptible--to motion sickness.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And let's just pause right there and fill in that "motion sickness" blank with the back story of: I cannot ride carnival rides that spin and this includes "the swings", or the tilt-a-whirl, or the spider. The "Blair Witch Project" makes me queasy. Air turbulence is something that often causes me to resort to Lamaze breathing techniques. I cannot sit in the back seat of a car during long journeys on winding country roads without my stomach starting to lurch around like a blindfolded Charlie Sheen on a 3-day bender. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am still traumatized by my first encounter with motion sickness that happened in the floorboard of a (let's just say) "vintage" Ford (I'm certain) on a summer day many decades ago. Back then, I had no idea why I suddenly felt "hot" and dizzy and sweaty and then...queasy...and then...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Vomit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Vomit...<strong><em>EVERYWHERE</em>.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't remember any other specific details like what happened afterward or who else was there. What I DO remember, however, and very vividly, is what I was wearing. And that would be shorts with a seam up the middle, a striped sleeveless shirt and a pair of red ball jets (tennis shoes). Those shorts and that shirt were this color:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcfXdeqQ-N2bhVgLSQFNie-JqpsgefvBup79zaWoMFzfNVDjjF7pKkkbO5AT0EL_w12OrhMmWGQwMrsj-VeCrPv0Exv8iAcXCdLKIz8pmL0_XwW8acyGVBeHzr7n8CUhZuEFR/s1600/car+sick+blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcfXdeqQ-N2bhVgLSQFNie-JqpsgefvBup79zaWoMFzfNVDjjF7pKkkbO5AT0EL_w12OrhMmWGQwMrsj-VeCrPv0Exv8iAcXCdLKIz8pmL0_XwW8acyGVBeHzr7n8CUhZuEFR/s1600/car+sick+blue.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A color that, for years afterward, I would associate in my mind with that hot, sick, close, dizzy, feeling that preceded the burning upchuck explosion that--horrible as it was to endure--didn't even lead to relief, but rather only to feeling a little <em>more</em> queasy and sicker and even <em>more</em> dizzy. A color that, just the mere sight of would cause my stomach to do a slow, sick roll. A color that I would forever after think of and refer to as and dread as and randomly expect others to recognize as: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">car sick blue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so, friends, with all THAT said. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Got any guesses as to my vacation destination?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What? Did you say:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE ON A SAIL BOAT?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What, are you kidding? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">THAT WOULD BE CRAZY! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, of course, that would be <em>exactly</em> where I'm going.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never fear, I'm taking a HUGE amount of photo stick mega-byte memory along with every POSSIBLE motion sickness remedy known to mankind: ginger lozenges, ginger gum, limes, sea bands, Meclizine, and a huge amount of researched strategies (widen your stance for one--sounds crazy but is supposedly helpful). I've been taking ginger for months now to get it built up in my system.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wish me luck. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And if I don't make it back? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have my express permission to laugh because, God knows, I would. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">[But watch this space. Something might post while I'm gone. ooooo...<em><strong>Spooky</strong></em>!]</span> </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-4613820045149728472012-06-06T09:56:00.000-07:002012-06-06T10:31:51.491-07:00Your Moment of Georgia O'Keefe (And wordy asides.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHR4yJXlc3IR4GBCCcAQwCb3VvIu6SQvHkKB73uN150dOVigeP7MK7UJ-QyNTpc-a3nPkcmCX8XRwkVVQvHuLwuneDdNfMDhU3tsF12F11IEcPggUzTJhF4glTQsvTO_8f4I3/s1600/orchid+bloom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHR4yJXlc3IR4GBCCcAQwCb3VvIu6SQvHkKB73uN150dOVigeP7MK7UJ-QyNTpc-a3nPkcmCX8XRwkVVQvHuLwuneDdNfMDhU3tsF12F11IEcPggUzTJhF4glTQsvTO_8f4I3/s320/orchid+bloom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">(Click for a larger version)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My orchid bloomed! My orchid bloomed!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Okay, so it's not that exciting. Says YOU. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But, still.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">(I'mwritingI'mwritingI'mwriting.