Good Morning, Dreaming!

Good morning!

It’s a good morning!

Do you dream?

I do.

Just recently, and I’m over several decades old, I found out that not everyone dreams.  Amazing.  I found that amazing!  And I’m talking about those dreams you get at night before you fall asleep, and while you’re sleeping and then as you’re waking up.   Not the Martin Luther King, Jr. “I have a dream,” but the bedtime sleepy dreams.  They can even be complete novels.

Just this morning as I was dreaming I saw Christmas village evergreen trees suction-cupped to the ceiling. That made me smile.  Then I saw a stack of stencils, one was a dog.  That stencil-dog sat up and barked!  LOL.

Hubby doesn’t dream, ever. 

And yet, I don’t know if there’s ever been a night I didn’t dream.

They can be very beneficial. I’ve dreamed up Christmas plays. I’ve dreamed up logistical solutions to putting kids on and off stage for sister’s school programs.

I’ve dreamed about how to rearrange furniture, what menu to create for a holiday dinner, and answers to crossword puzzles.  I’ve composed poems, and written a first chapter in a book.  

The brain is a wondrous thing.  Supposedly, we only use 10% of our brains but that’s been recently debunked. Researchers have found through MRIs that the brain is completely active, even during sleep. This I believe.

During sleep just last week, I saw a taller thin man in a pastel blue shirt wheeling around in a computer chair.  Not so interesting right?  Well, wait until you hear the rest of the story.  He wheeled up to a table and arranged cupcakes into a white box, then when he turned to look at me his face turned into Santa Claus!  Then he wheeled back to his computer, put his hands on the keyboard, turned to look at me and again his face turned into Santa Claus!

Another night last week, I saw little bluish-black penguins all nicely rounded in the shape of teardrop ovals…they were penguin raindrops falling from the sky!

And this unbelievable dream was of a large long white envelope with two words on it,  “Tootsie Farm.”  What on earth???

A farm of Tootsie rolls? 

A farm of Tootsie Pops? I can just imagine them sprouting up on a farm on their little white straw sticks, and when the sun has nicely ripened them they explode with ooey gooey chocolately goodness! 

How about Tootsie Toys? Those simply made little metal vehicles?

Or the movie Tootsie with Dustin Hoffman?

Or better yet, my favorite, baby toes – tootsies!

Can you just imagine a farm field of cabbages where the babies stick out their little feet wiggling their little toes in anticipation of approaching parents – Tootsie Farm!

Darling Hubby says, “I don’t know what you’re eating before you go to bed, but you gotta change something!”

“Wake up, smell the coffee.” 

I did.   I smelled the coffee.  Then I woke up.  There wasn’t any!  

That can’t be a good morning, can it?  

Durn those dreams.

Pow! Right In The Kisser!

"You see, this hoe was leaning against the door frame."

"A hoe?  Leaning against the door frame?"
What'd this hoe look like, anyway?"

"Looked just like any other hoe.  Tall and thin and painted red."

"A painted red hoe?"

"Yes.  Why do you care about looks?  Sheesh, a hoe is a hoe is a hoe!"  "Now you've got me sounding like an advertisement for Miss Debbie's Ho-Hos!"

"Well, I've always liked a good Ho-Ho."

"Good lands.  Anyway, Spencer sure got knocked for a loop!"

"The hoe looped him?"

"NO!  No, silly.  He got knocked for a loop.  The hoe smacked him in the face!
I felt sorry for him, it looked painful."

"Why was his mom watching him get smacked in the face by a hoe?"

"Golly gee, Ollie." I don't know, maybe because I was there for the whole thing!"

"Why was the hoe there in the first place?"

"It was my fault.  Sort of.  I'd put the hoe there."

"YOU did?"

"I did."
"The grand-baby had been playing in the dirt with the hoe and it didn't look right; didn't look safe."

"Of course!  Babies should never play with hoes!  Or rakes!"

"You've got that right.  I'd been chasing voles with the hoe and filling holes with dirt and forgot what I was about and next thing you know, the grand-baby comes for a visit, and starts digging in the dirt with my hoe.  Guess she liked the red looks.  So it was my fault that Spencer got the hoe in the face thing."

"Did ya laugh?"

"Laugh?  No, I didn't laugh.  He was holding his face with both hands and leaning his elbows on his knees trying to recover when I realized he had a nosebleed.  It was just like in the comic strips.  Remember Garfield?  Jon avoids the first hoe, turns around and there's a second hoe.  POW!  Right in the kisser!"

"Yep.  That was a two-fer!"

"Spencer runs right out of the house, right into the dark of night, steps on a hoe and POW!   Right in the kisser!"

"I know, I know, just like Ralph from the Honeymooners, "POW! Right in the kisser!"

"There's a lesson here."

"Oh, really, and what lesson would that be?"

"No matter whether they're digging in the dirt or leaning against your front door, don't let your babies play with hoes."

Spice, Little Girls Are Made Of

Spice!  Sugar and spice.  Remember that nursery rhyme we grew up with?

"Sugar and spice and everything nice
is what little girls are made of."

Raising all these boys I was used to the opposite,
"Snips and snails and puppy dog tails,
that's what little boys are made of."

Spice is nice.  It's a change.  It's sugary soft around the edges.

The spice part is what I thought about when Darling Hubby came home grinning and telling me his latest story.

You know he's a new school bus driver, right?  And he makes two runs every morning and every afternoon, so he transports all ages.  The older kids tend to nap or stay focused on their cell phones, but it's the little ones that delight him.

Today it was obvious he was glad to be back at work after a week off due to fall break.  There's something mind-refreshing about getting a break from your job.  And then, there's something reassuring about going back to work.

