Whining and Dining (part two)...a CRAB takes on a Lobster

Well...so there we sat in CHOPS restaurant in East Haven, Connecticut, having finally made it into "lobster territory", all the way from "sunny South Louisiana". This would be our first romantic dinner on the trip called, "the honeymoon we never got to take".  It was still dark and rainy outside, but inside here it was all warm and cozy, and...well, Cappy said, "Look at the place; sufficiently tacky enough to be cool". I thought it looked like a place where we  needed to use our best manners anyhow. It had very pretty wood everywhere and here we were dripping rain water onto their nice floor, like everybody else who had braved the storm to get here. It was old and casual, but nice. I guess you'd get the picture better, if I didn't blur my camera so much. 

Our waitress, impressed our Cappy alright. He says, "It shows that a waitress is attentive if she puts one breast on ya shoulder while helpin' ya look over the menu, calls ya "Honey" and keeps your beer glass full". (nice.) I just wanted my lobster. It did take a little while, tho' since they have to "take a live one down" and cook it. I always felt kind of bad about that. But the lemon and drawn butter helps.   It was my first time handling all the tools and hardware they give you to crack open the lobster and fish out all the meat.  The table was loaded with all kinds of stuff, like bibs and...well, just lots of 'stuff'. I opened a little package of wipes, first thing, because my hands were already 'dirty', I thought, from not being washed,...not really, all day. Cappy saw what I was doing and said, with the end of his torn open, too, "OH! Handwipes, I was going to pour it over my potato". Boy, what a couple of rubes. I didn't even know where to start on my lobster.  Cappy said, "It's no problem, I'm gonna treat it like it's a big crawfish", and so he did, quite successfully, too.

While we were waiting for our supper, we were enjoying the live band that was out in the other room. Not in the way we should have, I suppose. Hey, we live in New Orleans territory. We are spoiled. Well, honestly. They were playing Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville", going right along, but kept forgetting the words, so were just mumbling to the music, "...rummin' er six stax, blew out a pop tart...had to get healed, hurried on home". We just looked at each other, "Whaaa???" Then they went over the chorus several times in a row. Boy oh Boy, what would they have done if Cappy and I had started yelling, "SALT, SALT, SALT..." like all the customers do at Pat O'Brians on Bourbon Street...or what ya s'posed to yell when they sing, "You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille". (Let's not go there, except to say that I shocked and embarrassed my daughter, Sookie and my sister, Lori, who thought they'd seen me lose my mind right there in front of them, in public. It's Cappy, I tell ya... zall his fault, I never did all that before :)) So, anyway, while we were eating, another song started and I recognized it right away. Cappy said, "You impress me, Peg". I liked that, but then he added, "you knew what that song was just from the first three missed notes". We were being brats, for sure. Good thing the greeter had spotted us for who we are and right away had put us at a table in the back near the corner. While we were loudly cracking and ripping the lobsters apart, they started playing a romantic song, but it was a pretty shakey rendition of "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You". With a mouthful, Cappy slurped, "Oh Lord, now dey gonna drag 'Elv-eye' out da tomb...sounds like he's still in there".

Now, I was thoroughly enjoying my meal, but then I overheard another customer say in a crabby disgusted voice, 

"The lobster is sticking to the shell...it's over-cooked!" I hadn't even noticed before that...oh yeah, mine was stuck to the shell, too, but I thought it tasted pretty darned good, once I got most of it into my mouth...yum. Maybe a little tough, but it really, really tasted good. NOTHING like I've ever had at Red Lobster, (but Cappy calls Dead Lobster) where I've only had bits and small chunks.  When we finished eating, I placed my silverware in a thin V-shape pointing from "5 o'clock toward 10 o'clock on my plate, and placed my napkin to the left of my plate, as I was taught, to signal to the waitress that I was finished eating and mentioned that Cappy maybe do the same. He said, "Oh, I'm pretty sure she can tell by just lookin' at this pile of wreckage", and must be she did, because right away, she was there with our bill, we paid, and after Cappy feigned interest in the band, taking a picture, which I will not post here, we were out the door from our first romantic dinner of our "honeymoon that we never got to take". Outside the rain had stopped, it was warm, and the air was so clear and refreshing. I told Cappy thank you for a wonderful evening and gave him a nice big smooch. Know what he said? He said, "Yeah, I really liked that waitress...in another world, she'd be goin' home with me tonight". Yeah, she was sweet, she was attentive, she did have that joie de vivre like Cappy said. Although she was busy, she managed to make us feel special and I appreciated that. But right about then I wanted to "BANG ZOOM!!!" Put him off to another world, alright. Well, he was a bachelor for such a long time...old habits are hard to break; those crusty ol' sailors...whatcha gonna do. Just for fun, a lot of times, I'll point out really "hot" wimmens; and say,"Hey! Look at her, Honey!!" He usually averts his eyes and hems and haws and says, "They aint my type". Well, now I know, Miss Nancy, who is. And as nice as ya are, we aint never comin' back to CHOPS. ('til maybe the next time we come north to Maine). 

 I've gotta admit, I was a CRAB(!!!), there for awhile 'til the next day.  Cappy is such a sweetie-pie, and I know he didn't mean anything by it, so how could I stay mad at him? Here in Cappy and Pegody's World, *I'm* da one dat goes home wit him, and that's all that counts. (til he reads this blog post <:-0) S000ooo....next time we won't be so shellfish; we'll both just clam up instead, (boyyy, that was a stretch).

