So, tonight Bela got into the box of hand-made chocolate I gave Bern for our Anniversary. It is really fabulous chocolate made by a guy here in Cheshire, who, if I might say so, looks like he relishes his livelihood. But would you want to buy chocolate from a skinny guy, really?
Anyway, Bern left the box on the table beside the couch in our upstairs TV room and somehow Bela opened it (Bern swears it was closed) and ate, we don't know how much, but surely three or four pieces since I went looking for him since he's always with one of us and he wasn't. He'd have probably eaten all of it if I hadn't found him.
Since it was Bern's candy, she felt responsible so I called our vet and got the number for the Animal Poison Hot line in Urbana, Illinois, of all places and it turns out what we thought he ate would do not much more than giving him an upset stomach for a while.
Did you know chocolate is toxic for dogs? As are grapes or raisins and other things I don't remember.
Bern loves this awful, terrible, bad dog more than she's ever loved any animal we've been with--which are legion. She was so worried that I made those calls. Bela, in the meantime, is sleeping peacefully wherever we are. Right now behind me as I type.
He isn't vomiting or seeming anxious or any of the other symptoms of chocolate poisoning the woman in Urbana told me after calling one of their vets. All of which she told me before charging $65 to my credit card for her advice. But, hey, Bela went to the vet yesterday, got three shots and a RX that, hopefully, will make him able to travel to Baltimore next week for Morgan and Emma's birthday. (He is the worst dog ever in a car, barking unless you're giving him treats. So we want to almost knock him out for the trip.)
I knew the woman on the phone wasn't from Connecticut because she pronounced our town's name as 'Che-SHIRE' instead of 'Che-shire'.
So, all is well on the Bela watch for now....What a bad dog....
Friday, September 6, 2013
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Things I wonder about
I wonder about a lot of things. These are but a few.
*Bela, our dog, went to the Vet today and got 3 shots and blood drawn. He gets so tense at the Vet that she can't palpitate his stomach because it gets real hard. I wonder what he is thinking about all that.
*I wonder why people think such radically different things than I think. It stuns me to realize some people think homosexuals are sick and bad and that healthcare is a bad thing and that poor people somehow chose to be poor.
*I wonder why we can't see the Milky Way in Cheshire. On Oak Island, the Milky Way adorns the sky. There doesn't seem to be that much more light in Cheshire, but I can't see it.
*I wonder what goes on in Miley Cyrus's brain.
*I wonder what determines why Maggie, our parakeet yells so loud sometimes and not others. She listens to classical music all day on the radio beside her cage (unless NPR news is on) but some music makes her yell so loud it hurts my ears and other music doesn't.
*Our cat, Lukie, got in the basement today when I was washing clothes and stayed down there for several hours. Our basement isn't too interesting to me, so I wonder what he finds so fascinating about it.
*I wonder why I wonder about so much.
*I wonder if 'wondering' goes away when you have dementia or if all you do when you have dementia is wonder why the world is so different than it was.
*I wonder how Bern and I have endured for 43 years married today. I wonder what that 20 year old girl and 23 year old boy (we were a 'boy' and a 'girl' since people didn't grow up as fast as they do now back then) were feeling as they arrived in Roanoke, Virginia to spend their first night together as married people at the Hotel Roanoke.
*I wonder about Pelicans and Penguins and Pigeons.
*I wonder about most things that begin with 'P'.
* I wonder what it is that makes me such a happy, joyful person when so many of the people on our little island home called Earth are oppressed, miserable and forlorn.
*I wonder why 'forlorn' isn't a word used more often.
*I wonder if other people 'wonder' as much as I do. I hope so, because 'wondering' is one of the gifts of life to me....
*Bela, our dog, went to the Vet today and got 3 shots and blood drawn. He gets so tense at the Vet that she can't palpitate his stomach because it gets real hard. I wonder what he is thinking about all that.
*I wonder why people think such radically different things than I think. It stuns me to realize some people think homosexuals are sick and bad and that healthcare is a bad thing and that poor people somehow chose to be poor.