"Oh, she's just a jewel this Johanna!"  his eyes twinkled when he told me about the little elementary girl, "She came up the three steps, stopped at the top, rigid back, arms to her side and said, "I went a whole week without going to school.  It was a tragedy!"  And we busted a gut!

Then there's Miss Lilly, our 2 y.o. granddaughter.  I'd turned on the under-counter CD player with Amici Defined inserted.  Amici is a popera group.  Popera is a term for pop and opera combined.  The next song to play by Amici was The Prayer.  Miss Lilly was way past the family room and down the hall, a good 40 feet away.  Miss Lilly has excellent hearing, LOL.

Use your higher pitched, little bitty girl voice, and imagine the pitter patter of little feet as she comes to us quickly.

"I hear it," she declared.

"I cumin," she further stated.

We asked her what she heard, and where was she going.  But she didn't answer.  She only answered to the music.  She tottered up to the kitchen counter, and tilted her head, and stood stock still as she gazed at the CD player and listened to The Prayer.

It was a sweet moment, a sugary soft snapshot in time.

Slipped A Joker In Your Deck

“Somebody slipped a joker in your deck.”   I laughed out loud.  Detective Tibbs of the TV series In The Heat Of The Nighthad just said that.   

I laughed because it reminded me that Darling Hubby is always saying, “What matters in life is how you deal with the hand you’ve been dealt.”  Good advice.  But then there’s that wild card, the joker!

The other day I cut out material to sew together some plastic grocery bag sleeve-type organizers. I'd forgotten how much I like sewing.  It stirs up the allergies, but I take precautions.

One of the bag organizers I didn't get to finish.  It had a small brown spot on it; so I used a Hint From Heloise and applied salt and lemon, then set the material in the sunshine.  On the picnic table in the sun is where it was left to dry.  Well, that material disappeared.  

Yep, like a laughing joker in a grab-and-run, that thing was gone.  I searched and searched.  I quizzed Darling Hubby, “Did you think it was a rag?”  “Did you toss it in the trash tote on your way to the curb?”  

Under cars, at the base of trees where wind blows trash, around the corner of the house, we searched. Then we went walking the property.  It was nowhere to be found!   The joke’s on me.

Off it did fly

Like a witch in the sky,

Upwards and onwards,

Black cat arched high!

One time we had a haunted house in our garage.  Gray engraved tombstones were sunk in the side yard.  One tombstone read “Here lies Dawn Under”.  Orange plastic tea-lighted pumpkins lined a walk leading to a tunnel of blankets on a clothesline.  That led to the entrance to the garage through the backdoor.  Inside, the first room was a mad scientist’s lab. Second room was a body smashed by a car. Turn a corner and there’s a vampire coffin, and some dropping spiders, and a lot of glow-in-the dark hands that look like they’re coming at you, and a funny mirror and some spooky stairs leading into the house.  

Actually, the stairs led right into the kitchen where we had refreshments for all the visitors.  The haunted garage was such a hit that the neighbor kids would go through more than once.   Darling Hubby, dressed as the grim reaper, scared one little girl so badly she cried, "I hate you!" 

It wasn’t too surprising; yet, the joke was on him!

Boo-hiss to you!

Pranks not a few,

Halloween’s coming,

Yep, trick or treaters, too!

Speaking of treats and tricks, last night we played Euchre.  It’s become a new thing, Euchre on Thursday night.  Sometimes I cook, sometimes the others cook, sometimes we just catch as catch can, but always someone makes a pitcher of iced tea and someone else makes a pot or two of coffee and the games begin.  

We killed ‘em! Daughter-in-law and I were partners and we killed 'em.  Darling Hubby and sis were partners. We won 3 games; the last one was 9 to 1 before the kill, LOL.  DIL laughed her head off because her hubby Clint told her before she left their house to "knock ‘em dead”.  His prophetic joke was on us all.

The gnats abound

Their fruits surround

The windshield’s no longer clean

After wipers crossover

 “That’s me all over,”

The ill-fated bug did scream!

And don’t the merchandizers slip jokers in our decks?   I guess it’s them.  Or do we blame the governments for their lack of forethought when they designated the holidays?

Darling Hubby wanted me to go to town with him, which I normally don't do because of my broken-yet-healing foot.  It was feeling pretty good so I went.  

What a surprise!  The garden center still had plants for sale and most of the plants were 50% off.  Halloween was well displayed in the center of the store with rag-tag witches, and squinty-eyed jack o’ lanterns.  AND CHRISTMAS WAS SPROUTING EVERYWHERE ELSE!   Ugh, three holiday events in one place.  Such an onslaught of the senses!  I wasn’t ready.  

“No merging!” my mind begs, “No bleeding over from one event to the other.”  Division, definitive borders, a start with a finish, that’s more appealing.

Time to deal! When I have to deal with all those holidays at once, I feel like someone’s pulling a joke on me!  Time to deal with the cards dealt, including that joker!

Plants for sale

Ghosts that wail

And Christmas up the wall

Instead, to be frank,

We should pull a prank,

A joke can be fun after all!

Morning Wake-Up Call, "Donuts!"

This morning's wake up call was "Donuts!"  Yes, for some reason I had dreamed of a big pink empty hinged box that could've held 2 dozen donuts.  But, happy, happy, tucked into the far left corner with caramel glaze there was one last one.  And it looked delicious!

That sure was better than the wake up at one a. m.  I smelled bleach!  Yep, you read that right, I smelled bleach.  So much so I got out of my comfy, warm, soft, apricot puffy coverlet bed, and went downstairs to see if someone was up and using bleach.

Humpth, if anyone ever says you can't smell while you're sleeping, they're wrong.
And, if anyone ever says you can't dream in color, they're wrong!