  Well, with full tummies, we went from there to try to find a hotel and start all fresh in the morning and see how far we could drive; maybe even into Canada. We couldn't even make it out of town that night. We got impossibly snarled in and around New Haven following detour signs. We wound around dark alleys, got off the beaten path somehow, went thru neighborhoods where we knew we shouldn't be, and somehow managed to find the detour again which led us, like a shining beacon to a Holiday Inn Hotel. It was still kind of early, so there was a lot of activity around the outside. (I remember the beautiful Holiday Inn near Lexington, Kentucky that my friend, Louise and I had stayed in...wow, such luxury, and the breakfast room was a true deluxe banquet.) Cappy and I went in to register and they needed to see my AAA card. (It's a good one, this time, not the bottom of the line.) Even seeing it, they didn't honor it. They didn't give us a discount for Cappy being a Merchant Marine, either. They were charging us $155. for one night and stuck to their guns. The one in Lexington was only at the most $89. and it was the same room...layout wise. So, what were our options....oh, let's see...go out into the dark, wet night and get lost and tossed by those crazy detours? I wasn't in the mood to argue, and neither was Cappy, so we settled. They were so very nice to our face and told us to drive around to the side extrance and we'd have easy access to the room. It was a big hotel! I went to drive around to find the entrance, while Cappy found the room. I waited in the SUV and waited, fumed and waited some more. Finally he came out and said we were wayyyyyyyy away from the entrance and that the place was so huge that he'd gotten turned all around and came out the wrong exit. What a mess. Because the parking lot was so jammed and not well lit, we decided we'd better take all our stuff in with us. He insisted on carrying everything like a pack-mule so we wouldn't have to make another long trip, and I didn't carry much of anything. (He still felt bad about the restaurant thing, poor guy, and I wasn't making it any easier for him.) Come to find out after the long trip along a very long hallway, we ended up in the room behind the check-in desk. Were they too ashamed by the way we were dressed to have us simply bring our things through their lobby? (That's what Louise and I had done when we stayed in the room behind the check out desk) Too tired to complain, we just went to bed and got a good rest, anticipating a good breakfast, that would help compensate for the larger than normal cost for a "not fancy" hotel. In the morning, while I was getting ready, Cappy set out to bring us back a cup of coffee and check out the breakfast spread. He came back empty-handed. "They got nothing...no breakfast, no fruit, no cereal, not even any coffee...nothin'." He said he inquired at the desk and they said, "Oh, we don't do that here". (That colored the rest of our trip. Any time we saw a Holiday Inn while we were searching for a place for the night, we said, "NO WAY" and drove on until we found someplace else...anyplace else.) We got our things together and once again, Cappy insisted on carrying all of the luggage. He even had the room ticket/key in his mouth, so he wouldn't lose it when he was going to be checking out. So down the long hall we trudged and came upon the Boston Red Sox  team standing by the door with their duffle bags, and luggage, just joking and talking. I was in a bad mood, which is not like me. One of the duffle bags was out near the middle of the hall, so I stopped and angrily shrugged at it. One of the guys, leaped to move it and apologized. I ignored him and all of them and pushed on out the door, followed by my poor, over-burdened sweet hubby. Once we got everything stowed away, he walked around the outside of the hotel to the lobby to the check out desk, leaving me sitting there, like a big lump. Looking around, I saw the Boston Red Sox logos on vans, etc.  Oh migosh, the real deal, those guys were for real and here I was acting like a rude -itch to 'em. When Cappy came back, he said, he had felt so bad because there in the hall, he'd had that card in his mouth, and his hands full, so he couldn't even say "Hi" or anything to them, so he came back out through the hall, but they were gone. 

   Once we pulled out of the parking lot, of all things...we easily found our way onto the interstate that we had "fallen off from" the night before in that rainstorm. And away we went. We took advantage of the texters and big gaps, stop and go traffic by unwittingly entertaining other drivers, I think, while we were "clearing the air" about issues from the night before...and we both talk with our hands. Soon enough, we were out of  town, sailing north, looking for a place to have breakfast, (or coffee again, at least), singing and laughing at the top of our lungs, more in love than ever. Now, that's how we really roll.  

   

           

Whining and Dining (Part One)

We started our roadtrip north to Maine and Nova Scotia with a packed ice-chest, but quickly abandoned the food we'd/I'd lovingly and carefully packed, and instead opted to actually go into restaurants, sit at a table and try out the local fare along the way. Boy, some of that was a mistake.
 We had gotten a good start, earlier than we had anticipated, Cappy having gotten off a day early. The dogs were at their doggy camp with "Aunt Mary" and a myriad of other dogs to play with, and so it was just Cappy and me heading off down the road. We only got a couple hundred miles when we pulled in for the night. The next day we only had coffee for 'breakfast' then put another five hundred miles or so on the odometer, 'til Cappy said it was time for supper. He likes to set goals, like keep driving til we get to the next interstate where we are going, then eat. Oh Come On! Everytime I'd complain, he'd unwrap another granola bar for me to stuff in my mouff. Well, we finally got 'someplace', so he said to pull off and we'd look around. We couldn't find any place, so he said to stop at this car repair place, cuz surely, "the ol' boys workin' there would know of a good local place to eat". The good ol' boy who came out, looked like Dan, our son.


He and his wife told Cappy of a real good place to eat that was popular with everybody, but it was kinda on the back road. We went and found the place. It used to be a gas station, but they converted it into an old-fashioned diner, which did seem to be pretty popular. It just so happened that it was the owner's mother, Edna's 80th birthday, but there she was hustling food to customers from the kitchen. They said, "You couldn't have kept her home even if you'd wanted to...she wanted to be here". They had a big poster/birthday card that everybody was signing, even us.  The insides of the place was delightfully old, but painted up in a warm yellow. The special of the day was hot dogs and saurkraut and maybe liver and onions...that sounds about right. I swear the place took me back to when I was a kid and my grandma was a waitress in an old diner like this. A time warp slice of history. I had a hamburger 'steak', which was just a hamburger pattie, and asked for a little bit of the saurkraut to go on it, cuz the ketchup wasn't the kind I could have. Cappy said it was better for me not to mention what he had, or how he liked it. Well, the ambiance fed me well, and that of the people who worked there. Cappy even 'flirted' with Miss Edna, telling her she couldn't be cuter, which made her blush and giggle like a school girl.We got back on the road and made over 700 miles that day, 'til we got just past Roanoke, Va. and fell into bed at a hotel I can't even remember, I was so tired. The next morning Cappy grabbed a couple of bananas for me for breakfast, and a cold frappacino from a gas station...and again, he fished out a couple of granola bars to shut me up. Poor guy, I don't  think he even ate anything himself, just coffee...oh he MUSTA had something. We made good time once we got going and when Cappy saw a sign where we were supposed to cross the Potomac River, he said we had to get a picture of the sign. The speed limit was 65 in high traffic, so I accidentally whizzed right on by it and onto the bridge. "Noooo, ya gotta turn around and go back, so's I can get a picture of the sign!" I got off the interstate and noticed the town was Falling Waters, West Va....where my Uncle Duane and Uncle Spike used to live and work in the coal mines. I was delighted in that! My Uncle Duane had passed, and I don't get to see my Uncle Spike nearly as often as I'd like. I miss them both dearly, so for some reason, being in the town where they had lived, was just a good feeling for me. (Uncle Spike lives in western NY now) Cappy said as long as we were passing by, we might as well fill the tank, before our swing back across the bridge into Virginia again. After tanking back up, I pulled back onto the interstate heading toward the Potomac River again, but again, the traffic was thick with semi trucks and fast. He said, "Pull over...pull over...slow down, so I can get it!!" Nope...whizzed right by it again. "Oh man...turn around again, and this time find a place to stop...I'll tell ya where". Oh yow! The speed ruts, or whatever ya call them on the side of the road were loudly complaining and so was I, because I had to swerve to get onto the tiny, narrow shoulder out of speeding, honking cars and trucks. Cappy gets out and strolls along the guardrail as though he were in a quiet shady park toward the sign, which was only a few feet off the road. The wind from a passing truck blew his straw hat off into the weeds over the guardrail. He got his picture, but not without me holding my breath and praying loudly, because he didn't seem aware of how close he was to the road at his back. Just one wrong step....(I know he knows what he's doing, but I worry so). So he got his photo. And a couple of the River. I don't know the significance just yet, but I'm sure he'll tell us sometime.