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My clearance rack habit at Lowe's really paid off in this plant. Bought last fall droopy and utterly without bloom prospects for $5 (they often try to sell the larger plants like this when in full regalia for $45), this </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">phalaenopsis orchid cheerfully, if bloomlessly, inhabited my dining room window sill throughout the fall and winter. I pruned off the withered twig that held the blossoms I never witnessed after watching a 10-minute YouTube video on the subject, and sealed the fresh cut with a paste of cinnamon and water as instructed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm telling you, we could probably perform a simple appendectomy after watching a 10-minute YouTube video on the subject, amIright? Worked for Hemingway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Orsomethinglikethat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Anyway, as is usual, in my case, after said 10-minutes, I was a Phalaenopsis Expert. And an insufferable one at that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Questions?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Don't answer that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Friends?! The phalaenopsis, despite its delicate appearance and exotic reputation, is quite a hardy plant. Found in nature often clinging precariously to moss in trees, the plant is surprisingly cold tolerant and requires very little fussing. Give it a good all over drenching only when the moss is fairly dry to the touch (root rot is a danger). I feed mine perhaps every fourth or fifth watering (and I'll step that up now that it's in full bloom) with an 11-35-15 mix of water soluble orchid food at 1 tablespoon: 1 gallon of water (and drench the leaves with it too). I submit that my Shasta daisies are FAR more finicky and way more whiny--God FORBID the Shastas go a day without a drink--they'll collapse weak as a post-partum Melanie Hamilton at the first <em>hint</em> of drought while the phalaenopsis, meanwhile, will be across the way on its perch, having not seen drop one of water for a week and yet looking hale and hardy as a greasy-chinned Kelly Clarkson on a Thanksgiving tryptophan high. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The bloom you see here is as big as my hand (in other words ENORMOUS ask anybody) and has a twin on the other side of the vine directly opposite that is every bit as big and perfect as the one seen here. And if that's not enough, you can see the next bud on the verge of blooming (there are at least six more? Can you stand?). I'm telling you, this plant is on the verge of slapping on a set of eye lashes and busting into a chorus of, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Life is a cabaret ol' chum! Come to the the cabareeeeeeet!"* Just don't, for God's SAKE, put an orchid in direct sunlight. Indirect lighting only, please! Much like Sally Bowles, it prefers the shady side of life. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In conclusion I would only ask: What good is sitting alone in your room when you could be buying $5 Phalaenopsis?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Go hear the music play.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">[As an aside, I stumbled upon a documentary called "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTSSX-HbJ4g">Chris and Don</a>" on Netflix recently and loved it. It profiles the love story of Christopher Isherwood and Don Bachardy. The two met on a California beach in the early 1950's and their nontraditional relationship would last the next 35 years despite the 30-year gap in their ages (Isherwood is the older man). Perhaps these two and the film should have been the subject of this post rather than a side note because they are even more interesting (if you can imagine) than my orchid. Unfortunately, the post is written and spellchecked meaning it's too late to rethink the situation at this point. Alas! Unbeknownst to me, Isherwood wrote the book "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QS1l1mSDSo&feature=related">Cabaret</a>" based on his own experiences in 1920s Berlin AS WELL AS the novel from which the film "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aypyJtHzC70">A Single Man</a>" is drawn. I'm a little boggled to learn both stories sprang from the same mind. Isherwood, it turns out, is a brilliant writer and I of all people should have learned this years ago. I will be diving into his works ASAP. As an aside to my aside: Interestingly, Isherwood thought Liza Minelli "too good" to portray Sally Bowles. We can blame that on the !Fosse!, I'm sure.]</span> </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-57603840928744353842012-05-28T08:21:00.001-07:002012-05-28T08:21:24.796-07:00Micro Project: Twine Trellis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Jyn7YU7ahgg7a_osPUmKGpCvUblnuXKagiz4IvyG-KBD4Qm7sYBYfSG75i_GkModyl8s9j_-Hfn0_7Wm2XZypan7cA1I7lNAw1LdWcvx2UexMpSOn_r1Ws-rpcSCIEnmODhP/s1600/trellis+closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Jyn7YU7ahgg7a_osPUmKGpCvUblnuXKagiz4IvyG-KBD4Qm7sYBYfSG75i_GkModyl8s9j_-Hfn0_7Wm2XZypan7cA1I7lNAw1LdWcvx2UexMpSOn_r1Ws-rpcSCIEnmODhP/s320/trellis+closeup.