*I wonder why we can't see the Milky Way in Cheshire. On Oak Island, the Milky Way adorns the sky. There doesn't seem to be that much more light in Cheshire, but I can't see it.
*I wonder what goes on in Miley Cyrus's brain.
*I wonder what determines why Maggie, our parakeet yells so loud sometimes and not others. She listens to classical music all day on the radio beside her cage (unless NPR news is on) but some music makes her yell so loud it hurts my ears and other music doesn't.
*Our cat, Lukie, got in the basement today when I was washing clothes and stayed down there for several hours. Our basement isn't too interesting to me, so I wonder what he finds so fascinating about it.
*I wonder why I wonder about so much.
*I wonder if 'wondering' goes away when you have dementia or if all you do when you have dementia is wonder why the world is so different than it was.
*I wonder how Bern and I have endured for 43 years married today. I wonder what that 20 year old girl and 23 year old boy (we were a 'boy' and a 'girl' since people didn't grow up as fast as they do now back then) were feeling as they arrived in Roanoke, Virginia to spend their first night together as married people at the Hotel Roanoke.
*I wonder about Pelicans and Penguins and Pigeons.
*I wonder about most things that begin with 'P'.
* I wonder what it is that makes me such a happy, joyful person when so many of the people on our little island home called Earth are oppressed, miserable and forlorn.
*I wonder why 'forlorn' isn't a word used more often.
*I wonder if other people 'wonder' as much as I do. I hope so, because 'wondering' is one of the gifts of life to me....
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
43 and counting....
Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. We were married in 1970 at Our Lady of Victory Roman Catholic Church in Gary, West Virginia. We were babies--23 and 20--and didn't know any better.
It was the first time ever that an Episcopal priest was on the altar at Our Lady of Victory. "Pop" Bailey was there, along with Fr. Cook. And we got married--Bern and me.
The reception was at the Gary Country Club, that I had boycotted as a Senior in High School because the Senior Prom was not open to the five black members of our class. There was no dinner, only hoers devours and wedding cake and alcohol in the basement for selected members of my family and all of Bern's family, leaving weak punch for most of my tee-totaling family. It all lasted about an hour and then we were off in my father's Ford since I had wrecked my car on the way for a second blood test a week before, running into a lake in Princeton when I misunderstood a truck's signaling--which I thought meant "Pass Me" (a message truckers often send in West Virgina since mountains loom and there is difficulty getting around them) and which really meant, "I'm turning left". There was a second blood test needed because they tested me for diabetes the first time rather than whatever it was the test was supposed to be about.
Forty-three years. Amazing.
I sometimes tell people I've been married five times but always to the same woman.
And that's true, accurate, real.
The first marriage was two children in love. That lasted a year or more.
The second marriage was Bern going to New York to act and me staying in Morgantown to be a social worker. Two years of that.
Then there was the 'children marriage', interrupted 11 years in by a separation that lasted several months.
Then, the second 'children marriage', lasting until Josh and Mimi were well away and on their own.
The fifth marriage was what we have now. The Empty Nest, it's just you and me again marriage, which has become the longest and best of them all.
God, I love my life and my wife and 'our life' for the last dozen plus years.
I was of the generation who thought we should "live fast, love hard, die young and leave a beautiful memory". But let me tell you, the last 18 years or so have been the best of my life. Bern and I have settled into what many would consider a boring and very routine life. And it is. And I love the rut we've been in. It is simply the life I've always wanted to live. Especially since I retired. We live to the songs of Maggie, our parakeet, the needs of Luke, our cat, and the wonderment of having a Puli dog named Bela. We read constantly, watch TV from time to time, always eat dinner together, seldom need to discuss anything since we know each other so well, and love each other in a way that is deeper and more profound than all the passion and lust that came before.
Forty three years with Bern (plus the years before--I was 17 and she was 14 when we met in Latin class) so that makes our time together 49 years...is exactly how I would have wanted to spend almost a half-century. Exactly the way--though it didn't always seem that way--but just right, just wondrous, just perfect.
