Remember Remember the Titans? I love that movie.
Remember when Coach Boone said, “You’re overcooking my grits?” Cracked me up. Being a northerner, I had never heard that expression.
But now I utter it sometimes.
Like I did on Saturday evening when the hub and I went to the lake for a little after dinner fishing/reading.
Sitting in his SUV waiting for our turn to launch we witnessed all manner of buffoonery.
There was the guy who had his jet ski tied to the dock while he was off doing who knows what.
When he finally returned it took him forever to load it onto his trailer.
After he finally pulled it out of the water he stopped broadside across 3 of the four launching lanes to do who knows what.
Are you kidding me!?
I got out of the truck.
“Excuse me, the tie down is ahead.”
“You can’t block the launch lanes. You have to pull up and tie down there.”
Two docks were taken up an awfully long time by guys who don’t know how to load a boat unto a trailer.
One guy finally got his boat out and then stopped broadside across three lanes.
I got out of the truck.
“Sir,” I tried to say nicely, recognizing that he was probably stressed by now, “the tie down is ahead.”
“You have to pull ahead to tie down so you don’t block the launch lanes.”
The guy in the truck pulled ahead the WRONG WAY while his buddy followed on foot behind him.
“Sir! You’re going the wrong way. Look at the arrows on the pavement.”
Like I said, buffoonery.
The guy at the other dock left his boat and returned with a battery.
That’s when I said it.
“He’s going to tie up a dock while he does boat repairs? He’s overcooking my grits.”
“Why doesn’t he beach his boat to change the battery?,” I asked, kinda’ LOUDLY, with the window rolled down, hoping he’d hear me.
Once a lane finally opened up the hub, a seasoned professional, had his boat launched in less than 2 minutes. I pulled ahead and parked the trailer while he beached the boat and waited for me. He’s a good boating citizen.
As we pulled away from the docks I remarked, “The downside of the upswing in the economy is that the launch is now flooded with first-time boat owners.”
“So you should retire and hang out at the boat launch all day. You could make a boatload of money launching newbies in the morning and pulling them out in the evening. You could fish in between.”
He liked that idea.
“Or at least teach them basic boat launching techniques and etiquette.”
“The problem,” he said, “is they tie the boat to the dock and then try to back the trailer in under it. And it doesn’t work well that way.”
Did you hear that rookies?
- Beach your boat next to the launch (proper etiquette so others can launch while you go get your trailer).
- Back your trailer into the water.
- Drive your boat up onto the trailer (this technique makes it so much easier and quicker to get your boat on straight.
- Now pull your boat the rest of the way forward with the winch.
- Get in your truck, drive it out of the water PAST THE LAUNCHING LANES, to the designated tie down area.
Before I have to get out of my truck.
The hub had fishing to do.
While I was serenaded by the bells of St. Mary’s Seminary (see it behind the trees?)
Please, for the love of God and my grits, float this sage advice to the boaters and jet-skiers in your life.
Especially if they live around here.
When the daily prompt hit my inbox this morning at 8:04, I knew there would be nothing savage about this day.
My mom, the hub and I had plans to go to a nearby church for a carillon recital.
Every summer Sunday the community is invited to stroll the gardens and listen as guest carillonneurs from around the world give a thirty minute recital at 10:15 am and then another at 12 noon.
Today’s carillonneur is from Ottawa.
The carillon is in the tower behind the haze.
Here’s a haze-free view.
And here are some interesting facts from the Summer Carillon Series brochure:
High in the tower is the 77-bell Kirk carillon—tied for the world’s largest in number of bells. The carillon was cast by the 360-year-old royal bell foundry of Petit & Fritsen, The Netherlands. The largest bell, the Bourdon, is 6’10” in diameter and weighs over six tons. The smallest bell is only 6” in diameter and weighs fourteen pounds.
