There’s a new kid in town

Everybody’s talking, there’s a new kid in town, all he needs is some walking…..

His name is Angus,  and as much as we liked Tracy and Petunia,  this dog takes coolness to levels not previously seen.     When the rest of the pups are barking away,  this guy just sits back and tells them all to relax.

You can always tell when someone knows what’s going on without saying a thing.  That is this dude.    I am looking forward to learning a lot from this fellow before someone smart enough realizes there is no finer dog in the land to bring home.

I will tell you this,  if we did not have Summer,  he’d be coming on home with us…..

More to come as we help get this cool cat a permanent crib.

And since we’ve no place to go.

Do I miss it ?  Sometimes, but not enough to move back above the rain/snow line.    The kid in you always wants to play in it,  but the older you get,  the heavier the shovel becomes.    It is on its way,  and to see it on radar is quite impressive.   Snowmaggedon,  The Storm of the Century,  Thundersnow,   Blizzardopolous,  Noreaster,  The Great Snowstorm of ’17,   The Week I caught the Clap…  Wait how did that one get in there ?

So off we go, battening down the hatches,  put the wife and kids to bed,  bring the dog in from outside, tie up the trash cans,  bringing in the outside furniture,  getting all the batteries, flashlights, first aid kits,  firewood,  fungus spray, ice melt, snow melt, rock salt, blow torch, pop tarts and vodka, whiskey and condoms,  penicillin and firearms,   it is time to hunker down,  formulate, fabricate and anticipate that anything can and will happen in the next 48 hours.

When the first flakes fly sideways,  it is katy bar the door,  it’s a white out and we are about to get dumped on,  pounded, slammed, obliterated with a Winter Storm that will make your joints howl the way they did back in ’27 when my great great grandpappy saw it snow for 6 days and lived on nothing but snow and wood bark.

And you better have some respect for Mother Nature, for this is no storm to sneeze at, you don’t want to get caught with your pants down,  or worse caught napping when this beast comes a knocking at your door,  you best have your ducks in a row or there will be hell to pay when it is time to pay the fiddler,  and you better give the devil his due or he may return with his friend named Sleet and nobody can stand that guy as he only makes a racket and knocks the power out.

You still have a few hours left to load up on water and milk and bread and eggs and generators and toilet paper and large quantities of alcohol since you will soon be forced to live with your family for more than an hour at a time and Lordy knows you do NOT want to do that sober.   And while you are at the store, don’t forget the non perishables and condiments and powdered milk and various old time board games such as  “Tell Dad he’s a dick”  or  “How to get away with maiming my siblings with Icicles”,  you know,  all of the old favorites.

Finally,  we have a new custom called naming that winter storm, as Hurricanes were not enough for the media.   So I gotcha covered,  if we are going to prepare for the Storm of the Millenium,  may as well have the appropriate names at the ready for when it comes.  These are only to be used when snow is measured with a yard stick, and the winds howl so loud you’d swear your mother in law was at the door.   If we are going to scare people with these storms, we need to name them properly.  I think body parts work best.

I give you Winter Storm :

Anus, Bowel, Cerebrum, Descending Colon,  Eye socket,  Foot Fungus ( a double whammy),  Ganglia, Hypothalamus, Incisor, Jugular, Kidney Stone,  Lymphatic Drainage, Medulla Oblongata, Pancreas,  Quasimodo (I know it’s not a body part, but it is a good storm name),  Rectum,  Sacrum, Thorax,  Umbilical,  V  (never mess with Winter Storm V),   Windpipe, Xiphoid Process, Yowsa, Zygote.  (ok, I know Yowsa is not a body part, but think of the ratings for Winter Storm Yowsa, coming to a town near you) 

Ok, that’s it for now.  Head for the hills before the storm gets to you, and if you can’t,  make sure you are with just the right amount of people you can stand…..

800 yards

It is not for everyone.  But it is a place unlike any other.  Many men and women come through here on a week to week excursion,  much fewer that come here and never leave, but it is not for everyone.   We are all just visitors here, for this place is truly owned by the extraordinary nature that begins at the waves and finishes up a few hundred yards to the west at the sound.   In between are the birds and the crabs, the dogs and the cats, the owls and the rats, the snakes and the turtles, the rabbits and the foxes.

No matter who thinks they own this or that, the wind will always have the last laugh.   When she decides to kick it up with her friends the rain and the tide,  we are at her mercy and are grateful for the amount of time she lets us stay here.   I will forever be in awe of the beauty that resides here on a day when the Sun pokes her head out from behind the clouds,  the winds lay dormant for a few hours, and the sky turns a shade of blue so sharp you cannot look away when you see it for the first time.   The trick is to never grow tired of such a day, as we live here on borrowed time from the Queen of Nature.  Appreciate the days that always turn out better than predicted,  for this 800 yard stretch has a mind of its own and can turn on you at a moment’s notice.

March has begun, and it is as quiet as quiet can be.  You have to be ok with the quiet to be here.  The slowness and stillness can drive a man crazy, or it can inspire him to do great things as that is where you plug into what you are supposed to do in this world.

The season on the island is about to begin,  let me take you through it this year.   The sounds of the sea,  the smell of the mist,  the seagull call from afar,  and the Saturday parade of cars.

There are many angles to see it from.   The visitor who wants to get away,  the resident who needs them for there are bills to pay.   It becomes a dance of sorts, the common denominator that most understand is that we are all on loan from the mighty Atlantic who lets us stay here a week,  a month,  a year,  a lifetime.

There will be many stories from whence everyone came,  and I will do my best to capture those things here.  It is calm here now,  but we who live here know the storm is coming, and preparations are underway.

The houses are being renovated, the restaurants are opening their doors, others waiting for April and May.   The musicians are tuning up their instruments, as we all know that every dance needs music.     We will start as the winds of March howl outside, telling everyone who truly rules the land that we get to call home.

800 yards and none of them wasted.   Everyone has their own reason for finding it.  Let their stories be told….