We got into Pennsylvania; Quaker and Amish country. I don't know what brought it up, but his straw hat came into question as to whether or not he might be mistaken for an Amish guy wearing it in that neck of the woods. That did it...he never put it on again up north. He opted to wear the canvas one I had gotten him for Christmas. He does look good in either of them...he's a "hat" guy, for sure.
We kept 'rockin' and rollin' toward New York City. "Hey! That sign sez New York City...we aint going thru there are we???" I said that I didn't think so, but we were supposed to skirt around it according to our AAA maps and itinerary. "Well, I sure as heck don't wanna go to New York City, no matter what", he said adamently. I was starting to worry, because I know how cities spread out, not showing how widespread they are on maps. We just kept following the road signs, on into New Jersey and headed north.
 It was beautiful weather for a long road trip. All bright and sunny everywhere, except for that dark cloud way up ahead that we looked like we were going to miss whenever we would turn east onto the NYS Thruway toward the Tappan Zee Bridge that would take us into Connecticut. The interstate wound up and around small mountains and the dark cloud kept flirting with us, getting closer and more angry looking all the time, until, for some reason the traffic came to a stop, then a go, then a stop, then a go...but each 'go' was slow. It was then that the cloud revealed itself to be a big old thunder and lightening storm...aha! It had us. It  had all of us! "Wishy-wipers" were all going full blast, but that was the only thing going full blast; the storm notwithstanding...it too was going full blast, raining sideways in buckets, lightening cracking around everywhere. We crawled along with everybody else, made the turn onto the Thruway, still crawling. Dang! I had wanted to have the fun of gawking around as we went over the Hudson River. Instead, big hail stones began hitting the windows and the SUV so hard, I was sure the windshield was going to break. The sky turned a sickening pukey green, and the wind picked up worse than ever and it was hard to see where we were going. I was shaking so hard that I was glad that I had the steering wheel to hang onto. The whole mob of traffic inched along, and as we crossed along, on the long bridge, we kinda got ahead of the storm. Meanwhile I could see the bumper to bumper cars on the other side of the road heading toward the storm, just parked almost, like sitting ducks waiting for the worst of it...a tornado, or whatever to come and get 'em. I prayed for those people.

We managed to get ourselves into Connecticut, then found Route 95 North. The darned storm was a threat even then, having moved east and found us again. I was terrified at that point. We did like we did before, tho'...creeping along. Then to make matters worse. People let big spaces open up everywhere in standstill traffic because most everyone of them were texting away, sitting there, not even looking at the road. For miles. Sitting there looking down, typing away, with big enough gaps for twenty cars to fill. How can they live like this? How can they do this every day, sit in traffic for hours for no reason, except this stupid stuff??? There were no accidents up ahead. Just texters holding up three lanes of cars and trucks ...and us, who were tired, hungry and wanting to 'get the show on the road' and get to where we were going. Cappy said, "For a sweet little granny, you sure have a lot of road rage", and I wasn't even doing anything, except for griping, like I was just was now to "yall". Finally we decided to get off the main interstate onto a secondary interstate, and found other texters and gaps, so we opted to just drive on Route 1 up along the coast and find a place to have supper and a hotel. We found "Chops" restaurant in West Haven, Conn. and were even more excited when we saw that they had a banner outside that said, "Twin Lobster Dinner". Lobster was one of the main reasons for our trip north, and here we were actually IN lobster country!! We had made it, finally! 

My Lifelong Dream to Visit Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada

Ever since I saw someone years ago wearing a t-shirt that said, "Peggy's Cove" on it, I've always wanted to go see where the place was. It was always an elusive dream of mine. I never thought I'd actually get to go, but this incredible Cappy made it possible. I couldn't imagine what it would be like, even tho' I "google earth'd" it so many times. Let me just tell you; it was amazing. These feeble photos of ours don't even begin to show how breathtaking it was being there. My dreams have been realized. I am so very happy.
   To accompany our slideshow, we are playing a song from one of Rosalee Peppard's CD's with her permission. We have three of her (specially signed)  CD's and each one is more beautiful than the last. The songs she has written, or arranged are my new companions here in the house while Cappy is away. 
   If you get the chance, peruse her website, www.rosalee.ca  Perchance you might be fortunate enough to attend one of her performances if you are in the neighborhood. This link will also let you find where to purchase her wonderful CD's. Trust me, you will not be sorry.
   Here's the link to our Peggy's Cove youtube video, hot off our fight and beat and hammer, and cry and almost swear computer "presses". http://www.youtube.com/user/cappyandpegody#g/u  (We have about 48 youtube videos over there, ya just gotta open the 'cappyandpegody channel' and stick with it, or they'll throw a bunch of videos at you that we did NOT make...some kinda smutty, too, and if you know us, you know that aint us! That's not "how we roll".)
  And hey! I've got two Peggy's Cove t-shirts of my very own now and a nice warm Peggy's Cove hooded sweatshirt that Cappy insisted I get. Alrighty then! My dream is complete.

Our Lovely Hostess in Nova Scotia

Cappy and I recently returned from "The Honeymoon we never got to take". A "ROAD TRIP!!!!" to Nova Scotia and Maine...and everywhere else enroute. While we have pictures and stories to regale you, first on our agenda is a video of our beautiful Prospect Bed and Breakfast hostess, Rosalee Peppard.
Unbeknownst to us, she is a beloved musical maritime oral historian, singer songwriter in Canada. We have so much to tell about her, but we'll begin with the   song, "Evangeline" on her Album, "No Place Like Home". (The Acadians are known as Cajuns down here in South Louisiana) 
She wrote all the songs on this CD and the introduction to her "Evangeline", she writes:
"The story of the plight of the Acadian People, from their initial presence in Nova Scotia at the beginning of the 1600's, through their expulsion in 1755, and the impact they had and still have on our country, in the story of their immortal heroine: Evangline. Today she is alive and well in the thriving Acadien community along Nova Scotia's Evangeline Trail."

(I, Peggy, tried putting the accent marks over the "E's" in the word Evangeline and in the other words in the song, to denote the French pronounciation, but alas, am not that computer savvy.)

  The words to her song are so beautiful:

"Evangeline

It was a time that stretched a hundred years
It was a place watered by your tears
And in the end, when your people were all gone
You live on, Evangeline, you live on

Chorus: Evangeline is in the wind
She's in the rising tide 'round Cape Blomidon
She's in the mountains high and the Valley deep within
Evangeline, Evangeline

There on the fruitful land of Acadie
You lived in peace away from tyranny
But far away a treaty was designed
To undermine Evangeline, undermine
England and France were gambling with your lives
In seventeen hundred fifty-five
And so the die was cast and France had lost
But at what cost, Evangeline, at what cost?
(chorus)

For generations you'd been on your own
You wouldn't bow to France or England's throne
So they expelled your people, everyone
Leaving none, Evangeline, leaving none
Three hundred years your spirit's been denied
Because of power and prejudice and pride
You were the first distinct society
Of Acadie, Evangeline, Acadie

Acadie has lived four hundred years
It is a place fertile from your tears
Until the end we'll proudly sing your song
You'll live on, Evangeline, You'll live on!