Thirty six of the bells may be played from the organ console or the computer system interface—without dynamic control. However, the full 77 bells are played by striking wooden batons and pedals on the mechanical keyboard, or clavier, located in a cabin at the top of the belfry. Five of the large bells form a peal, swinging freely. The clock features are controlled by a state of the art computer system. Midway up the tower is the Marriott Memorial Library, a practice clavier, and the computer interfaces.
I’ve been in that belfry. There’s quite a view from up there.
So we went and strolled the gardens and listened. This is the church’s backyard.
See the lake back there?
See my mom and the hub?
See how pretty my mom is?
She’s going to be 87 in exactly one week and I think she looks pretty. darn. good.
Just one of several sculptures in the garden.
To top it off, right next to the parking lot is a small vegetable garden.
Just in case you want to listen too.
Now if I could just figure out how to impart the aroma of this happy jar with its peach slices, strawberries, blueberries and a splash of limoncello.
The basil is for tonight’s linguine.
When my phone starts playing Bring It On Home, I know the Hub is calling.
It’s such a great marriage-as-it-should-be song.
And it’s great blogging advice.
Sometimes I miss the start of my blog – back when I was completely anonymous. When I could take to my keyboard and type furiously until I got it all off my chest.
Now that I am out of the closet and can no longer say what I really think, I bring it on home to the hub.
Or to my daughter. Except she is conflict averse and gets a stomach ache.
The hub is old enough and wise enough to just listen and say something soothing. Or say nothing at all.
Anyway, today Suzy Speaks posted about self-censoring one’s blog and she made an excellent suggestion.
Something I had never considered.
She wrote, “Remember that you don’t have to publish more personal posts on your own blog – talk to a trusted blog friend about posting on their blog anonymously. You get to write what you want, they get the views. Everybody wins.”
So fellow bloggers (who trust me), if you have something to get off your chest, feel free to bring it on home to me.
Mr. Tambourine Man – the Byrds version – has been playing in my head since 8:00 this jingle-jangle morning.
And now it will be playing in your jingle-jangle head, too.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle-jangle morning I’ll come following you.
Once a week, after school, I wore the light brown dress, the badge-filled sash and the dark brown beanie of a Brownie.
I was in third grade.
Our troop was about to fly up and become Juniors.
And it was time to choose a leadership council.
Since I was the brainiac of any group back then, I assumed the adult leaders would choose me to be the student leader.
But they didn’t.
One of the two pulled me aside as soon as the name of the leader was announced. Bless her sensitive heart, she knew I would be bewildered.
“Leadership takes a different set of skills,” she explained. “We’ve chosen you to be our Scribe.”
I didn’t know what a Scribe was (I was 8) but it sounded like a consolation prize.
Until she told me I would be the troop’s historian. Write down everything that happened at our meetings and on our camp outs.
I liked writing things down.
And I didn’t like bossing people around.
It was the right job for me.
Could we foresee it, there are times when children might seem like innocent prisoners condemned not to death but to life and as yet all too unconscious of what their sentence means. Nevertheless, every man desires to reach old age… a state of life of which it may be said “it is bad today, and every day it will get worse, until the worst of all happens.” – Arthur Schopenhauer
I plucked that cheery quote from a book I’m reading. It is the longer version of a sentiment I saw emblazoned upon a black t-shirt, which was hanging in a store window on my college campus way back then: Life is hard and then you die.
The last part – “every day it will get worse, until the worst happens” – made me think of my poor Max.
It was horrible to lose Lucybee and Bebe to cancer when they were still in their prime but is also sad to watch your previously very active and athletic buddy boy deteriorate from old age. Physically and mentally.
My hope is always that my four legged friends will die old and full of years, that they will be well and happy when they go, all curled up in their favorite chair, the familiar sounds of their loving family life lulling them to their final sleep.
But I guess it doesn’t happen that way.
Just for you, just now, just to brighten this post up a bit,
I went outside and plucked some raspberries.
They are delicious.