You think it strange that I'd come downstairs at one a.m. to check out that bleach smell?  Not.  Darling Hubby had a bad cold for four weeks, and during that last week had many a nosebleed.  We used bleach to clean it up.  So, there was every chance that smell was beckoning me to come investigate a possible emergency.

Emoticons, Emoji, Smiley Face, whatever they want to call it, we were putting them on our homework, and teenage love letters in the '60's, am I right?  Come to find out, if you read the history of Smiley Face, he's been around since the hieroglyphics of 1700 BC.
They all make you grin.  They all make you feel mushy inside.

If anyone ever asks if God has a sense of humor, I think he does.  At least my dreams think so.

Last Spring I was worried about the graduation party.   There was no need to worry.  Despite the rain everyone had a good time.  Yet, I did worry.  After having worked on it for months ahead of time, readying the house, landscaping the yard, planning fun activities and gathering goodies for the party,  I wondered if the weather would cooperate.  I even prayed about it.  Well, the next morning before pulling up the eyelids, I saw this little smiley face emoticon off to the left bouncing up and down!  Happy, happy, happy!  I laughed out loud!

"Follow the fellow who follows a dream, I'm off to see the wizard..." uh, forget following a dream, I'm off to find a donut!

Lilly, "It's A Head!"

"Stay."  she decreed it!  Miss Lilly, the only granddaughter, isn't yet 2 years old.  Darling hubby and I had 6 boys, ne'er a girl.  So this little girl is a delight.  She'd been to her maternal grandmothers for the day, her daddy had picked her up, and they had stopped here for a quick visit.  Usually her dad wants a motor or a tractor part from the barn, or he wants advice from darling hubby.  

Miss Lilly was airlifted via daddy's arms from her safely secured car seat to the ground.  No taller than a bean sprout, she toddled to the gate, blonde hair bobbing, came up the steps, put one hand on the left door frame and the other on the right door frame, lifted one little pink jelly sandaled foot to come on in, and very clearly decreed, "Stay."

Ah, my heart got all gooey filled with sweet love.

We had bought Miss Lilly a Little Tykes red and yellow car from the flea market north of us.  You've seen 'em.  They look like a miniature VW bug, supposedly a cross between that and a Flintstones car.  It’s called a Cozy Coupe.  

At this age Miss Lilly mostly says one word, like drink, or bye-bye.  So she said, "car" and off we go.  Spoiling?  Who me?  LOL, YES, ME!

She loves to get in and "shut the door."  Then we go all over the cemented play area, a play area our boys  in their youth labeled The Slab.  She's pushed.  She doesn't yet know how to alternate feet to make it go on her own, so, she's pushed.  At a turn at the corner she heard a bird.  Her eyes opened a bit, she slightly tilted her head, and she said, "Bird".  Then she utters a full sentence, she totally gets out of her car, toddles back to me, looks up into the heavens, and says, "The birds up in the sky."

Aw, my grandbaby can talk!  And see afar!  And make connections!

My mother gave me a small black and white Panda rug when Clint was a baby.  Clint is Miss Lilly's dad.  I had Miss Lilly's dad's picture taken on the Panda rug.  When I got the Panda  down to offer it to them, it had an age spot which I then thoroughly cleaned.  When Miss Lilly came to visit it was draped over the side of the tub drying.  She loves a bathroom because of the tub.  She loves swimming, and rubber tub toys, and washable paints, all things tubby.

I was in the bathroom when the door gently opened.  Miss Lilly came on in.  She looked around.  She went to the tub.  She became excited, "Hi-i-i-i".   I looked back at her, why's she saying "Hi-i-i-i"?  Well, it wasn't to greet me, she was talking to Panda!  Durn.  Then she reached out her arms, towards the Panda, and pled, "I hold him?” “Peez.”

Ahh, shucks, despite her preference for the bear, I still love the girl, she has manners.

Years ago, I got this idea of drawing a ghost without a body, and I put magnets on the back of each part.  The head got a magnet, the two arms and hands each got a magnet, and the wispy tail got a magnet.  That way when I pinned a piece of paper to the fridge with the magnets it would look like it was held there by a ghost.  Those pieces have been tucked to the side of the fridge.  

Well, Miss Lilly loves magnets.  She has her own alphabet set on her mother's fridge.  I began pulling out my magnets, the Ireland cottage, the sunflower, the little frog, and the ghost parts.  She was carefree, and innocently playing with them all, and especially the frog.   Remember, she's not yet 2 y.o., and she hasn't been speaking in full sentences.

Bam!  Her eyes lit upon the ghost.  She snatched the biggest piece, turned quickly to her mother, and exclaimed in her baby high-pitched sing-song voice, "It's a head!"

Can I hold her?  Peez.  I want to hold her!

Speaking Of Sandwiches - PUNCH

SPEAKING OF SANDWICHES 

“Are you all hungry?”  said a dad standing in the middle of the food court at the local county fair.  

“Elephant Ears $3.00” read the sign near him.   There was the Christian Church booth selling sloppy Joes and brewed tea, the New Heights 4-H club selling Walking Tacos, Whiz Kids hawking corn on the cob, and the Baptist Church advertising funnel cakes and deep fried Oreos.  

In this instance, just outside the Producer’s Tent, the dad was asking his wife and four daughters of stair-step ages, “Are you all hungry?”  It was a resounding chorus of unanimous agreement, “Yes!” “Yes!”  “Yes!”

Then the dad, looking at the a-frame menu sign of various meat sandwiches asked, “Do you want lamb burgers?”  And I had to laugh out loud as I heard every single female in his family with the very same tenor of unanimous accord declare, “No!” “No!” “No!”