43 years ago tomorrow, two children who didn't know any better, got married. And through all the marriages we have had, we have arrived at the best one, the one we meant to have when we said 'I do' four decades and a bit ago.
I realized a few years ago that Bern is not 'the Love of my Life'....In a real way, she 'IS my life', for better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health...for 43 years and whatever years the gods of marriage indulge us with in the future.
(I remember the child of 14 I met when I was 17. We first kissed under the bleachers at a high school football game. She was ethereal, mystical, foreign, unknown to me. A Hungarian/Italian child kissing a WASP of forever generations. I remember that first kiss--the kiss when I knew, against all odds and all reason, that somehow she and I would share our lives in ways we could never imagine but that would endure. I can't tell you how humbled and delighted and wonder-struck I am that I was right. A life with Bern is worth two or three or more in some other circumstance.)
Forty-three years and counting tomorrow....
Imagine my wonder, my gratitude, my joy......
It was the first time ever that an Episcopal priest was on the altar at Our Lady of Victory. "Pop" Bailey was there, along with Fr. Cook. And we got married--Bern and me.
The reception was at the Gary Country Club, that I had boycotted as a Senior in High School because the Senior Prom was not open to the five black members of our class. There was no dinner, only hoers devours and wedding cake and alcohol in the basement for selected members of my family and all of Bern's family, leaving weak punch for most of my tee-totaling family. It all lasted about an hour and then we were off in my father's Ford since I had wrecked my car on the way for a second blood test a week before, running into a lake in Princeton when I misunderstood a truck's signaling--which I thought meant "Pass Me" (a message truckers often send in West Virgina since mountains loom and there is difficulty getting around them) and which really meant, "I'm turning left". There was a second blood test needed because they tested me for diabetes the first time rather than whatever it was the test was supposed to be about.
Forty-three years. Amazing.
I sometimes tell people I've been married five times but always to the same woman.
And that's true, accurate, real.
The first marriage was two children in love. That lasted a year or more.
The second marriage was Bern going to New York to act and me staying in Morgantown to be a social worker. Two years of that.
Then there was the 'children marriage', interrupted 11 years in by a separation that lasted several months.
Then, the second 'children marriage', lasting until Josh and Mimi were well away and on their own.
The fifth marriage was what we have now. The Empty Nest, it's just you and me again marriage, which has become the longest and best of them all.
God, I love my life and my wife and 'our life' for the last dozen plus years.
I was of the generation who thought we should "live fast, love hard, die young and leave a beautiful memory". But let me tell you, the last 18 years or so have been the best of my life. Bern and I have settled into what many would consider a boring and very routine life. And it is. And I love the rut we've been in. It is simply the life I've always wanted to live. Especially since I retired. We live to the songs of Maggie, our parakeet, the needs of Luke, our cat, and the wonderment of having a Puli dog named Bela. We read constantly, watch TV from time to time, always eat dinner together, seldom need to discuss anything since we know each other so well, and love each other in a way that is deeper and more profound than all the passion and lust that came before.
Forty three years with Bern (plus the years before--I was 17 and she was 14 when we met in Latin class) so that makes our time together 49 years...is exactly how I would have wanted to spend almost a half-century. Exactly the way--though it didn't always seem that way--but just right, just wondrous, just perfect.
43 years ago tomorrow, two children who didn't know any better, got married. And through all the marriages we have had, we have arrived at the best one, the one we meant to have when we said 'I do' four decades and a bit ago.
I realized a few years ago that Bern is not 'the Love of my Life'....In a real way, she 'IS my life', for better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health...for 43 years and whatever years the gods of marriage indulge us with in the future.
(I remember the child of 14 I met when I was 17. We first kissed under the bleachers at a high school football game. She was ethereal, mystical, foreign, unknown to me. A Hungarian/Italian child kissing a WASP of forever generations. I remember that first kiss--the kiss when I knew, against all odds and all reason, that somehow she and I would share our lives in ways we could never imagine but that would endure. I can't tell you how humbled and delighted and wonder-struck I am that I was right. A life with Bern is worth two or three or more in some other circumstance.)