(Chorus in Acadien Translation):
Evangeline est dans le vent
Elle est au large des cotes du Cap-Blomidon
Sure les monts tres haut et au fond des vallons
Evangeline est dans le vent

She's in the mountains high and the Valley deep within
Evangeline, Evangeline"

Rosalee continues on her album, "Growing up in Nova Scotia gave me a rich historical heritage. Every wayward Maritimer's heart beats as Evangeline's, ever longing for home.  I loved my trips along Nova Scotia's Evangeline Trail to the heart of Acadie; Grand Pre, Samuel de Champlain's Port Royal and majestic Blomidon Mountain.
  For our Millenium Project, my brother, Herb, sister Lark and I bought our ancestral home on the other side of the Bay of Fundy.  Our progenitor, Lawrence Peppard, built his homestead in 1774 on land that had been cultivated and nurtured for 150 years by the Acadian people before they were brutally expelled in 1755.  I thought of my 7th great-grandmother, Mary, digging in her kitchen garden and finding eveidence of her Acadian predecessor and how I would have felt in her place. I reread Longfellow's epic poem, 'Evangeline' and continued research, finding 'Atlantic Hearth' by M. Byers & M. McBurney and 'The Acadians of Nova Scotia Past and present' by S. Ross & A. Deveau inspiring, until 'Evangline came to me one day..."
  To see the video of her singing this tribute, followed by Cappy and Rosalee discussing the plight of Evangeline, click on youtube link below. (I'm so very proud of this one.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Il1Q56aNJE&list=UUe6CkaSkPG0EXROyp-xQkjw&index=1&feature=plcp

Buddy Brad.....A Life Well Spent.

  I called him, "Buddyyyy Bradddd". Those big blue eyes of his always greeted me whenever I was home off the boat.
  I had moved into a community where people are "self-contained", to quote a local priest.  This is a small town where close family ties are like none other.  As a matter of fact, the CBS Sunday Morning program did a show about how the folks in this town grow up, stay here and raise their families. Very few people move away, and a lot of times, those who move in, can be viewed with suspicion and may always be considered an outsider, no matter how long they stay.  It's self-preservation, which is not a bad thing at all in this fast-changing world.
   I was born and raised on the bayou, "North of I-10", about two hours from here, a confirmed bachelor, and maybe a li'l rough around the edges, so it was no wonder people had raised eyebrows when I moved into this quiet little neighborhood, where everybody knew everybody else and was most likely kin to most of them.  My work on the River had me coming in at strange hours, and when I'm home, I guess I may be a little loud.  I've got my bbq pit lit and "the Blues" blaring on the outside speakers.  I'm a kinda big guy, and I guess I might sorta 'live large'...I LIVE my "joie de vivre" right out in front of God and everybody.  That's just who I am.
   Being a bachelor, I never had any kids of my own.  When I first met Bradley, he was still a toddler in diapers. Those big blue eyes of his took in everything, even then.  He was always curious about what I was doing and as soon as he was old enough to cross our street, and long before he was allowed, he was over here seeing what I was up to. Many's the time his Mama had to come looking for him; knowing he'd probably be here, maybe watching tv with me, eatin' a 'freezy pop', keepin' me company. This little guy was the first person here in town to accept me for ME.  No matter what I was doing, whenever I got home, he'd show up and ask, "Hi Mr. Ray, whatcha doing?...where ya been?...how many fish did ya get?" He'd always want to help me with whatever I was doing.  If I had caught fish, he had to touch each one, and was just so full of quesitons and truly interested in this crusty old sailor's life.  Well, how could ya not love a kid like that?  He melted my heart and every time I saw him, I'd say, "Buddyyyy Braddd!"  As he grew, he found more ways to help me out and I'd find myself depending on him more than I knew.  Still, today, when I'm talking with Peggy on the phone, and something goes awry, first thing that automatically pops outa my mouth is, "Go ask Brad...", then I remember. 
  The last time I saw him before his accident, I had been picking lemons and had lost my wedding ring under the tree. Just then he showed up with his new little girlfriend to say, "Hi". I can still picture how he dashed back across the street, came back, metal detector in hand and his dad in tow.  He dove down under the lemon tree, which has long sharp throrns, and on his hands and knees searched through every blade of grass 'til he jumped up with it shining between his fingers, those big blue eyes smiling. " 'At's my Buddy Brad", I said, giving him a hug and patting his back. If I'd ever had a son, I'd want him to be just like him. I couldn't have loved him more if he hadda been. After he had the car accident, I steeled myself to go visit with him. His parents may have thought I didnt' care, because I just couldn't do it that often.  His parents are made of the finest stuff around. They lived with Brad's predicament every day and did it with God's Grace and dignity. I would try to act like myself when I talked with Brad, but then turn on my heel, go back to the house and bawl like a baby for hours, Peggy trying to comfort me. Our town just isn't the same with the loss of him this last month.
This is Peggy now. Well, I moved in, too an outsider, eleven years ago.  The very first town person I met was Brad. He was about 12 years old.  Cappy was out on the boat for his two week hitch. Bradley was mowing our lawn, helping "Mr. Ray", as usual.  Normally this house would be empty 'til Cappy got home, so I thought I'd better step outside and say, "Hi" to this little guy, to let him know somebody was here.  I guess I startled him because his eyes widened, his mouth flew open and he ran back across the street.  Moments later, his Mom and Dad appeared and finished the lawn work.  Poor little guy. I hadn't meant to scare him. His parents introduced themselves to me; Steve and Monica. I knew at once they were very nice people. (And they are much more than that...they are INCREDIBLE people.) Over the years I got to know what a sweet young man their son is.  As Cappy mentioned, anytime something would go wrong, Brad would be the first one we'd call. He was always so good-natured and even after he'd graduated from high school, I still thought of him as such a nice young man.  The last time I saw him before the car accident, he had driven up alongside our driveway in a shining white Mustang, arm resting on the open window, girlfriend beside him.  "Oh Wow!" I thought, "He's all grown up!"...I just didn't know how complete his life was.  None of us knew.  A couple of days later, early in the morning, he was badly injured in car accident.  He fought for these last few years to live...but then last month, his struggle was over.
    In the eleven years I've been here, I've lost two uncles. Cappy lost his mother, his grandmother Elder, and his dear Aunt Helen. Foy, a friend of ours from online, whom we've known for years and still haven't been able to cope with the fact that he's gone. Three dear mothers from this town, passed. Mrs. Folse, who was the first lady that I had the opportunity to get to know as a real matriarch of a real South Louisiana family, and who taught me how to eat my first yummy crab. When she passed, it was as thought the major pillar of the family had been removed. Our friend, Sonia's beloved mother, whose family is also so loved by the community, went to be with Loved Ones waiting for her.  Sonia's husband, Jude's mother, a grand lady if there ever was one, also passed on into Heaven, where I'm sure she continues her prayers for all of us.  (There maybe be more aquaintances whom I knew, who have passed, but am not aware of just now.)  These wonderful, God-fearing people had long lives, suffered heartaches and revelled in joy along the way, but whose legacies continue long after them in the lives of their amazing children and loved ones, to mention but a couple of things. 
   And now we've lost Bradley. But what of his life? Was it too short? Yes, for us it was.  But that was his life; those were his days. Although his dreams weren't fulfilled; the college degree in nursing, the future replete with a career, marriage, children, and (smiling) even his brand-new barbeque pit that he had just proudly purchased, where he had perhaps planned on maybe inviting "Mr. Ray" to some of his 'cookin', Brad left an inspiring legacy. He spent the time that he did have observing life, savoring life, smiling, laughing, lending his hands to anyone...filling each day joyfully giving and helping others, and that's what fulfilled him. This is something we can all take away and use in our lives and pass onto others, and thus Brad's legacy will continue to grow.
   After Brad's passing, Cappy and I went on vacation to Maine and Nova Scotia. Wherever we went, Cappy told people about the recent loss of "Buddy Brad", the boy who grew into a young Man here in South Louisiana. How he was our ambassador, if you will, to the people here in town, how laughter always followed in his wake (I can still hear his laugh), and of his rare love and desire to always lend a hand.  It was the latter of these things, his dedication to helping others that brought him to the final threshhold of his young life.  He was a nursing student at Nicholls College.  Although he wasn't scheduled to 'go in' that day, he had volunteered to get up around 5 a.m. and drive in to practice some the medical procedures he was learning; drawing blood, I believe.  The weather became bad and rainy.  His car hydroplaned on a slanted curve and a terrible accident ensued.  
   Physically, he was never the same.  Whenever I saw him, I saw in those beautiful blue eyes that he recognized me and tried desperately, it seemed, to communicate with me.  All I could do at times like those was to pray with him.  At home I prayed daily and fervently for him.  No-one knows what his thoughts were during those, his dark days.  No-one knows what his family truly went through, but I personally witnessed his parents, though tried by fire, as it were, persevering, never losing hope, and being held together, bonded by love, family and friends.  As in days of old where some of God's people were put in a firey furnace, looking in at Steve and Monica's life during this trying time, we could see The Lord in there Walking with them. The Word says that men's souls are tried by fire. The end result is pure and beautiful. And, too, as extreme pressure over time creates diamonds, Bradley's life and those of his parents and siblings are the very proof of this. 
   Who knows what God has for Brad in this new Life that he's just begun? As Maggie, one of our neighbors, and others have said, "Now Brad can walk and talk...and fish!" but knowing Brad, it won't be Heaven unless he can be helping Someone. "Hi Lord, where ya been?...Whatcha been doin'?...How many fish did ya get?...Can I help you light the BBQ pit?"   And you know Jesus is reflected in those big blue eyes of his....just like Always.        

