Following Hurricane Matthew, I wrote about reusing our bathtub filled with emergency, hurricane water to wash our hound dog, Sadie.A Bathtub of Hurricane Prep Water? This year, we filled pots and pitchers with water in preparation for the very devastating Hurricane Florence that hit the Carolinas and Virginia.
Not wanting to waste the remaining water, we used it to refill the dogs’ water pot, for washing dishes, and for boiling eggs.
First, I used the water for the “float test” to determine if the two dozen expired eggs in the fridge were ok. This time, our electricity was only out briefly from the storm; otherwise, there would be no need to test the eggs. If you’re not familiar with the “float test” it is simply placing eggs in water to see if they sink or float. If they float, don’t eat them. They’re better in the compost pile than in your belly. Here’s a brief video of the process.
After seeing our empty-nester treehouse come down last week, many people from all around shared how they felt the pull of childhood fun coming to an end. End? Never! Transform, yes. We live by rules such as Waste not, want not and all kinds of cliches like that. As we will one day transform like a twinkle of a star, so did Mr. Treehouse. Thanks to Dan the man and his buddies, John and Zane, within forty-eight hours, Mr. Treehouse became a new plaything for young and old alike. He is now useful for woods-walkers who no longer climb like squirrels. On morning walks, I’m sure we’ll enjoy parking on the planks to watch nature more often on Mr. Bridge than we would in Mr. Treehouse. Just because we used-to-could, doesn’t mean we should, right?
So now, for your viewing pleasure, meet Mr. Former Treehouse Now Bridge Patio Thingy. Yes, that’s a long name but just go with it. We look forward to many years of lounging, dancing, camping, and picnicking on his new form. It’s almost like he had plastic surgery, only for free and without pain medicine. It’s all good. Don’t be sad. He’s pretty happy with his new snazzy self. So are we. Picture lying on a sleeping bag, listening to crickets, frogs and the stream running underneath you. Sounds delightful. The adult kids may never sleep inside again.
There comes a time, when the nest is empty, we push back the tears and make room for other things; like hammocks and memories. Today’s the day. Once a sturdy sight for kid’s eyes. Barn red siding, climbing pegs, and a yellow slide, you were a group project and a work of art. A tree house for people and squirrels. Now you’ve done your job, and it’s time to rest. Come on down. We’ll share our memories in the shade of the very same young trees that both supported and later stressed your floorboards, as they grew tall. Welcome to a new season.
Don’t worry birdies, if we ever need another tree house, we can build a new one.
As a writer and parent, I know the importance of inspiration for new ideas. For me, nature and especially the beach are where my five senses heighten like hair standing up in gooseflesh. Thoughts flow in faster than I can put them into long-term memory. Taking photos helps me save those treasured tidbits until I can jot them down.
We realize you kids know everything but right now you just sit there and listen to older and wiser heads.
My latest thoughts whirled around how much the shoreline is filled with diversity. Various colors, shapes, conditions, sizes, and ages of shells, serve as perfect analogies of human lives. On my latest beach trip, I filled an empty trail mix bag with sand and brought it home to use as a backdrop to my seashell wisdom ideas. It was too darn hot for straight thinking, playing in the hot sand in a heat wave, so I opted to play in our air conditioning instead.
Nothing like a little grit with your sweet and salty.
I collected shells of all descriptions. Nearly perfect and broken, old and not so old, plain and colorful. A cross-section of mankind.
Back in the cool air, playtime began with a cookie sheet full of sand, the perfect sandbox for shell play. Believe it or not, this sandbox kept my husband and me occupied for quite a while arranging and rearranging our pretend humans in the form of shells. I didn’t tell him it felt like playing with our kids again, making up stories for their dolls or GI Joe’s to act out. Only this time it was with my idea man of a husband.
No sass needed. Come under the umbrella before you have a heat stroke.
I’d arrange the shell people and ask what he thought was happening. Our ideas were often very different which suggests this activity may serve as good prompts for writers or parents. These photos and captions represent only a few of the scenarios we developed.
I like your natural gray. I wish I had the nerve to go natural. Ready to play Bunco?
Okay you can go in the water but only an inch deep. And you girls hang onto the twins.
Why do we have to put on more sunscreen?
For parents and writers who need to get in out of the heat or stimulate some new ideas, setting up an indoor sandbox is simple and effective. It’s also easy enough to sweep up the wayward sand, so no need to fear a big old mess.
On my morning beach walk, I met a delightful new friend who shared her own shell analogy. She said,”I’ve noticed how even the beautiful, complete shells still have grit inside. I rinse them and it reminds me of how baptism can make us grit free.”
Morning shelling is relaxation at its best.
I’d love for you to share additional caption ideas for these photos or let me know if this spurs your own creativity.
Seeing our similarities shouldn’t be so hard. We’re all solid citizens and live on the same beach.
An imperfect circle of dead fish littered the beach near the water’s edge. How sad. I asked another morning walker, “Do you think they were discarded by a surf-fisherman who was using them as bait?”
He lifted his brows while widening his eyes and said, “Either that or some sharks were out there having a good time.”
“I’ll go with my theory, but thanks for that,” I said as I smiled, turned, and continued my stroll. Beach walkers are such fun folks.
On my return trek toward my shady umbrella site, I could see from a distance, three seagulls enjoying a fish bait buffet. My smile flattened, as I witnessed a photographer get too close and off they flew. He took his camera and left. That’s what your zoom lens is for, Buddy.