Forty-three years and counting tomorrow....
Imagine my wonder, my gratitude, my joy......
Where would he go and why....?
Whenever our Puli dog
goes out in the back yard
the first thing he does
is check the push-in-the-ground fence
that separates the yard from the driveway.
Several times, he's found it down
and tried to run away.
Why and to where
has always fascinated me.
There is no better life
for Bela "out there".
We make his food:
ground turkey, sweet potatoes,
peas and celery and garlic,
green beans and blueberries,
cooked well and lovingly.
And we love him
like a rock.
Bern loves him so much
it makes me anxious
whenever he's with me
that something bad will
happen and she'll blame me
for his demise.
So, what is so attractive
about 'out there'?
Why would he run away?
Where would he go
and why? Is what I wonder.
Where would we 'run away'
to, if we only could?
And why?
goes out in the back yard
the first thing he does
is check the push-in-the-ground fence
that separates the yard from the driveway.
Several times, he's found it down
and tried to run away.
Why and to where
has always fascinated me.
There is no better life
for Bela "out there".
We make his food:
ground turkey, sweet potatoes,
peas and celery and garlic,
green beans and blueberries,
cooked well and lovingly.
And we love him
like a rock.
Bern loves him so much
it makes me anxious
whenever he's with me
that something bad will
happen and she'll blame me
for his demise.
So, what is so attractive
about 'out there'?
Why would he run away?
Where would he go
and why? Is what I wonder.
Where would we 'run away'
to, if we only could?
And why?
Monday, September 2, 2013
What Tim and I talked about in the night....
I'm not sure how it started, my conversation with Tim, my daughter's fiancee, but since they've been together for years now, already my son-in-law: but it was a conversation about 'belief' and 'practice'.
I have come to understand, over my life, that 'belief' belongs in the same category as 'feelings' and that 'practice' involves a 'choice' we make.
I am convinced that we don't have 'feelings', 'feelings' have us.
The dumbest thing you can say to someone who is sad or angry or happy is 'don't be sad/angry/happy. Though I don't know why you'd tell someone to not be happy, it is as useless and vain as telling someone not to be 'sad' or 'angry'. We don't 'have' feelings, feelings 'have' us.
I've come to realize that 'belief' is a 'feeling'. On the other hand 'practice' is a 'choice'.
I told Tim what I ask couples that come to me wanting to be married. "Tell me why you want to be married," I say, "and there is only one wrong answer."
Invariably, most of them tell me they want to be married because they are 'in love'.
That is the one wrong answer about wanting to be married.
"Love", I explain to them, as painful as it is, is the wrong answer because 'love' is a 'feeling' and we don't 'have feelings', feelings 'have us'. Then I tell them about my wife of now almost 43 years (in a few days), but whenever I told them about how I love my wife, it is the same telling. "Sometimes," I tell those dew-wet, crazy 'in love' couples, "I can't wait to get home just to see her, just to be in the same room with her because I love her so much. And then," I go on, "I often wake up in the early morning and look at her sleeping and see the creases on her face from the pillow and hear her snorts of snoring and see a little saliva coming out of her mouth and smell her morning smell and think, who is this? What am I doing here with her? Shouldn't I be somewhere else?
Love is a feeling, an emotion, and cannot be relied upon because it comes and goes--believe me, it comes and goes as all feelings do. So 'Love' is a terrible reason to get married. It will pass...and come again...and pass again....
The reason to get married involves a 'choice'--deciding to 'choose' to live your life with this person, no matter what feelings show up. The reason to get married in to choose to be committed to the relationship, for better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health.
I had an assistant Rector once who always said, "God is not a feeling."
She was right and right absolutely. And, it seems to me, 'belief' is much more a 'feeling' than a 'choice'.
Practice, on the other hand, is defiantly a 'choice' and not a 'feeling'.