This Wonderful Man.

This Salty Sea Dawg I'm married to! We are embarking on a special anniversary next week and Lord Willin' we will have many more. It's been fun and interesting...and fun. Cappy definitely is the "Cappy" and he has to be while he's out there on his boat. He likes everything on his boat to run well for the success and safety of his crew, himself, others out there on the water, the company he works for, and for their customers. It's a large responsibility, but it's the job he loves. He's so funny and gentle by nature that when he has to talk in his "Captain tone" to his crew, it's surprising, but it gets the job done. One time while on the phone with him I accidentally overheard him having to talk sternly with a couple of the guys in his crew. Apparently they had left ropes "dragging" all over the barge deck, which is something Cappy says can be very dangerous, so insists they be stowed properly. "I can only tell 'em so many times in a nice way, then I gotta let 'em have it". So he told them to report to the wheelhouse. Suddenly all I heard was high-pitched whiney voices from two different people in the background, then Cappy abruptly interrupted them with, "Now I thought I had called two men in here to talk to, not two teen-aged girls! I want no excuses! I want the job done that I told you to do in the first place, and I want it done right. You go back out that door...do NOT slam it, and go do the job you were hired to do, but first, you stand here like a man and tell me, politely to my face 'yes sir', then turn around and go do what I told you to do!" (yow.) I hadn't expected to be privy to that, but it was a window into another part of Cappy that I'm not all that familiar with. A lot of time if I'm on the phone with him, we might just be spending time together, not even talking; him out there doing his job, me here at home doing mine. Sometimes I hear him talk to other captains about how things are going out there on the water or at home. I don't really pay much attention to all that, but one time Cappy was talking about some new computer they were trying out a few years ago. He said, "Yeah, the thing has buzzers and whistles, fruit loops and automatic hiney wipers, but we don't need all that....". (He ended up liking it.) He'll often describe to me what he sees along the banks on his journeys up or down the Mississippi River, or it's tributaries. Mostly birds or animals, and he often takes great pictures of them. He tells me of families out boat riding or out fishing for the day, or picnicking. One time he mentioned a big ol' gold Cadillac pulled up on "top the levee", parked there, and inside were a couple of chubby grannies all dressed up, drippin' costume jewelry, wearin' bright red lipstick, sharin' a bag of potato chips".
  Out there on his boat, the living quarters are small, but they all manage...mostly just fine. I asked him what it was like living in such a cramped space like that. He shrugged and said, "It's okay. We feel like one of those styrofoam peanuts that are part of the packing material of life". So that's the Cappy I know when he's at work.
  The Cappy I know here at home, when something is amiss blames "us"...we share the blame, if there's blame to be had. It's usually some goof-up that I did tho', that "we" learned a lesson from and "we" won't do it again. That was such a foreign concept to me at first, but welcoming, for sure. And I sure do try to keep "us " out of trouble now, too. Right now I can't think of any examples of what I did that got "us" into a jam...uh...see, this is all about Cappy anyhow right now, not me. (where's one of those weird little "smilie's" when you need it?)
And, the Cappy I know here at home loves to have fun. He loves to sit around his firepit at night, beer in hand, "da blues" blaring on the outside speakers, his dawgs sitting in the chairs on either side of him, enjoying the beautiful starlit sky. I stay out for as long as I can, but I just don't like cold or mosquitoes, so I'm usually sitting in the house feeling all guilty for leaving him out there by himself, so I puntuate his evening with short buzz by's with my mosquito racket in hand. Sometimes he'll call me from the yard out there on his cell phone just to say "Hi Sweetie". Awww. Now he's gonna wanna keel-haul me for telling you this next one. One miserabley hot humid summer night, (even with the air conditioning "cranked"), nobody else was around, so Cappy decided in his own home to walk around in his 'drawers' and why not? Well, I was soaking in the tub, and because of a previous prank of having ice cubes sent over the top of the shower curtain one time, I now lock the door. As I said, it was late at night, and Cappy apparently grew tired of waiting for me to come out, so I heard him say to SparkyBear his faithful, sidekick dawg, "C'mon Sparky, we're goin' outside, potty behind the shed and scandalize da neighbors,...even in my tighty whitey's, ...'cept dey aint so tidy and dey aint so whitey". (I nearly broke my neck getting to the door before "dey" did.)   
  Another thing Cappy loves are "ROAD TRIPS!!!"  Except that the seatbelt on his side of the vehicle always sticks and is a "why you MISERABLE thing!!!"  He said, "I'd like to meet the evil genius who invented this thing; I'd like to kick him down the road for a couple of miles!" A year or so ago, on one of our road trips, we found ourselves way, wayyyy back in the back woods of Tennessee for a Ramp Tramp Festival. I believe we wrote a Blog post about ramps, which are wild onions like no other. They were always a 'had to do' up in western NY State all my years of growing up. They are luscious, extremely stinky, and a wonderful Spring Tonic. I missed them so much, as they don't grow this far down in the south, so Cappy surprised me with this jaunt "north" to Tennessee to a festival that honors the smelly weed. He told me to pack his old bib overalls, but all I could find that were presentable and had no holes were his new ones. When we got to the wonderfully decrepit motel, where I had made reservations for the weekend, he was thrilled! Old, heavily varnished golden oak panels floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with the windowed side of the room hanging right out over the lake, and the floor slanted right down toward the water, as well. He said, "It makes sense that this motel is out in the sticks...it's made of 'em" We were so far back that he thought there wouldn't even be a phone or internet service, so he said he should have brought along a tin can and string, and he could send messages by smoke signals, 'cept "I'd end up burning down the whole place and the forest". But he loved the place, even when in the morning he was looking for his shoes under the bed, he said, "There's dust bunnies under there big enough to steal my  hat!" He bitterly complained about the bibs I had packed for him. He said, "They're gonna think I've never worn bib overalls before and that I just bought these to 'fit in' with the ramp crowd". He was right. We left the motel and drove another ten miles or so up a steep, extremely narrow, winding paved (paved??) one lane 'road' with lines painted up center of it, as though other cars would come down around at you. Deeper and deeper into a dark secluded forest. Finally we made it to a clearing where several hundred cars were parked, and indeed an outdoor happening was "happ'nin", with wood and barbeque smoke filtering up through the very tall tree branches and leaves to welcome us. And there they were...old fellas, prit-near every one of them wearing faded well-worn bib overalls. One seventy year old, grizzled, long...lonnng bearded, hardly-any-teeth'd smart-aleck had to go and say something to Cappy about his new pants. (I got a "Cappy" look outa dat deal.) Mostly there were regular, nice people that you'd meet anywhere. There were a few formidable-looking characters lurking around hither and yon...and yon wasn't far enough for Cappy, who said he was having misgivings about his brand new overalls when a Bluegrass band inside the main building where we were headed  immediately started playing, "Dueling Banjos", the theme from the movie "Deliverance". He harshly whispered, "I look like a big juicy Cajun morsel. If they think Ned Beatty was attractive, I'm a goner". We made it inside and Cappy got his first taste of ramps. Cooked, raw...every way there was to have them, he had them. And he had the white beans and coleslaw as the 'sides'. (Because I didn't know how they were prepared, I didn't do all that, but mostly ate what I had brought with me that didn't contain wheat or gluten.) Ohhhh, Cappy was loving those ramps! They were his new-found love.  