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I continue to work on the post that will tell the full story of deck structures at my house, but meanwhile, with the <a href="http://www.bhg.com/gardening/plant-dictionary/annual/moonflower/">Moonflowers</a> and <a href="http://www.bhg.com/gardening/flowers/annuals/annual-vines-for-your-garden/">Morning Glories</a> and lots of other climbers up in the pots, it was high time to get something in place for them to wind around. The twine trellis is a cheap solution, and I even like the look of it naked though I doubt that will be the case for long. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not pictured are my first attempts at this kind of trellis on two of the other posts which are just <em>really</em> unattractive. I'll be taking those down and going with this design all around. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTbGdu9wla1ng1B8qaeIl83ncIzZ9BU1i3fWA2vWTMj_1XQ6YDz_Ybhvi6M642nTzSm4GEMkC-DJbICecTv_zm89NTLHSAAzDkMFZQHbIAnFeZ6XqTgkbuEzo36TNCyG4H2V9/s1600/trellis+long+shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTbGdu9wla1ng1B8qaeIl83ncIzZ9BU1i3fWA2vWTMj_1XQ6YDz_Ybhvi6M642nTzSm4GEMkC-DJbICecTv_zm89NTLHSAAzDkMFZQHbIAnFeZ6XqTgkbuEzo36TNCyG4H2V9/s320/trellis+long+shot.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-59133057197652265162012-05-27T08:03:00.000-07:002012-05-28T08:05:31.458-07:00Tallulah's First Swim<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3IXOPRaPhvAC08-6uzJi8wKrpZX687tKODqZYTHLEU1Bbg9XsudnhoXRndVwbwKRWN6apyqYhzl5drIQTPDrh9KdcZMt1XA3qf0haRH6fu7Dn4U7hmn4yQYGjjygOxg9fI66G/s1600/tallulah+in+the+pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3IXOPRaPhvAC08-6uzJi8wKrpZX687tKODqZYTHLEU1Bbg9XsudnhoXRndVwbwKRWN6apyqYhzl5drIQTPDrh9KdcZMt1XA3qf0haRH6fu7Dn4U7hmn4yQYGjjygOxg9fI66G/s320/tallulah+in+the+pool.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've written about about Tallulah's sadness at the loss of her big sis, but as pictured here, sadness for Tallulah is far and away the exception to the rule. Here she is enjoying her very first dip in the big pool (with BF Madge). The dog was about three parts terrified to one part happy about the whole experience overall. I managed to snap this photo while she was giving me a tentative grin. The jury's still out on whether or not she'll be a "water dog", but I'd give it about a 50/50. It's true she was terrified, but she did manage to settle down in our arms a few times and idle at "tolerant" for at least short intervals. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We'll see. </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-42862835166864173322012-05-24T22:52:00.002-07:002012-05-24T22:56:46.510-07:00More work on Pippa the Pop-Up<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[<em>Editors Note: This post follows on the one posted <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-jay-gatsby-got-up-in-pippa.html">here</a>.]</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, friends it's...ANOTHER BLOG POST!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Can ya believe it?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I know all three of you are dying of essitement. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And well you should be! Exciting things are happening around here. It's nonstop fun. Thrills! Chills! I keep starting blog posts! And then stopping blog posts! And starting blog posts! And then stopping blog posts! Do I want to discuss food? Projects? Gardening? Exes? Camping? Design? FEELINGS? I got lots of...FEEELINGS! (And exes. I keep getting their mail. Y'all? Where should I send your AARP stuff?) Also? Crises! And by that I mean other than my usual (ongoing) existential one! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And this is in addition to my long-term discussion about the merits of bone-in and bone-out hot wings and my ongoing (and all too often neglected) need to think about <a href="http://ih3.redbubble.net/image.7584658.9200/flat,550x550,075,f.jpg">blue</a>. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Couple all that with an almost constant need to log miles on my treadmill to keep myself looking at least somewhat more human than a manatee and my ever growing potted plant collection that is more attention needy than Kim Kartrashian in a manic phase and you've got yourself a busy, twitchy blogger.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">However!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I somehow managed to sandwich in a few additional projecting hours today. Following a recent consult with <a href="http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/nikki-may">Nikki May</a>, artiste extraordinaire, on my <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-jay-gatsby-got-up-in-pippa.html">table top project</a>, she suggested the decoupage finish, while beautiful, might benefit from a little "aging" aesthetically and be made more durable via more sealant. We decided I'd accomplish this by applying some stain and a few coats of clear lacquer that just happened to be lurking around on my garage storage shelves. This is I did today (one coat of stain and two of lacquer) in my garage which, near the end of the all-day project, I realized, happened to be hermetically sealed (the garage, that is).