I couldn't say the Nicene Creed if it didn't begin "WE believe". Because, depending on how I 'feel', I may or may not believe some of that stuff. But if it is a 'community' thing, if it is a WE believe thing, then I can be a part of that because someone in the community must 'believe' what we're saying together.
Some Jews, as I understand it, are 'practicing' Jews. That means they keep the laws and the traditions as opposed to 'ethnic Jews' or 'secular Jews', who are Jews by their DNA, but not by their 'practice'.
I would distinguish Christians in this way--there are 'believing Christians' and then there are 'practicing Christians'.
I am in the latter group. I'm convinced that my 'belief', like my feelings, come and go. But I know my 'practice' of Christianity is something I choose to do. Practice is a choice, not a feeling.
So, I 'practice' my faith, whether or not I 'believe' it or not. I tend to the prayers and the sacraments. I seek always to be generous, compassionate and truthful. I welcome strangers and contribute to the poor. I seek to avoid anger and violence and prejudice. I 'pray' by holding people and the world in my mind and heart. I observe the holy days of my faith.
I am 'committed' to Christ rather than 'believing in' Christ. My faith is a commitment rather than a 'belief'.
I stand for what I say--that I am a 'practicing Christian' rather than a 'believing Christian.' I'm not sure what 'believing' even means.
I choose to practice being a Christian. I'm never quite sure what I believe.
What I do is 'choose' to follow Jesus, as best I can.
I have no idea, from time to time, what I 'believe' about Jesus.
"Being a Christian" to me, has much more to do with what I choose to practice than what I may or may not feel or believe at any moment in time.
PRACTICE, for me, is much more important that BELIEF. Every time, always. PRACTICE is who we BE. 'Belief' is what we think we feel.
Being always trumps 'feeling', so far as I can tell.
But that's just me.
And that is what Tim and I talked about in the night on Oak Island in North Carolina last week. A place blessed to be beautiful and wondrous and, in the dark, a place for deep conversation.
I have come to understand, over my life, that 'belief' belongs in the same category as 'feelings' and that 'practice' involves a 'choice' we make.
I am convinced that we don't have 'feelings', 'feelings' have us.
The dumbest thing you can say to someone who is sad or angry or happy is 'don't be sad/angry/happy. Though I don't know why you'd tell someone to not be happy, it is as useless and vain as telling someone not to be 'sad' or 'angry'. We don't 'have' feelings, feelings 'have' us.
I've come to realize that 'belief' is a 'feeling'. On the other hand 'practice' is a 'choice'.
I told Tim what I ask couples that come to me wanting to be married. "Tell me why you want to be married," I say, "and there is only one wrong answer."
Invariably, most of them tell me they want to be married because they are 'in love'.
That is the one wrong answer about wanting to be married.
"Love", I explain to them, as painful as it is, is the wrong answer because 'love' is a 'feeling' and we don't 'have feelings', feelings 'have us'. Then I tell them about my wife of now almost 43 years (in a few days), but whenever I told them about how I love my wife, it is the same telling. "Sometimes," I tell those dew-wet, crazy 'in love' couples, "I can't wait to get home just to see her, just to be in the same room with her because I love her so much. And then," I go on, "I often wake up in the early morning and look at her sleeping and see the creases on her face from the pillow and hear her snorts of snoring and see a little saliva coming out of her mouth and smell her morning smell and think, who is this? What am I doing here with her? Shouldn't I be somewhere else?
Love is a feeling, an emotion, and cannot be relied upon because it comes and goes--believe me, it comes and goes as all feelings do. So 'Love' is a terrible reason to get married. It will pass...and come again...and pass again....
The reason to get married involves a 'choice'--deciding to 'choose' to live your life with this person, no matter what feelings show up. The reason to get married in to choose to be committed to the relationship, for better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health.
I had an assistant Rector once who always said, "God is not a feeling."
She was right and right absolutely. And, it seems to me, 'belief' is much more a 'feeling' than a 'choice'.
Practice, on the other hand, is defiantly a 'choice' and not a 'feeling'.