And the music, and the people....it was magical. One lady said to us, "You know you're in redneck country when somebody offers you ketchup when yaint even got no french fries".  We have to go back again sometime. We stayed another night at the motel and I slept through a tornado right outside the window by a few hundred feet or so!! Cappy had heard it and prayed that I'd not wake up, because he knows how I am about bad weather. I didn't question him about why he had been awake and heard it, but, it was because he was up and down running to the bathroom during the night, having become acutely aware of just what a fine and dandy Spring "tonic" ramps are. Once he got to sleep again, such a hideous stench woke him back up. It was so bad that he swore one of us had messed the bed. Lying there awake in agony from belly pains and the intolerable wafting "bouquet" of ramps merrily digesting away in the bowels of his bowels, he just couldn't take it anymore. He finally got up around six thirty, dressed, stepped outside, quietly closed the door behind him as to not wake me, and with blessed relief, let go a thunderous blast.  Each step across the still morning air of the parking lot to the motel's restaurant, was accompanied by a very loud involuntary honk. The restaurant was not open yet, so he went to the open kitchen door and asked if he could please get a cup of coffee. He didn't even go in...he just stood very, very still waiting for his coffee. He marched back across the parking lot, keeping time with a cadence of loud bursts, each "note" bouncing off the sleepy walls of the motel. Not wanting to wake me,(because he says I have no appreciation for potty humor in the least...true) He tooted and tooted and tooted with each step as he walked down the long set of stairs beside the motel, down to the dock. Standing on the wooden dock, 30 ounce cup of coffee in hand, he looked all around, surveying the light mist coming up off the peaceful lake, hearing and seeing noone and deciding he had to get rid of the painful bloat in his gut, he just had to let it all go and let nature run it's course. He looked heavenward as an unholy and powerful trumpet sound broke the still silence, followed by a series of bangs, pops, and probably a few squeaks. ( Now, where's the "buzzers, whistles, fruit loops and automatic hiney wipers" when you need them?) He stood there for 15 long, loud minutes emptying the coffee from his 30 oz. cup and emptying his lower body of the explosive fumes, and cursing himself for eating those four plates of ramps and stuff up there on that mountain with the other ramp revelers, and then enjoying the two raw ramp sandwiches he'd made for himself back at the motel room. At long last, out of coffee and tired of entertaining the lake loons with his outbursts, he thought he'd come back to the room to see if I was awake yet. He turned and there on the steps, not ten feet in front of him was the lady who ran the place with hose in hand, watering the flowers along the edge of the stairs. Evidentally she'd been there for most of his performance, and he had unwittingly "serenaded" her as she had watered all the way down to the bottom of the stairs. He was mortified and said it felt like his face was beet-red. She only smiled sweetly and asked, "Enjoyed the ramp festival did you?"  Shortly thereafter we found ourselves having breakfast at the motel's lovely restaurant which also over-looks the lake. It was truly a spectacular view. I just felt so bad for my honey. He could hardly sit still. The folks at the restaurant somehow knew where we'd been; they'd seen it (and smelled it) all before and said so. That 600 hundred mile road trip back home was really something. Cappy said, "You can leave me along the road, Peg; I don't blame ya. If I get in trouble, least I'll know which way to stumble". Another hundred miles or so down the road, after another potty break, he muttered, "...And I'd like to know what sadistic sumbitch came up with the idea to throw beans and cabbage into the mixture and wash the whole thing down with bacon fat for a more interesting effect". I don't know who was suffering more at that point, him or me.
  Sooo...mostly the road trips are local ones. Still, we 'set sail', music blaring, Cappy and me singing loudly and superbly awful, having the best time of our life. Since we only live 'down the road' from New Orleans, we tend to frequent the places in that neck of the "woods". Woods?? The streets are wide, they don't care how you dress, but the denizens can be just as wonderful, or just as formidable as the country folks. (And never forget 'you got your shoes ON YOUR FEET' in case anybody along the streets of New Orleans wants to bet you money that they can tell you where you got them.) Sitting in New Orleans listening to the various blends of music, smelling the various blends of Creole/Cajun foods, watching the various blends of people, some from 'here' some from all over the world, studying the variety of rich architecture, and knowing the marvelous history of South Louisiana, Cappy waxes philosophical: "Once you experience New Orleans Jazz, it's music and it's rhythm beats through your soul forever more...The night-time spirit of the French Quarter, once tasted, lives on in your soul and flavors the rest of your life with it's spicy personna...Once someone spends a week here taking it all in, they will forever be homesick for the Southern Charm". When he was younger, Cappy used to play a very, very mean trumpet. He used to march in a lot of what they call "Second Line Parades". (If you don't know what that is..."Google" it.) He said, "One summer we played Jazz for tips in Jackson Square every weekend. We'd play Friday all day and Saturday, drink and party, go to Mass, play for a few hours for enough gas money to get home. We'd sober up on coffee and bignets."  This serious boat captain I'm married to. (And I'm serious about that...he takes his job very seriously.) I just fell in love with him all over again. I was in the bathroom getting ready for us go out somewhere, doing the 'makeup and puttering around' thing. I rushed out to fetch one thing or another and ran right into him. He was standing right outside the door. I asked him, "Did you need to come in? Was I holding you up?" He said, "No...I was just standing here listening to you moving around in there, loving you and just realizing that you are really here".
  To some he may appear to be, as he calls himself, "A scruffy ol' boat captain", a dime a dozen down here in South Louisiana. But he's so, SO much more. Wouldn't you say? How very blest I am.
 P.S. As Cappy was loading the SUV with all the suitcases, etc. back at the old motel in the woods, and trying to walk and juggle all the luggage on top of everything else, the lady with the hose said to Cappy, "Looks like you've got your hands full". I said, "I sure do" :-D