“How do you make sloppy Joes?”  Spencer asked when I answered the phone.  This single son lives 20 miles away in his own home and enjoys learning to cook for himself.

“Do you have the ground beef?  How much?”  I asked.

“Yes, one pound.”

“Fry it in minced onion with a bit of salt.  Do you have some Worcestershire sauce, around a couple tablespoons?  How about some mustard, a good squirt, and brown sugar, a nice sized sprinkle?”

“Yes.  How much did you say?”

“I’m sorry Spencer, I don’t measure.  You’ll just have to taste it periodically as you’re adding ingredients and spices.  Don’t forget the ketchup.”

Next night, “How were the sloppy Joes, Spencer?” I asked while on the cell phone with him.  

He replied, “It was good.  I tasted it and it tasted just like “mom’s sloppy Joes”. 

“Good, I’m glad it turned out well.”  

Then he revealed the kicker, “Yah, it was really good.  I added some hot Louisiana sauce and it had punch!”

And there ya have it -- the bad, "no, no, no", the good "just like mom's" and the punch --  NOT fruit drink Hawaiian but...Louisiana Hot Sauce!

Escape Tybee, CHOMP! THEnd

"I was constructing a lighthouse while all others were making ships." wrote Charles Simic, famous poet.  The construction of this lighthouse entailed 178 steps to the top!  To the top of Tybee Island's Lighthouse we went.  It was easy, uncomplicated, yet strenuous.  Not a few times did we have to stop to catch our breath, and to look out the metal casement windows like birds perched in a treetop.

On the gallery deck, the walk around the watch room, we could gaze west over the residences.  In other directions, our eyes took in nothing but sandy beaches, azure waters, and dots here and there of red and yellow umbrellas and beach balls.

To be God's angel must be something like this...airborne, unseen, and far-seeing...freedom of spirit.

The Lighthouse was a place that was easy to take steps down, than it was to climb up.

Some places weren't easy to get into, like the North Beach Grill.   Nestled between sand mounds near the black and white Lighthouse, was the North Beach Grill.  It was so popular we never found a parking place.

Some places we didn't want to get into, like the Inferno Hot Sauce Emporium!   Skull and Crossbones five feet tall drawn on the timber wood fenced wall served as a warning along with the colored chalked words Spices, Salts, Wild & Hot Sauces, Salsas.  Words to deter the weak.

One place we couldn't get out!  It was The Peanut Shop where every selection had an open can for us to sample.  We sampled sweet chocolates for half an hour, ha, ha.  Due to sating our appetites, lunch was delayed.  But, oh, the chocolate covered cashews, the barbecue redskins, the peanut brittle, the peanut butter, the Georgia pecans, the bacon cheddar nuts!  Spencer loves bacon, I love chocolate, Mary loves nuts, John loves redskins; we were nuts in love.

One place we didn't want out -- at least not until we knew who murdered Elizabeth.  That was the Savannah Coffee Roasters cafe where we dined and the employees sleuthed.  An aromatic deep roasted coffee smell mixed with caramel and amaretto enveloped us at the door.  The comedic actor group called Odd Lot took scene settings and character trait suggestions from the diners to create an impromptu murder mystery.   It was fun to interact with the investigator and the suspects while cheesecake we ate.  Spencer took big bites.  That's because when Spencer unrolled his napkin and silverware and held it up next to John's he obviously had a meat platter fork!

The one place we wished we could've gotten out was the 80 East Gastropub.  Ghastly for gastro!  It had bad service, weird service, and non-remarkable food.   Instead of coming to our table, the waiter would lean over the pony wall.  Our many tiered hamburgers were skewered with a large butcher knife!

Now as for its sister restaurant, we got in, we wanted to stay.  And we returned.  The Sundae Cafe, a very small restaurant tacked onto the end of an established strip mall, was cozy.  The mirrored wall behind the black bar revealed black tables and curtains with romantic lighting, even at the noon hour!

After the first time eating there, (Spencer loved their grouper) we returned with Sis another day,  "Our usual table, please", laughingly I told the hostess it was the one in the far corner tucked beyond the window.  The final time we went, that request drew a laugh from the waitress, "Our usual table, please", disheartenly it was occupied by jolly, round bellied men.  Durn.

Well, it's time to Escape before turning back home.  And I'm talking about Tybee Island's Escape Room, where participants get locked in a room like prisoners on a pirate ship, who have to examine their surroundings for clues to escape.  The skeleton in the barred prison hold held the first key, shhhhhh.  After finding the final clue, the ship's wheel revealing coordinates, we had to board the dingy before Blackbeard and his motley crew returned to catch us going overboard.  60 minutes was all we had, and though it usually takes 8 people, the 4 of us escaped Blackbeard just in time, "Blow me down! Yo-ho-ho! And off we go!"

Like driftwood escaping the waves, out of Tybee we went.  Homeward bound.  But Tybee, "lights the corners of my mind with misty water-colored memories" and we shall return.
Not wanting to construct lighthouses or make ships, we do want more adventure!  And some of those adventures were left behind -- Skidaway Island, Duck Donuts, Diamond Causeway, and Walking Alligators.

Hummm, walking alligators?  Wonder if alligators tolerate leashes?  Maybe these walk on two feet heeling at your side looking you in the eye thinking you look tasty?
CHOMP!  THEnd.

THE FUN, THE FEEL, THE FUNKY

                       

"Thoughts drifting to a sunny getaway?" YES!  One vacation reviewer says, “Tybee Island has a laid-back atmosphere, small-community feel and funky vibe.” 

                   Ha, ha, funky vibe.

You could say that.  Remember the dinosaur statue with Christmas tinsel hanging from his gaping mouth?  It was July!  