I couldn't say the Nicene Creed if it didn't begin "WE believe". Because, depending on how I 'feel', I may or may not believe some of that stuff. But if it is a 'community' thing, if it is a WE believe thing, then I can be a part of that because someone in the community must 'believe' what we're saying together.
Some Jews, as I understand it, are 'practicing' Jews. That means they keep the laws and the traditions as opposed to 'ethnic Jews' or 'secular Jews', who are Jews by their DNA, but not by their 'practice'.
I would distinguish Christians in this way--there are 'believing Christians' and then there are 'practicing Christians'.
I am in the latter group. I'm convinced that my 'belief', like my feelings, come and go. But I know my 'practice' of Christianity is something I choose to do. Practice is a choice, not a feeling.
So, I 'practice' my faith, whether or not I 'believe' it or not. I tend to the prayers and the sacraments. I seek always to be generous, compassionate and truthful. I welcome strangers and contribute to the poor. I seek to avoid anger and violence and prejudice. I 'pray' by holding people and the world in my mind and heart. I observe the holy days of my faith.
I am 'committed' to Christ rather than 'believing in' Christ. My faith is a commitment rather than a 'belief'.
I stand for what I say--that I am a 'practicing Christian' rather than a 'believing Christian.' I'm not sure what 'believing' even means.
I choose to practice being a Christian. I'm never quite sure what I believe.
What I do is 'choose' to follow Jesus, as best I can.
I have no idea, from time to time, what I 'believe' about Jesus.
"Being a Christian" to me, has much more to do with what I choose to practice than what I may or may not feel or believe at any moment in time.
PRACTICE, for me, is much more important that BELIEF. Every time, always. PRACTICE is who we BE. 'Belief' is what we think we feel.
Being always trumps 'feeling', so far as I can tell.
But that's just me.
And that is what Tim and I talked about in the night on Oak Island in North Carolina last week. A place blessed to be beautiful and wondrous and, in the dark, a place for deep conversation.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Here, again...
We're home again, jiggidy-jig....
As I grow older, I become, more and more, a 'homebody'. I just spent a glorious week with one of my children and her fiancee and Bern and two of my best friends in the world on a beach that is wondrous and practically empty, with gulls and Pelicans and birds aplenty and with more good food than anyone deserves and reading 6 books. What could be better, I ask you?
Being home is the answer. Being with our cat and parakeet, who a neighbor child looked after while we were gone, and our dog who I rescued and liberated from the kennel this afternoon. Familiar things give me quiet joy. Home again, home again, juggidy-jig....
I love this house we've lived in since 1989, when Josh was 14 and Mimi was 11. Long gone now, the two of them, and Bern and I live on here. 23 years and counting, surrounded by animals late and quick and by our 'stuff', which has become like skin to me.
A mystical sojourn on Oak Island with some of the people we love most in the world. What could be better than that?
Well, maybe being home with Maggie singing and Luke rubbing against you and Bela home with us and the almost unbearable and also enchanting familiarity of 95 Cornwall Avenue.
I love being home, being 'here' again, after being 'there'.
I will sleep tonight the sleep of the dead and the innocent and wake in the morning to those so-familiar sights and sounds and smells and comfort of 'being Home'.
Being 'home' is about as good as it gets in my mind and heart and soul....
As I grow older, I become, more and more, a 'homebody'. I just spent a glorious week with one of my children and her fiancee and Bern and two of my best friends in the world on a beach that is wondrous and practically empty, with gulls and Pelicans and birds aplenty and with more good food than anyone deserves and reading 6 books. What could be better, I ask you?
Being home is the answer. Being with our cat and parakeet, who a neighbor child looked after while we were gone, and our dog who I rescued and liberated from the kennel this afternoon. Familiar things give me quiet joy. Home again, home again, juggidy-jig....
I love this house we've lived in since 1989, when Josh was 14 and Mimi was 11. Long gone now, the two of them, and Bern and I live on here. 23 years and counting, surrounded by animals late and quick and by our 'stuff', which has become like skin to me.
A mystical sojourn on Oak Island with some of the people we love most in the world. What could be better than that?