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It wasn't the stain fumes the got to me, it was the lacquer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And I didn't realize what was going on until that last coat when, despite slinging my head around and whinnying like a horse with a fly up it's nose for about five minutes, I ultimately couldn't shake the pounding sensation that had taken over between my temples. Bleary-eyed and dizzy, I realized I'd taken to mentally referring to my phone as "Iphona". Like a woman's name. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">As in rhymes with "Ramona". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">As in, </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><em>Gee, I wonder where I left Iphona</em>? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I glanced over at Tallulah who, either in fact or as a result of my compromised perception, looked to be listing to the left. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And it finally dawned on me that I'd become an unwitting participant in an accidental huffing situation. (I'm sure no one is surprised, given my criminal history.) I staggered over to the wall and slapped the garage door button, and soon Tallulah and I were gratefully gasping great gulps (alliteration points!) of summer air, free (at least relatively speaking) of harmful chemicals.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Not a minute too soon! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Happily, the huffing doesn't seem to have effected the outcome of the project. The stain, while subtle, did indeed add age as well as additional interest and the lacquer, though it's impossible to photograph, added a richer, smoother quality to the surface of the table which will most definitely translate to more durability.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">To review, here's what the surface of the table looked like to begin with:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSukJgP5ds7l-wg5lZVUkBsotqP3ewXK6GsR9vzXU7pYzEeLlv6dUs1ncF6zUv15K4wK5t_l7Ii__fg8WiuE98HNLE5iv4ByXEaBL-HBLAku-ApPQKqC0zRQjB7yI7FXAo_Cc/s1600/table+edge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSukJgP5ds7l-wg5lZVUkBsotqP3ewXK6GsR9vzXU7pYzEeLlv6dUs1ncF6zUv15K4wK5t_l7Ii__fg8WiuE98HNLE5iv4ByXEaBL-HBLAku-ApPQKqC0zRQjB7yI7FXAo_Cc/s320/table+edge.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">White laminate over particle board peeling and actively crumbling at the edges. After <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-jay-gatsby-got-up-in-pippa.html">the application of Gatsby</a> and many coats of decoupage:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFUxvhjgfpG8YQp-145_dIHaqUo8OvJdnlp_nz96YCiYdmdOA1UyWASpBs1AMTI5ReMl3Ys2zX8Ykj4dEY4BVFkFYkB08kBUbgNZ2assykrsZ_qXhZpRY6ko5H8LrUl9QUssq/s1600/expanse+dry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFUxvhjgfpG8YQp-145_dIHaqUo8OvJdnlp_nz96YCiYdmdOA1UyWASpBs1AMTI5ReMl3Ys2zX8Ykj4dEY4BVFkFYkB08kBUbgNZ2assykrsZ_qXhZpRY6ko5H8LrUl9QUssq/s320/expanse+dry.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Much better. And after today's work:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">A little more detail in this photo (maybe?):</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnUXa-_1tI2il4rKXwwE5J6bmxColXPz3W6xvH0zrK7bcC8fQdiezTy-iWGf6wM03JsDWGVAadZ96VzNnPrIXVfv5gPOm_Djuz7hbxEYszdqpu_0zDVeuAOfh-ofG2gl4Adal/s1600/laquer+detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnUXa-_1tI2il4rKXwwE5J6bmxColXPz3W6xvH0zrK7bcC8fQdiezTy-iWGf6wM03JsDWGVAadZ96VzNnPrIXVfv5gPOm_Djuz7hbxEYszdqpu_0zDVeuAOfh-ofG2gl4Adal/s320/laquer+detail.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Pippa's counter tops are made of exactly the same material--laminate over particle board-- as the table top and they all sport exactly the same problem: crumbling and chipping edges. Following some Internet research on pop-ups, we've decided to remove the counter tops entirely and replace them with wood. The plan is to decide on and apply the finish to that wood tomorrow (to stain or not to stain, that is the question). Once lacquered, surfaces dry to the touch in several hours, but it takes a full week for the stuff to cure entirely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Pippa's booth cushions are currently covered in a blue plaid material (I will get before photos up--pinky swear!) that, while not the worst in the world, just aren't my style. Tonight, I'm happy to report, I've made some strides toward picking the fabric that will replace the plaid. For the booth:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Seriously how delightfully cute, retro, and "camp" is that? I want to die of love for it every time I look at it. And the colors? Gray? Turquoise? I love the yellow accent. Love, love, love. This fabric will cover the booth and trim and I like this for the rest:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">GRAY! Surprised, aren't you? Outdoorsy? Yes! Gray? Yes! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I love this too, and I think, though both fabrics are prints, they are harmonious enough in color to be pleasing to the eye when seen together in the small space. I've ordered samples of both fabrics and, barring any unforeseen issues with quality, print or color (cross fingers!), hope to order it in quantity soon. An upholsterer (in the NashVegas area) has been recommended and I'm hopeful we can make progress on this (HUGE) aspect of project soon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Can NOT wait! </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-23788348149576439702012-05-24T11:13:00.002-07:002012-05-24T11:13:42.911-07:00KS vs V-J-J<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphgUkayDbi_xkgEbR3O1k2r9xl3S2kKkns9OmOpqTtNqivbJ6UmXPwK9DZHLcZ6CBIjeVM0qjy7HHqecOeie5AusyPZWLLZKuzpF51__GNNwFtMNg3V7_kpXnHKREBYkqGsk3/s1600/NFS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphgUkayDbi_xkgEbR3O1k2r9xl3S2kKkns9OmOpqTtNqivbJ6UmXPwK9DZHLcZ6CBIjeVM0qjy7HHqecOeie5AusyPZWLLZKuzpF51__GNNwFtMNg3V7_kpXnHKREBYkqGsk3/s320/NFS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Read something brilliant today. <a href="http://marmalade-meg.blogspot.com/2012/05/story-of-how-at-38-years-old-i-found.html?spref=fb">Right here</a>. </span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-21927698752869843592012-05-23T08:27:00.000-07:002012-05-23T08:27:41.001-07:00The Gatsby Trailer<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The movie has a Christmas, 2012 release date. And, yes, 3-D.</span><br />
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rARN6agiW7o" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-7193967275603368492012-05-21T23:30:00.000-07:002012-05-21T23:30:16.092-07:00Punch up your Summer<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had a great weekend with friends both old and new. Friday was especially decadent beginning with a five-hour breakfast on my deck (inside and beneath a structure now known as "C-3" watch this space for an explanation...someday) and a girl party that rolled on from morning until afternoon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">And, face it, it wouldn't be a girl party without a) brunch and b) booze. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I'll leave you to your own devices for brunch, but today's summer sipping suggestion is this: punch. I do still love to throw together some <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2010/08/peach-sangria-drink-no-summer-party.html">Peach Sangria</a>, but I've gotten into the habit of punches for get-togethers for a couple of reasons: it's easy and there's just no limit to the variations. You can generally use what you have on hand, not to mention it stretches your booze buck. I improvised a sort of lemonade punch this day that was a big hit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">While I prefer not-very-sweet drinks as a rule, outdoor summer sipping calls for a little sweetness, I think. And, please. Don't just throw in sugar. Make a simple syrup. It doesn't take that long and you never have to contend with separated sugar floating to the bottom of your pitcher or being otherwise inadequately blended (SO annoying). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">We'll call today's recipe:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">TROPICAL LEMON</span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">ADE PUNCH</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 to 1.25 cups sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 cup water</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The juice and pulp of four lemons plus one more lemon for garnish</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 cup to 1.5 cups Coconut Rum (more if you dare)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1 (large) bottle sparkling water (I used most of a bottle of <a href="http://www.finewaters.com/bottled_water/germany/apollinaris.asp">Apollonaris</a>) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Mint (if you have it. I do and then forgot to use it!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Chopped fresh fruit (if you have it) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Make the simple syrup: mix the sugar and water in a small sauce pan and boil until the sugar dissolves; cool in the fridge. When the syrup is cool, throw a handful of mint (if using) into a pitcher and add the lemon juice, cooled syrup and then add the Rum (you could use regular rum but the Coconut definitely gives it that "tropical" feel) and pour in the sparkling water, slowly, after half or so tasting as you go. Stop pouring when you're happy with the mix. Add more rum or not. Serve over the chopped fruit in short glasses with crushed ice and garnish with mint sprigs and lemon slices. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">If you don't have lemons, you could substitute any frozen fruit concentrate mix (lemon, pink lemonade, raspberry, limeade...anything, really) for the the simple syrup and lemon juice. You could substitute any fresh citrus fruit for the lemons: limes, oranges, grapefruit. Vodka would work as well, it just isn't as festive as coconut rum which is the booze of Summer punch as far I'm concerned. Just get a <a href="https://www.malibu-rum.com/us/">bottle</a>. It will entice even the confirmed non-drinker to enjoy a glass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Sandi: former confirmed non-drinker.