Then there was the cat.  Spencer said it was "the laziest cat I ever saw" living at the Beachview Bed and Breakfast.  We walked up from the breezy beach, took a turn to go between the patron's cars to the outdoor shower, and walked right upon this mature, well-fed, mostly black cat.  It had a white vest chest and was laying in the shade in the same place in the same parking spot under the same car every day.

If ever there was an un-curious cat, this was it!  Never did we see him eating from a dish, chasing a bird, or browsing through the bushes.  All his nine lives were safely in tact.

Sometimes he would rouse himself to raise his head to boringly gaze at us.  Most times he'd just lay there calm and convinced we'd know our place and step around him!

The Royal Palm Motel, too, had an outside shower.  The bed and breakfast had an enclosed one, looked much like an outhouse of the mid-west.  The one at the motel was just a drain in the ground, and a pipe for sending water up to the rain showerhead. 

Homeowners of Tybee didn't want sand in their carpets, or on their hardwood floors, or in the plumbing.  It was a real problem.  

So was the carpet in our Royal Palm Motel room.  I asked the motel owner about it.   I wondered if they'd used some strong chemical to clean it.  He said, "No, it's just all the sand.  In the fall we're going to replace all the rooms' [carpet] with linoleum-like flooring."  

I told him, "Sorry about all the linens."  "We had to wash our feet multiple times and the white washrags and towels are not so white."  One evening Sis laughingly went to each of us as we were relaxing, after a good meal of seafood, and while watching TV, to wash our feet.  It didn't matter.  A walk back and forth through the room on that awful carpet and we again had feet that were black as that lazy cat!

Speaking of feet, we went to the Crab Shack "Where the elite eat with their bare feet."  Too funny.  We didn't eat with bare feet, but there were plenty of other oddities.

The place had outdoor seating, amongst 100 year old live oaks, on a planked deck, right on the bank of Chimney Creek.  The original menu on 4x8 sheet of plywood still hangs nearby. A large upright faux alligator greeted us.  Dotted throughout the tables were water stations -- each with a sink and towels.   

And, oh, the tables, ha, ha, I laugh thinking about them.  They were about the size of a card table, with a raised section in the middle that held condiments and needs like napkins, but mostly the raised section covered a large hole in the middle - easy access to your own personal trashcan!

To add to this quirkiness, after eating crabs, crawdads, shrimp, potatoes, and sausage, you could walk-off your lethargy by touring the live baby gator lagoon!

The gators were inert.   We wanted pictures.  So, I leaned over the railing, let out a holler and clapped my hands.   They reacted.  We got our pictures.  John reacted too, "Don't do that!  They're alligators!"

Well, sheesh, what's to fear?  They were babies, 5 feet beneath us, and caged -- the best kind of alligators.

Oh, and don't forget Crab Shack cats. Though one Crab Shack sign says, "It's illegal to feed the alligators,”  the other sign says "Crab Shack cats are not feral, they are family.  Don't feed the cats."

And this was my kind of getaway:  sunny, funny, and funky.  

Trip To Tybee High Jinks

The trip down.
The trip down to Tybee Island.
The trip down to Tybee Island was...high jinks!

In the background of my mind I hear muddled song lyrics "Do you know the way to Sand Tybee?"  "I'm going to find some peace of mind."  "There's a great big freeway."

Dad, born and raised in Indiana, was in the medevac unit during the tail-end of the Korean War.  There he learned to read a map.  Then he married Mom -- born and raised in Kentucky.  He had to travel between the two states and this BEFORE INTERSTATES!

Along came kids, 6 of us, and as we each reached that age we were put in the front seat and taught to read a map.  When we reached that other certain age, we got to sit up front due to car sickness, unless brother was the sicker, or sister was the sickest yet.  Anyway, back to the subject, I could read a map.

On this trip?  Not necessary.  Spencer commandeered the steering wheel and used his cellphone GPS propped; propped right up there in the gadget dash hiding the speedometer.  What a difference in the times!  From zig-zagging back roads up and down the mountain with a paper map to straight shot interstates with a cellphone!

As I said HE commandeered and we went to Chattanooga before we knew it.  HE said you couldn't go through Chattanooga without checking out the trains.  HE drove us straight there.  So, we took a train ride, on the Tennessee Valley Railroad.

Three things stick out about that train ride.  One, the tracks had to be built up because of a flood that marked the trees higher than three men stacked.  Two, it used to take days to repair a train car, today due to materials and labor it takes a decade.  Three, there's nothing more interesting that watching a steam engine on a turn key making a 360 degree maneuver.  "Stand back the cow catcher might catch a leg!"

A long trip begs entertainment and, of course, we used our cellphones.  Out came one-liners, memes, funny quotes, and laughable photos.  One photo was an island when viewed from a helicopter looked like an elephant on it's side, complete with spine as mountain ridge and extended trunk slurping water.  Spencer quoted the caption, "God has a sense of humor."

John quickly agreed, "Anybody that can make hair come out of my ears has a sense of humor!"  And, it's true.  He has one wild hair that in a good breeze could wave at you!

Driving through Georgia a sign said, "Dublin Exit 1 Mile".  Dublin, reminiscent of my trip in Ireland, made me think of the song "On the Road to Killarney" so I asked Spencer to find it on the internet.  At this point he's NOT driving.  This time I am, and he's in the backseat.

Even though I insisted he find a song version with words, he only found an instrumental version.  After the instrumental version played through, he said he was in the mood for Irish music, so ... what did I hear wafting my way?  CHRISTMAS IN KILLARNEY!

"Christmas in Killarney????"  I squeeked.  "Christmas in JUNE!"
"Christmas in June and on FATHERS DAY????"
How Spencer-typical!