Well, maybe being home with Maggie singing and Luke rubbing against you and Bela home with us and the almost unbearable and also enchanting familiarity of 95 Cornwall Avenue.
I love being home, being 'here' again, after being 'there'.
I will sleep tonight the sleep of the dead and the innocent and wake in the morning to those so-familiar sights and sounds and smells and comfort of 'being Home'.
Being 'home' is about as good as it gets in my mind and heart and soul....
Friday, August 30, 2013
Beach Magic
Oak Island, NC Friday
Last day at the beach. We'll start home tomorrow before noon--Tim and Mimi to Raleigh to catch their flight to NYC; Bern, John, Sherry and I in the Land Rover going to x-143 off I 95 to spend the night just north of Fredricksburg, VA. Last day is quiet, people feverishly finishing books, trying to eat everything in the refrigerator, feeling wistful. I remember spending three weeks and a couple of times a month on this island. My dream would be two weeks next year. Maybe Jack, Sherry's husband will be retired by then and can come with us. Even if Tim and Mimi could only stay one week, it would be great. Maybe even Josh, Cathy and our granddaughters could come for part of the first week and Mimi and Tim for the second. That's what I'd like anyway, but the girls would have to come the first week so we'd have a week to rest up and recover!
This morning there was a moment of beach magic.
Tim and Mimi were out in the calm ocean (yesterday afternoon it was knocking people down but this morning it was like a big lake) when one of the ubiquitous pelicans came crash diving not 5 feet from them. When it bobbed to the surface it looked at Tim and Mimi and Tim and Mimi looked at it.
The huge bird came nearer and stopped, then Tim and Mimi moved toward the bird.
John and I were in the gazebo, watching.
The meet and greet went on for over five minutes until Mimi started to try to get on the ocean side of the bird and it flew away, flapping its wondrous wings.
You don't get close to pelicans, they being to noble to traffic with humans. But there for over 5 minutes, Mimi and Tim could have reached out and touched the bird (though they had better sense that to try that!) Tim was who called it 'beach magic'. Mimi just was amazed at how wierd pelicans are up close.
At one point John picked up one of the dozen or so devices we have with us that will take a picture.
Then he put it down.
"This will be much better in our memories than in a photograph," he said.
And he was right.
Last day at the beach. We'll start home tomorrow before noon--Tim and Mimi to Raleigh to catch their flight to NYC; Bern, John, Sherry and I in the Land Rover going to x-143 off I 95 to spend the night just north of Fredricksburg, VA. Last day is quiet, people feverishly finishing books, trying to eat everything in the refrigerator, feeling wistful. I remember spending three weeks and a couple of times a month on this island. My dream would be two weeks next year. Maybe Jack, Sherry's husband will be retired by then and can come with us. Even if Tim and Mimi could only stay one week, it would be great. Maybe even Josh, Cathy and our granddaughters could come for part of the first week and Mimi and Tim for the second. That's what I'd like anyway, but the girls would have to come the first week so we'd have a week to rest up and recover!
This morning there was a moment of beach magic.
Tim and Mimi were out in the calm ocean (yesterday afternoon it was knocking people down but this morning it was like a big lake) when one of the ubiquitous pelicans came crash diving not 5 feet from them. When it bobbed to the surface it looked at Tim and Mimi and Tim and Mimi looked at it.
The huge bird came nearer and stopped, then Tim and Mimi moved toward the bird.
John and I were in the gazebo, watching.
The meet and greet went on for over five minutes until Mimi started to try to get on the ocean side of the bird and it flew away, flapping its wondrous wings.
You don't get close to pelicans, they being to noble to traffic with humans. But there for over 5 minutes, Mimi and Tim could have reached out and touched the bird (though they had better sense that to try that!) Tim was who called it 'beach magic'. Mimi just was amazed at how wierd pelicans are up close.
At one point John picked up one of the dozen or so devices we have with us that will take a picture.
Then he put it down.
"This will be much better in our memories than in a photograph," he said.
And he was right.
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