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">As you might imagine, I am SO proud.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Night time summer punch calls for something a little stronger, if you ask me. And y'all know I love me some tequila. Though I absolutely probably do not need to drink it. But, of course, this deters me not at all! I cannot take credit for this recipe, that goes to my good friends at Southern Living who have yet to steer me wrong on a recipe for absolutely anything. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">You can drink this punch for any reason at all but, for the obvious reason, it's dynamite with your spicy foods, your guacamole's, your fish tacos and fajitas AND barbecue. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Southern Living bills it as a "game day punch" or a "man's drink" no doubt for the powerful punch it packs. And, yes 'Margarita Snobs' this one's for you too, because--hello?-- I <em>am</em> a Margarita Snob. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">BEER-'GARITA PUNCH</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span itemprop="amount">1 cup</span><span itemprop="name"> frozen limeade concentrate, thawed</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span itemprop="preparation"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><div itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient">
<span itemprop="amount">1 cup</span><span itemprop="name"> tequila</span><span itemprop="preparation"> </span></div>
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<span itemprop="amount">1/2 cup</span><span itemprop="name"> orange liqueur (Triplesec)</span><span itemprop="preparation"> </span><span itemprop="preparation"> </span></div>
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<span itemprop="amount">1/2 </span><span itemprop="name"> to 1 cup cold beer</span></div>
<div class="hasDeal cboxElement" itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient">
<span itemprop="name">Lime for garnish</span><span itemprop="preparation"> </span><br />
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<span itemprop="preparation">Note to yourself: Unless there are only two of you? Always, <em>always </em>double the recipe using all the frozen concentrate and a whole beer and, of course, double the other stuff. Doesn't matter the beer--just whatever you like or have on hand, be it light or dark, fancy or cheap, Corona or not. B</span><span itemprop="preparation">e sure and pour in the beer just before serving so the whole thing has fizz. Again, serve in short glasses over crushed ice and rim them with salt if you like. Also, I kind of warn everyone that the drink is stout. Right before we climb into the hot tub. </span><span itemprop="preparation">After that? All bets are off. Because everybody, without exception, loves the stuff. </span></div>
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<span itemprop="preparation">So, happy sipping, friends! And please email me your favorite punch recipes. I'm always looking to add to the repertoire. </span></div>
</span>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-90229011578196250862012-05-17T10:43:00.000-07:002012-05-17T10:43:17.784-07:00Dim all the Lights<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The last time I saw Donna Summer was, appropriately enough, on a hot Summer night at Memphis Botanical Garden, August 21, 2010. And let me emphasize the <em>hot</em> part again. If you've never been to Memphis in August, I assure you, you cannot possibly fully appreciate the situation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Regardless, Donna put on a hell of a show. She sounded fantastic as ever and never seemed ruffled by the heat which had to be even more extreme on the stage and through three full costume changes. The red satin suit she wore absolutely had to be the most suffocating frock under the circumstances. I was nowhere near the stage and not in possession of a proper zoom lens, but I'm posting here the better (though none I'd classify as good) images I did capture for posterity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There were people of all shapes, sizes, colors, ages and stripes dancing up a storm in the garden that night. Donna rocked it out, I have to say. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>