He loves Christmas at all times of the year.  Every family member, every friend every where on Facebook knows this.  The day after December 25 we get a notice, "364 days until Christmas!"

I hear from the backseat a question I know exactly how to answer, "Does that mean you don't want to hear "Bells Over Belfast?"

Now, I know you agree with me.  The trip down to Tybee was a trip...with high jinks.

Spanky's Pirate Mermaid

Well, that title makes the mind whirl, doesn't it? Spanky's Pirate Mermaid?

Don't know if I can connect these three or not but I shall give it the old college try, as the saying goes.

Scene setting -- weather is warm, not hot; sky is mid-blue, calming; passer-bys are happily smiling, dressed in shorts and t-shirts of colors light yellow and whites and greens;  sounds of lapping water and splashes, muffled crunch of sand underfoot.

It's early morning, the stores are just opening.  These are gift shops with beach chairs, sandals of all sizes, sea shell collections and strings, beach umbrellas, and turquoise swimsuits, novelty gifts of rock bands made of rocks, and specialty coffee mugs and miniature tins filled with colored glass chips, and tweezers with pen lights.

Blackbeard!  Blackbeard came out as the shops opened their doors!  He was as black as the day was sunny in his broad-brimmed pirate hat!  And he was big!  Muscular!  Tall!  Imposing!  Had the dour look!  Then we laughed out loud...he was on wheels!

Just walk up, put your head in his arm pit and you have a souvenir photo.  "I was here."  So funny we laughed out loud.

Late that night, we knew the stores were closing, cause ol' Blackbeard was rolling home.   Pushed and pulled by young girls in summer wear,  he was.  Sure he was winking with the knowing look of a plundering black pirate's heart enjoying his spoils.

Wonder if Blackbeard ever saw mermaids?  They were everywhere -- swimming on men's shirts, sported on girls tops, adorning gift items, made into ornaments, even gracing doorways and engraved on signage.

John and Spencer were following me through one place after another at the Tybee Oaks Shops -- Shell Cut Etc, Swizzle And Shake, Latitude 32, and Island Gypseas.  The shops were built up two to four feet (in case of hurricanes) and lined up next to each other in salt washed colors of blues, greens, and soft orange.  I was going along the wooden planked walk looking into each one for ballerina trinkets.  Forget that.  You're better off looking for floatsy mermaid finds.

They went into a girly frilly dainty shop thinking I was in there, but the shopkeeper had a confused look on her face -- two men, no women in a mermaid shop?  "Obviously my wife is not in here!" John clarified.  He also said the place was full of sirens and mermaid figurines and beads and starfish and glitter.  One sign in there read  "Be your own mermaid".  Spencer was intrigued.  He misread it as "build you a mermaid"!

Spanky is a nickname lovingly given Spencer when he was a toddler.  Sometimes your birth name isn't enough, you get tagged with a nickname.  And some names just lend themselves to numerous nicknames, especially if you are of a certain character.   Spencer, in fun tender adoration, has been called Spencil, 'pencil, St'encil, Spen, Spence, and Spanky.

So when we were touring along the River Walk in Savannah, there was no question, we had to eat at Spanky's.  Spanky's River Street that claims "Original Chicken Finger, where the finger lickin' all began."

Spencer just had to wear a paper Spanky's hat sporting a large white chicken.  We insisted.  Photos followed.

Inside left, a red popcorn machine, straight ahead a ship bow shaped bar, to the right all kinds of happy eaters with fingers to lips.  There were cobble stone walls, wood beams, greenery filled hanging baskets and overhead a large elk head!  Why not a chicken?  I don't know, but the food was finger lickin' good.

Thinking of Spanky building himself a mermaid maybe ol' Blackbeard will upturn a cracked smiling lip.

Hunting And Hungry, Next Exit, Smoke!

Smoke!  From a distance we could see the smoke.   It rose like a "here am I" signal from an Indian's teepee village.

At the first, Spencer spied a sign on the interstate that stated the names of eating places coming up at the next exit.  We were hungry.  250 miles south of home and we were hunting.  Hunting and hungry for something to eat.  Turns out it was going to be smoking pigs!  LOL, at least that's what Spencer called Smokey Pig Bar-B-Que.

I took pictures of the wooden shack-like building with it's bar-b-que smoker hidden by the picketty-wooden privacy fence.  Couldn't hide the smoke, tho.

Oh, so good was that taste of sweet sharp sauce on shredded pork with fluffy fresh bun.
The customers were a happy lot, knowing their pleasure was coming.  One gentleman laughed, and sounded like my uncle.  I just had to greet him with a kindred smile.  Customers came and went, a steady stream, never empty-handed.

The hand-written signs kept us entertained while we ate.
"If you don't like it HOT don't get it DIPPED," and
"When you order Pork Chop that means Pork Chop (bone in)
N O T chopped pork!"

We couldn't help but laugh at some of the menu items:  Half Chicken, Large Dog, Small Dog, and Shred Dog!

Next morning we were parked, by Spencer self-designated driver, on a sad dreary vacant street in front of Bluegrass Grille.  He said he googled where to go because he wanted local food, culture of the city.  Grass grew up between the curb and sidewalk, the windows of empty storefronts were dirty, and all was quiet.  This was early morning, the sun just grazing the horizon that was still gray from the night.  No twitters from the birds, no coughs from old men, no car horns, nothing.

Then.  Then we opened the door to the grill.  Hubbub!  What a mix of sounds!  Clanging, high chatter, chair scrapings, ice clanking, laughter, kid trills, and "We'll seat you in just a few minutes."  We were third in line.  The back wall was a green, muted mural of the Appalachian Mountains.  The floors were knotted hardwood, and the side walls were red brick.  What a contrast!