SEW WHAT??

My younger brother and I were told, with authority, by a learned 8 year old that these were called "Sew-er Needle Bugs". "If it hears anybody swearing...saying really bad words, it'll sew your lips together!!" It was the biggest bug I'd ever seen in all my 8 years, and it looked big enough to do it! A group of us kids had been meandering along an old dried-up creekbed one sunny Summer afternoon, when this huge, colorful blue insect flew up along side us.  I screamed and ran all the way home, occasionally stealing a look behind me, making sure it wasn't following me, and trying to think if I'd said any bad words lately. I was a tomboy by nature, so it wouldn't surprise me if I had just to prove to the other 'guys' that I was just as tough as they were. Heck, on occasion, if one of them was beating up on my brother, I'd  have to step in and 'rassle 'em'. I could spit farther than most of 'em and could outrun any of 'em. I outran the "Sew-er Needle Bug" that day, too. I got inside the house, slammed the door and locked it, then spent most of the next half an hour looking out all the windows of the house to see if my brother could make it home, too. I sure hoped he didn't come home with his lips sew'd together. When he got home later, he was fine. And we never did hear about any kids actually getting their lips sewn shut, but it was a good idea not to ever swear again, just in case.
 When I got grown up and had kids of my own, for the heck of it one boring Summer afternoon, on a hike with them, along comes another gorgeous dragonfly, so I tried 'pulling' the old "Sew-er Needle Bug" theory on them, but they were much too sophisticated to fall for it. Well, there went all that fun.
For the rest of the time I spent in western NY...years and years and years, thereafter, I never paid much attention to dragonflies.
When I first moved down here to South Louisiana, I noticed them...a lot. It seemed they were everywhere in our yard. Cappy said, "Down here they call them Mosquito Hawks", because they feast on mosquitoes. I started to notice how they'd come round anytime I was working outside. If I was hanging laundry, they'd come sit on the clothesline and watch me. If the line would jump, they'd fly off, then come back and sit on the line some more. 
Now, up in New York State, everything seems to have to be done quickly, no matter what it is. One of the first things Cappy got me to do down here in the South was to "get my mosey on", to slow down, take time to really look around and study the beautiful things of God's nature. And there sure is plenty. So, while I was at it, I studied how the insects behaved, since they seemed to be everywhere.  I got to really enjoy watching these dragonflies, which are truly beautiful. Some are shiney, almost florescent green or blue, or even gold. I noticed that their little heads moved this way and that, as they looked around. One day I was working in the flowerbed, all hot and sweaty when this darned mosquito kept pestering me,  strafing my face, trying to hone in on a good landing spot to drill. What a pest!  Zzzzzz.....Zzzzzz.....Zzzzzz. Suddenly a dragonfly flew in from over my right shoulder, stopped in front of my face, then darted off again to the left. The offending mosquito was GONE...the "mosquito hawk" had come and gotten it! He really did! Just then Cappy called and I said all excited, "The mosquito jet came and took off with a mosquite...really!!!"  He said, "Uh...mosquito hawk, not jet".  Doesn't matter. Even after all these years, if I get excited, I still call them 'mosquito jets', much to Cappy's chagrin.
If I'm working on flowerbeds or anything outside, they'll come and sit in front of me, fold their little arms (paws...whatever), look up at me and "ask", "Do you got any skeeters for me?" (Well, I know by now, that you must think I'm strange from things you've read in this blog in the past) .....so I answer the little guy, "Nope, I gots no skeeters right now", but then I go and rustle the plants growing by the back door, where the danged mosquitoes hide. An angry cloud of 'em emerge to find a "mosquito jet/hawk" darting around in pursuit. I just love when that happens. And you might remember from way back in the depths of the blog, when a couple of very large banana spiders had set up shop on our patio. They were actually fun to watch for the month I let them be there. Hey, ya don't find banana spiders in western NY State, Cappy's out on the boat for long periods of time, I'm trying to observe nature, so I watched 'em live their lives right in the middle of my world. I don't know the longevity of banana spiders, but they were around for a month or so and built an quite an elaborate web. One day they thought they'd hit the lottery. Instead of just feeding on the same ol' mosquitoes in the plants, they actually caught one of my buddies, a dragonfly. They were high-fivin' each other and dancing all over their large web, congratulating each other. Nooooo.....I grabbed something, anything and flung the dragonfly out and across onto the lawn. The banana spiders were horrified and yelled, "WTDF??!!".... (Where's The Dragon Fly ;-)  I tried getting the "skeeto jet" to sit on the clothesline and know that he was free to go...but he couldn't sit up. He seemed paralyzed. Uh oh. Cappy told me that spider webs contain some kind of natural anesthetic. Helpless, I just had to let him sit on a leaf and see if he'd recover on his own. He may have. When I went back later, he was gone. Maybe a bird got him. I dunno. But the next day, the banana spider who had caught him in his web, died. Seriously. Probably from a broken heart. Then three days later the other, bigger banana spider...maybe it's mate, died. I had interferred with nature and felt terrible about it. Well, Cappy sez, "Ya got a soft heart, Peg, and a great imagination the way you read things into things". Ya, I guess I do.
    Last week Cappy and I went out fishing in one of the bayous near our town. We didn't take the dawgs because our boat's bimini top had blown apart in a windstorm, so there was no shelter from the scorching sun. It was in the 90's. They couldn't have taken it. I couldn't take it. While Cappy, who is so used to the sun and heat, sat blythly fishing away, I found in my huge ziplock bag that I take on our fishing trips a brand new kinda rickety bright purple umbrella ... which the sun blazed right through, so I took my dark red bed sheet (that I wrap around myself as a "modesty cloaking device" if I have to sit on a 5 gal. "potty" bucket way out in the wild)... and draped it over the back seat which was above me, then over the top of my umbrella. It kept falling apart, but when it did stay put, the hot stagnant air got stuck under there with me. I was miserable. I kept thinking, (like Jim Carrey says in the movie, "Dumb and Dumber"), "Find my happy place, find my happy place". So I tried staying calm and tried finding things to make me forget about how wretchedly miserable the situation was. Presently I noticed dragonflies coming to "visit". There were a couple. One came by who was shiney lime green. He made me laugh out loud. I think their heads make them look like little old-fashioned motorcycle guys, who only used to wear black goggles and no helmet. The bottom of his face was all rounded out and was the same color as the rest of him. He came and sat down on the boat right by me, turned his head to look off at something and I noticed that he was eating something. He looked like a little old man gumming something with his jaw moving up and down...and wearing those little black goggles, then he looked back up at me and sat there just watching me. Another dragonfly whizzed into the 'scene', and immediately, the first little guy took off after him and chased him away, then he came back and sat some more. He'd turn his little head to look to the left or right, then back at me. Every once in awhile he'd have to chase off another intruder, then he'd come back chewing something and sit there keeping me company. He was so cute, how could I not talk to him? I told him I didn't have any skeeters, but he didn't care, he was eating something already. Cappy moved the boat up the bayou aways, leaving my little guy to find something else to amuse himself back there. Cappy got his pole back into the water and asked if I didn't want to fish some. Hah. I got my "tent" set back up instead. I had to tightly hold onto the umbrella or the whole thing would collapse and I'd be frying in the sun. Occasionally a nice strong breeze would blow up and Ohhhhh, it was delicious but then it would whip my sheet off the top of the umbrella, and then cripple ...crinkle the umbrella so it folded up in a crazy fashion, and there I'd be again, frying in the blazing, scorching sun. Sweating and seething, I'd wrap the hot red bed sheet...the miserable thing, swathe it around over the top of the gawdy brand new purple dilapidated umbrella and got myself seated under it again, quietly fuming in that shady cloth "easy-bake" oven, "Where's my freaking happy place, where's my freaking happy place".  Our boat must have looked like some kind of sight from down the bayou. One guy drove up close by to see what in the heck the big beet red and purple heap was back there behind Cappy. When he spied my eyeballs peering out at him, he said, laughing, as he drove off, "Who's the smart one?" I'm still wondering about that. By now, Cappy had hit a "honey hole" and was pulling in fish with some regularity. He asked me again, if I didn't want to help.  (........uh...no.) The day was really beautiful though, and here came another dragonfly. He was a little blue fellow. He didn't seem all that interested in 'visiting' with me, though. He was more interested in chasing off other dragonflies from his "find". While he was off directing bug traffic, ...just great, a huge horsefly started in on us. I guess he didn't see me under all my gauzy "shelter" and whatnot, so he started looking for a cozy place to sink down onto Cappy while he wasn't looking. Meanwhile, here comes our little blue mosquito hawk. He's very little compared to the behemoth that's circling around Cappy's shoulders. Those big huge horseflies hurt when they bite! Cappy was totally unaware that he was about to be assaulted. I was about to get out and find something to try to swat it away, when suddenly that brave little dragonfly attacked the fly and chased him away! The dirty rotten hulk of a fly tried sneaking back a moment or two later from the other side of the unsuspecting Cappy. And again, our miniscule hero shot off after him, and this time followed him away just to make sure he wouldn't come back.  I didn't know little bugs like that were so daring as to take on 'somebody' so much bigger than themselves in their 'line of duty'. I was thoroughly impressed. When he came back and sat down at his 'post', I said, "Wow! You're a good bug to do that! You were protecting Cappy weren't you? You're a good boy...or girl,  you are". Cappy said, "Okay, we're going in. Eight fish is plenty. I can tell the heat is getting to you, I need to get you home so you don't have a heat stroke or something." Just about then he tried pulling up his trolling motor, but it got stuck and we were several miles still down the bayou. He wiggled it and jiggled  it, and he was all hot and sweaty, so let fly a few sailor expletives and finally got it loose. I said, "Boy, that's gratitude for ya...the moquito jet/hawk was taking care of you, (and he must be pretty strong to ward off that mean jumbo jet of a horse fly), and then you go and say bad words like that. You better watch out or, and I have this on good authority, he'll sew your lips together, Cappy".  "Sew what??" he asked, as he kicked the boat into high gear, laid it down nicely onto the surface of the water, and said, "I've gotta get you home outa this heat; I think you are going buggy on me". An so I sez, with the cool breeze in my face blowing away the heat, "Yeah, mebbe I am, but now I've found my happy place. Soooo there an' soooo what."          