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<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=109615" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F88442962%40N00%2Fsets%2F72157629772372042%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F88442962%40N00%2Fsets%2F72157629772372042%2F&set_id=72157629772372042&jump_to=" width="400" height="300"></embed></object>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17107688.post-43431048633467901752012-05-15T13:54:00.001-07:002012-05-15T14:22:18.034-07:00How Jay Gatsby got up in Pippa<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A couple of things: despite the fact that my previous dialogue about camping trailed off <a href="http://www.bizzyblogging.blogspot.com/2011/05/camp-adventure-recap-park-two.html">here</a>, my enthusiasm in real life for the past time has not waned. Just so you know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm a little obsessed, in fact. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So obsessed that I'm now in possession (seriously, you won't believe this) of a gently used pop up. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5KeLX3sTQzaKop-FhXvBf9DmQJUx5sKJZ4EQqwqzOLtxIAOXat3sy_BQ2UNbh1xolSYCZfJ4A4xj-MvpanpPau9Yo_UbLWoZZVwO9gMqfcQwp9DAI8tTfhEU_od52EX5oTgU/s1600/pippa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5KeLX3sTQzaKop-FhXvBf9DmQJUx5sKJZ4EQqwqzOLtxIAOXat3sy_BQ2UNbh1xolSYCZfJ4A4xj-MvpanpPau9Yo_UbLWoZZVwO9gMqfcQwp9DAI8tTfhEU_od52EX5oTgU/s1600/pippa.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Say hello to Pippa. The pop-up camper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">(Not even kidding. Who am I?)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That's right, friends, if you're keeping score, (and why would you?) my first camping trip included a six-person tent, my second camping trip included a six-person tent and a two-person tent, and my as yet to be embarked upon <em>third</em> camping trip will include an ancient at least partially redecorated pop-up named Pippa and central air.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you're a little nervous about my <em>fourth</em> camping trip, I'm right there with you. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although I'm fairly convinced that my camping equipment advances will not evolve past this pop-up any time soon--if ever--(though you have to be crazy not to covet <a href="http://enjoycupcakes.com/photos/vintage-cupcake-trailer/">this</a> or <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?um=1&hl=en&sa=N&biw=946&bih=543&tbm=isch&tbnid=YTdf1d1jJrPEMM:&imgrefurl=http://www.roamingtimes.com/b/articles/cool-small-travel-trailers-1.aspx&docid=BhOzkVGcXK65sM&imgurl=http://www.roamingtimes.com/consumer/images/tb.jpg&w=530&h=292&ei=B7KyT_GKNebC2gWX7ry_CA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=272&vpy=250&dur=308&hovh=167&hovw=303&tx=172&ty=111&sig=106763116453438098768&page=4&tbnh=105&tbnw=190&start=28&ndsp=12&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:28,i:145">this</a> or <a href="http://tinyhouseblog.com/travel-trailers/the-opera/">this</a>) owing not only to certain budgetary constraints, but also to a singular aversion (as I'm fond of proclaiming to anyone with the misfortune of touring my new pop-up) to, </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Driving around with my own poop sloshing around in a tank behind me," </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">which is my Very Special way of proclaiming (possibly as a mantra) that I shall NEVAH EVAH buy into the mindset that is trailer camping, that bourgeois American past time that includes a multi-zillion dollar politically incorrect gas-guzzling drivable housebus on wheels complete with (God forbid) a bathroom ((skeeve)) and television, satellite linkage, microwave, and Bose sound system. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Au contraire! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll be roughing it! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Save, of course, for the minimal climate controlled, weather-tight, curtain-enclosed enclave that is Pippa my "back-to-nature" tent camper. Yes, I'll be forging a path through the wilderness within spitting distance of the IGA whilst relentlessly stalking Sasquatch with my dull axe and posting photos of my progress via Facebook, don't you worry, while leaving no trace of my invasion upon the land. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because I'm environmentally friendly like that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Among the many advantages of Pippa like, say, improved arm strength thanks to the hours of manual cranking she requires (more on that later), is the fact that there is lots of tiny (TINY!) stuff involved. She comes equipped with a tiny 3-burner portable stove top, for instance. And a tiny refrigerator. The space inside is generally tiny, though the beds are surprisingly expansive with one being a double and the other queen-sized. Pippa's advanced age (she doesn't like to discuss the exact number) means that the interior fabric and style choices are rather in need of updating and some of her finishes and surfaces are, shall we delicately say, a little worse for the wear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which brings us (finally) to today's project. While I do plan on bringing you traditional before/after photos of Pippa's interior, today I'm featuring but a small project involving her tiny table top. You know the kind, all campers have a small booth with a removable table top. In Pippa's case, as is usual, the booth and table top fully convert to yet another (TINY!) sleeping space. Pippa's table top however, as stated earlier, is one of those items a little worse for the wear. The white laminate was chipping around the edges like this:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAFH7Ir3bUY6SbZLfpcahs6LJwXJavW8PZUbF2hMl-N2pjFs2jhYpOndDz15RjyORw6yeqoxtu5CAWeyHf5zheSgrcYSLNjuD5-jSPAu48x6KsSeq8UNbo3iPsNEebBVwwL5x/s1600/table+edge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPAFH7Ir3bUY6SbZLfpcahs6LJwXJavW8PZUbF2hMl-N2pjFs2jhYpOndDz15RjyORw6yeqoxtu5CAWeyHf5zheSgrcYSLNjuD5-jSPAu48x6KsSeq8UNbo3iPsNEebBVwwL5x/s320/table+edge.