From Louisville, to Chattanooga to Savannah, I can't fail to mention the Espresso Gallery, The Sugar Shack, The Social Club, and Coffee Roasters Cafe. Homeward through South Carolina and Tennessee we stopped at The Diner.

The Diner was retro to the 1950's.  All glistening, reflective silver chrome on the outside and red-checkered and soda fountain-like on the inside serving burgers and fries and berry cobbler and pies.  Yet we were totally taken aback by the wait staff, men and women who looked like they were the teeny-boppers of the 1950's!  Definitely put a smile on your face and made ya wish ya could afford their t-shirts.

Spencer knew I thought his t-shirt was threadbare and not worthy of being seen in public.  At the laundromat in Tybee, we were discussing this when an older couple joined in our conversation.  She was very grandmotherly and she commiserated with him, "He's treating  his shirts like he'll treat his car and his wife, "Keep 'em forever!"  Of course, I got the "See there, Mom" look.

So, one of the last places we went had the best fish, Molly McGuires, but I'll not return.  I got food poisoning from the cole slaw.  The last breakfast place we patronized was Bojangles, southern-inspired fast-food known for Cajun chicken, but we had nuggets, and biscuit sandwiches.  Gotta tell ya though, as we went through the drive-through Spencer was flirty with the girl.  Yep.  They laughed and giggled.  When we got to the window to receive our food, they were still laughing and giggling.

I asked if he wanted to get her phone number.  Guess not.  Maybe like the neighboring Coosaw Indians she should send up a "come hither" smoke signal.

By the way, can Cajun chicken make ya giggle?

Pet A Shark On Tybee Beach?

Exactly what were we doing?  Standing on the boardwalk, that’s exactly what we were doing!

The three of us were gazing south, leaning against a gray weathered pillar watching the day’s bathers exit the beach.  

Sun had just set when we decided to head for Tybee Beach, a mere block from our bed and breakfast.   We stood there enjoying the solitude with a good breeze whipping the sea salted sand out of our hair, and coolin' our skin.  The night was dusky gray, not yet opaque.  It was peaceful.  

“Watchin' the tide, roll away, sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time.”  Yes, absolutely, we were wastin’ time!

Soon, lights like lightning bugs, flickered here and there at the waters edge. It took a bit to figure out if it was insects, or something else.  We finally realized it was treasure hunters with flashlights.  They were looking for shark teeth, jewelry, money; anything of value to them – even sand crabs that scamper away or baby loggerhead sea turtles that head for the moonlight.

The bouncing lights just added to the relaxed ethereal feeling.

“Sittin’ in the mornin’ sun, watching the ships roll in, then watch ‘em roll away again.”

The next morning Spencer pulled out his sand anchor and his beach umbrella of striped blues and white.  Right to the edge we went.  Right where the water slides up the beach.  We screwed the anchor in up to its handles, and then poked the umbrella shaft into that.  Ahhhhh, I had my beach, my cool water, and my shade, too!  Life couldn’t be better!

We casually watched a fisherman casting from the large black rock jetty nearby. As he made his moves, a series of little white fish jumped out of the water as if they were being juggled by an undersea creature, “Ploop.  Ploop. Ploop.”

Then John noticed water bubbles about two feet from him accompanied by a decent sized under-the-surface shadow.  “There’s something staying right with us,” he said pointing.

I turned to Spencer, “Didn’t you say you wanted to pet a shark?”  “Well, there you go.  From your lips to God’s ears!”

Swiftly, Spencer took two giant steps back!  Behind us he pushed.  I guess we were supposed to pet the shark!

Bobbing on Atlantic’s ocean waves, floating between the crests, we’d occasionally push off the sandy bottom with our toes.  

We watched sailboats cruise by, then two big ships made their appearance out of the ocean’s haze.  The first one veered off and disappeared out of sight.  The second one, bigger, of a more impressive hulk, stayed on his tail, but didn’t veer off, instead disappeared into his own journey.

That’s us -- disappearing from our normal life into our own journey.

“I'm sittin' here restin' my bones, this … thousand miles I roamed, just to make this dock my home, wastin’ time.”

Being back home, back to normal life, I’m a’wastin’ time!  I gotta go back.  The sirens of the sea are calling me.  Gotta go back to that dock in Tybee to watch some “tides roll away!” 

Pier Pleasure, Tybee Island

“Some beach, some where” lyrically rambles through my head.  I know, I know, it’s all about a man who endures frustration, but I hear Blake Shelton’s voice in there coaxing me right back to Tybee Island to sit under “a big umbrella casting shade” with “a warm breeze blowin”.  

East of Savannah, you know, a wonderful getaway, Tybee Island.

You can’t resist the tug and pull of the Atlantic waves for soothing away the troubles.  Nor for salt washing the soul.  It’s Pier Pleasure.  LOL, yes, I said that.  Puns are fun, aren’t they?

There were plenty of them as we navigated the side roads, and main thoroughfares with our golf cart.   We saw Pier Pleasure tacked to an outside shower house, a must to keep sand out of plumbing and off hardwood floors.

John preferred riding in the back of the golf cart.  He could relax.  Didn’t have to concern himself with traffic.  Just the vacation he wanted he said.

Spencer liked being the man behind the wheel.  He drove us through allies, and down to boat ramps, where we watched red sailed dinghies take off, and through the sandy paths, and over the graveled bypass created especially for golf cart traffic.

So, up close, first hand, we got to see the islanders’ happiness printed on signs nailed to their beach houses, and hung on their yard ornaments. Some were even painted on their garage walls.  One such sign punned the French phrase “C’est la vie” with the words Sea Le Vie.  We pointed and grinned.