I stayed back a ways and watched as one little white gull returned and snagged a bite, only to be scared away by a pack of runners pounding the sand. Poor little gull waded about eight feet away to wait out the traffic.
My mom would say, “Somebody left the gate open,” meaning traffic was heavy. Each time he got up the courage to move in for a taste, another runner zipped by. He retreated again to his safe spot in the shallow water.
I wanted to toss him a couple of slimy morsels but he would have flown for sure if I strode that close. The tide was going out but one rogue wave fell just barely far enough to pull back a few tiny, iridescent fish for him to snag and munch on. Nature ruled once again. The fish didn’t die in vain and the little gull had a lovely brunch. I wonder if his buddies were watching.
Distracted as usual from my to do list, I spend far too much time on line reading other people’s blogs and enjoying chats with some of those bloggers. Those conversations, often spur me on to write more blog posts, which is a good thing. I figure I should do so while the ideas are on top of my memory file. Was that clever or confusing? Blogging would be a good way to spend my time now, except I’m hibernating at the beach for a few days, to work toward finishing my ever-pending book within this decade. Actually, I’ll finish sometime this year if I learn to concentrate.
“Hey Squirrel, what’s in that feeder?”
There is a constant influx of captivating topics that swirl around in my head like clippings under a lawnmower, flinging toward the chute. They have to escape or the machinery becomes clogged. I have to launch that idea out into the grass. I mean the world. Hopefully you get that I’m attempting to make an analogy. Here’s an example of how my blogging mind works.
If you give a writer an idea
She’ll need to chew on it
If she chews on it
She’ll need to write it
If she writes it
She’ll need to edit it
If she edits it
She’ll need to share it
If she shares it
She’ll need to monitor it
If she monitors it
She’ll need to respond to responses
If she responds to responses
She’ll get another idea
If she gets another idea
She’ll need to chew on it
Now that I got that out of my head, I’ll get to work on the book. Until the next idea takes hold and distractibility wins over. Then there’s that crowded beach beneath my tenth floor window. I see one good empty spot near the water where my chair and umbrella would fit between the sea of umbrellas like a puzzle piece.
My mother’s memory technique would never work in our house. She uses a kitchen table candy dish filled with dark chocolate Hershey Nuggets for more than maintaining healthy cholesterol levels. If she wants to remind herself to take the trash out to the street, she sets one nugget on the table. Since it’s out of place, in her ultra-organized house, she’ll see it and remember.
There’s no way a wandering piece of candy would work in our house. When our family visits Mom, we’ve ruined her system more than once by putting the candy back in the dish. Well, ok, fine. Sometimes we eat it. So we forget to remember her memory device.
Once when she was trying to remember the exterminator was coming, she said, “You just ate the bug man.” Then she flipped a coaster across the room to leave on the floor as her backup memory plan.
Back when I wore rings, before my menopausal, salt-sensitive fingers started swelling, I used to add my right-hand ring onto my left-hand wedding ring finger. The three ring circles were so annoying, I remembered unwritten items on my to-do list.
When I’m too lazy write a sticky-note, I use Mom’s method and put an item in a weird place as a memory nudge. For example, I might wonder, Why’s that nasty sneaker on my dresser? Oh, yeah. So I’ll take a walk. It has to be odd to stand out amidst the other out-of-place objects in our house.
I send myself an e-mail reminder, now and then. The problem with that is, my email in-box has 547 unopened emails so the hints the rest of the world already sent smother my reminders. Maybe I should use that reminder app on my phone. I forget to do that.
On a recent visit with Mom, when I spotted a drink coaster on the white carpet between her unoccupied, trendy leather recliner and the kitchen, I bent over to pick it up. A voice from the adjoining sunroom, said, “Don’t you move my coaster. Remember, tomorrow’s trash day.”
Looking up from her homemade drop-biscuit-strawberry shortcake, she grinned.
“Of course it is. Silly me. Maybe I’ll have a nugget since you’ve switched to coasters.”
Who knew a hound dog named Sadie would become such a celebrity? Almost losing her to severe kidney cancer and her surviving the surgery is pretty miraculous and her thriving is incredible. My friends and family enjoy keeping up with her progress since her massive, cancerous left kidney was removed. This isn’t surprising as they love the goofy girl. Then there are the bloggers and social media friends who keep tabs on this funny hound they’ve never met. Thanks so much for your interest and concern.
At Sadie’s checkups with the surgeon or the oncologist, I feel like the bodyguard for a rock star. She marches in like she’s on a red carpet and announces her presence with a hound dog howl and a whipping black tail. In the suburbs of Charlotte, a howling, long-legged hunting dog, that doesn’t hunt by the way, is quite a novelty. A head-turner. Especially when she begins barking at the checkout desk, announcing it’s 3:30 and therefore is her Lupper time. (That’s an early meal between lunch and suppertime.) Her internal clock is never wrong. She’s like a barking dinner bell.
The miracle dog’s blood work looks great. There’s a little protein in her urine but chemo can cause that. A week and a half of taking chemo pills is not diminishing her appetite even a little bit. She’s hungry around the clock and gaining a few pounds. Our other dogs get treats when she does and hopefully they don’t fill out too much as we try to fatten Sadie up. We love having her home romping around like her old self. And she smells good thanks to her daddy Dan giving her a bath. You can rub her slick black fur and not worry about how bad your hand will smell. Thanks for asking for updates. Here’s a video of Her Royal Highness, Sadie, after the latest checkup.