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Along with the problem, you see pictured there the solution to the left--a page torn from one of several copies of "The Great Gatsby" that I have scattered about the house. I believe I've waxed poetic about my penchant for endlessly rereading certain classic novels with TGG being perhaps my number one choice in times of trouble. Poor Jay Gatsby never ceases to soothe somehow. And so armed with the prose of F. Scott, one enthusiastic helper recruited from next door, </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xlWBkMA2pOS2ErywyCinKAUnjfRG7jM2NWndMeu6L1eX0aOULe1c01VQhBCEtyQuivK58RGAMk_U_OSx1wuoolBxVcunl2q-jLlFG8tIhiCrC_haaESbuTSMnltSwzVEO4QC/s1600/luke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xlWBkMA2pOS2ErywyCinKAUnjfRG7jM2NWndMeu6L1eX0aOULe1c01VQhBCEtyQuivK58RGAMk_U_OSx1wuoolBxVcunl2q-jLlFG8tIhiCrC_haaESbuTSMnltSwzVEO4QC/s320/luke.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">a few brushes, and a bottle of the ever-popular <a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?hl=en&q=mod+podge&psj=1&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_cp.r_qf.,cf.osb&biw=946&bih=543&wrapid=tlif133711259810310&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=shop&cid=5238976449977299018&sa=X&ei=HbiyT6LQJMXg2QWmnJmfBw&ved=0CHUQ8wIwAg#">Mod Podge</a> which, comfortingly, seems not to have changed one whit in the thirty or so years since I discovered its wonder during a Vacation Bible School class in which I shellacked a picture of a blond-haired, blue-eyed Savior to a slab of particle board in the basement of Mississippi Baptist Church one summer and called it "art", and we were ready to transform. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It didn't take long. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie421e4Xz1jqPdyfjs2lpStWaECUYf7Rij6r8qTbINmk4IRVO1szTv2Bv4TRWv2v-2euTfA7rAHfsUSAikyCe5ZPk3P1YLONGYcWfXoSqz3iFSEDETX4oSA3KyV0B31gotCFYv/s1600/expanse+wet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie421e4Xz1jqPdyfjs2lpStWaECUYf7Rij6r8qTbINmk4IRVO1szTv2Bv4TRWv2v-2euTfA7rAHfsUSAikyCe5ZPk3P1YLONGYcWfXoSqz3iFSEDETX4oSA3KyV0B31gotCFYv/s320/expanse+wet.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here you see the entire expanse of the table top fully decoupaged, but still not dry. (And, in case you don't know the very complicated secret to successful decoupaging, it is...MORE MOD PODGE! More of the stuff painted under and over your material of choice. Layer upon layer. Think that's not enough? Slather some more on! I'm convinced the stuff is really just Elmer's glue in a different container.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">We didn't pay much attention to placement or pattern but I did think to memorialize the iconic first and last pages together near the center:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyL152Kv4CmhObFCxs2DIpinD5JrvtddGSLI2zvhMjbMWLl5__4M3XXaCLKdvVH2UsfPWTbhg_meRPP_qAemiODpxYJ5bWK9Tw6sP9tNSRUJJm6l_uHW6msQtCohTXzVUR41gr/s1600/first+and+last+page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyL152Kv4CmhObFCxs2DIpinD5JrvtddGSLI2zvhMjbMWLl5__4M3XXaCLKdvVH2UsfPWTbhg_meRPP_qAemiODpxYJ5bWK9Tw6sP9tNSRUJJm6l_uHW6msQtCohTXzVUR41gr/s320/first+and+last+page.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And if you're thinking to yourself, "Damn, that isn't much of a project," you'd be absolutely right. But I'm simple myself, I suppose. I cannot convey the absolute joy the coming together of this obvious idea (and one I'm sure that is done all the time) brought me. The thought that we'd undertake many camping adventures and enjoy many "wilderness" (ahem) meals atop some of the most skillfully woven sentences and paragraphs in all of literature made me nothing short of giddy. I could not contain my excitement as the finished project began to emerge and it became evident that the plan was going to work, the pages were going to adequately cover the surface and eliminate the peeling edge problem as well as be practical, original, and attractive. Much as I love a good painting project, it definitely just would not compare to this: </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexyxmvfZt572RtuAmazoT3eaqNVqpEYDMMl2oqIN6uLNktOXoMDVYtNSkvCDH4ZIdh5WMfzvH0ztagxdwVVpZ8FKjR8MST8chc_wzTOuZLgk2CbYTOZU6L-lNG91xPwKGgbJQ/s1600/expanse+dry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexyxmvfZt572RtuAmazoT3eaqNVqpEYDMMl2oqIN6uLNktOXoMDVYtNSkvCDH4ZIdh5WMfzvH0ztagxdwVVpZ8FKjR8MST8chc_wzTOuZLgk2CbYTOZU6L-lNG91xPwKGgbJQ/s320/expanse+dry.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. </span></div>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12724792675755603299noreply@blogger.com2