Slowly cruising by the next house that had an open-air carport, we spied a sign hanging from a bird’s neck.   “Sassy Seagull” it read.  Funny.

So was the dinosaur with multi-colored Christmas tinsel dangling from his jaws, like it was still Christmas!   Sheesh.  Then there was the giant sea turtle climbing up a house wall, and the truck duck.  There was a white duck peering at us through the closed window of a big red Chevy truck.  For a nanosecond we were concerned until we realized he was stone still.  Made of cement, he was; all too funny!

A billboard advertisement said they sold Handi-Houses.  Of course, Spencer looked closely.  He claims he’s moving to Tybee, but, alas, this sign was not for home buying.  This Handi-House sign was for the common shed!  Ha, ha.

We saw Cap’n Mike Dolphin Tours, Dizzy Dean Liquors, and the alligator at the Crab Shack.  That green imitation alligator was about seven feet tall including its open gaping mouth.

On the way home, “leaving the palm trees, and salty evenin’ air”, we went through South Carolina and passed another fun sign, Coosawhatchie.  That one I had to look up!

It’s a city's name derived from the Indian tribe of Coosaw and their word for river, hatchie.  Well, that explanation made sense, but it was more fun to have it tumbling around in my brain and spilling off my lips, “Coose-a-watch-ee.”  Say it again.  “Coose-a-watch-ee”.  One more time and you’ve said it three times fast, hilarious.

If you’ve been landlocked by the flats of Illinois, the hills of Kentucky, and the rolling plains of Ohio, and have ever taken a vacation to ocean waters, you know what I mean -- there’s nothing like “nowhere to go” and “a beautiful sunset”.    My mind is still rambling that beachy song. 

Waving goodbye, sea waves back!  It's a Conch-clusion.  Chuckle, it’s punny!

What's A Tybee Island?

“Islands in the stream” sings Dolly Parton.  “Sail away with me, to another world,” croons Kenny Rogers.   And that’s what runs through my mind when Spencer says, “Let’s go to Tybee Island.”

Tybee Island?  What’s a Tybee Island?

Put your wheels on I-74 South and keep going until you hit ocean, the Atlantic Ocean.  By then you’ve passed through Savannah and Thunderbolt. Tybee is one of two.  You have to pass through Wilmington Island to get to Tybee Island.

Citizens of Tybee work on Wilmington. Those that live on Wilmington work on Tybee!  It’s a conundrum.

Spencer falls in love.

He loves the air.  He loves the people.  He loves the beach.  He loves the accommodations.  He loves the golf cart.  He loves the grouper.  He loves the sightseeing.  He loves the seafood.  He loves the stories.  He loves the golf cart.  Oh, I said that before didn’t I, ha, ha.  He’s in love.

You can order Boom Boom Shrimp at the restaurant where one of the waitresses said she originally came from Michigan.  She came to Tybee on vacation, loved it so much she went home, packed up everything, sold everything else, came back and never bought a coat again.  That was eleven years ago!  Spencer’s eyes are excited.

The tall black-haired lady at the convenience store said she came, she stayed, she swims EVERY DAY!   Spencer’s eyes get moony.

“Spencer, you can’t leave home.  You’ll break your mother’s heart,” I say.  “Twenty miles is already too far away,” I am the mom.

A gentleman near by hears our conversation and tells us his story.  He was twenty some years old when he left home (Illinois) to live in Tybee. He came down for vacation, fell in love with the place and stayed.  His mom, too, hated to see him move.  He invested in a rental property, and then invited his dad to come check it out. His dad came and stayed so long that he lost a months rent!

And now his parents come every year!

Aunt was no help.  She flew in to join us on Tybee.  She flew right to his side, “No one in between”.  She helped him check out the babes. Their eyes scanned available properties. They dreamed of living on “Islands in the stream.”

 His eyes stay moonstruck.

Miss Lilly Helped

This is for Donna
because I can't come visit until after Ian's graduation reception.  Enjoy, my friend.

It was the cutest thing, Miss Lilly helped!

She's a sweet blond-headed granddaughter, so gentle, and not a troublemaker, but always inquisitive and on the move.  She toddles just fine, and can pull herself up into a wooden rocking chair deliberately turning herself around in the seat of the rocker to have a sit-down, and she can climb the stairs at church.
This morning I'd decided as I got out of bed to do as much in the upstairs bathroom as I could before my body screamed for drink or food.  The pressure's on since we've sent out 97 graduation reception invitations and I know the extra bath will be needed.  So...I cleaned the toilet, straightened the rugs and toiletries, cleaned the white porcelain sink, dusted everything, and cleaned one full length mirror.

Then in the afternoon, Clinton brought over Miss Lilly.  I babysat for an hour or so, but got to thinking about how I needed to get some work done and how I'd handled my own kids when some event was approaching, and took her upstairs to "help" me clean.  

She was so cute, she used the swiffer like a mop, then stabbed like a rapier, then swung like a baton, and then went back to push mopping.  Many a time, if I hadn't ducked, I could've gotten whacked or poked.  And get this, the whole time, she was singing in her baby, slurred, unspecific consonant sounding voice, The ABC Song!!!!!

The shower did get a good dosing of The Works, and believe it or not the floor finally did get swept and scrubbed -- all the while musically entertained.

Sing it.  
"This is the way we clean our floors, clean our floors, clean our floors."  

" ...so early in the morning."  LOL, or better yet, 

Sing the ABC song, here we go, sing just like Miss Lilly,  

"A, Bee, Cee, Dee, E, Eff, Gee, 

poke grandma in the eye 

when she's near me-eee-eee-ee ... ... "