Mom's Mom

My Mother's Mom, Margaret Doris Ludwig, was an hoot! She was every bit 'the lady', and a good Christian woman, but when something 'ticked her off', she would often let loose with a volcabulary that could rival a sailor's. (like Cappy's... when he's 'ticked'.) After her husband passed away,  she was left with a nine year old daughter (Bev...the same age as I, Peggy) and a teenage son, who left for the Navy. Struggling financially for the next three or four years, it was then decided upon that she would come live with us, because my Dad was also having a difficult time, being a single parent trying to raise my brother and me by himself. On the surface, it might have looked rather strange; the "X-mother-in-law" moving in, but it was the perfect solution for all involved. At the time, my mother was 'out of the picture', and thus, unable to attend to the 'finishing touches' of raising us teenagers. I guess at the time, my brother and I had been running roughshod over our Dad, but when Grandma moved in, she put an abrupt end to that! She had raised five boys and two daughters, so she knew full well how to handle two brats. Three if you count Bev, but, (you ask Bev) Grandma would never believe that. (<:-p) So Bev and I were raised more like sisters. If I really wanted to get under Bev's skin, I'd call her "Auntie-Dear". (But I didn't do that often and we got along great...still do whenever we get to see each other.) I've always been envious that Bev had the benefit of Grandma being in her life, from day one, because Grandma was the most wonderful woman. So much fun, yet so nurturing and loving. When I was four years old and badly burned, I'm told that when they had to daily change my dressing, (which I do remember and never will forget) that everyone could hear my voice echoing through out the halls of the hospital, screaming, "I want my GRANDMA!!!" She said she just couldn't take it anymore, so, she had to leave when they did that.
    I had always loved my Grandma, and loved it when I could spend time at her house. It just so happened that I was at her house when I was burned. (My dress had caught fire on an old-fashioned hot water heater.) I'm sure that her fervant prayers helped pull me through, even after the doctors had given up on me and left me in the back hall of the hospital to die.
   So years later, when she came to live with us, she loved us too much to let my brother and me act the way we had been doing. She made sure our butts were sitting in church right next to her. She reinforced the table manners that our Mom had begun to teach us. She taught us responsibilty. And above all, she taught us to act respectably in public. That included dressing well for the occasion. Her purses always matched her shoes, which were neat and tidy. She took pride in the fact that someone had mentioned to her, "You always look nice and dress so well....even for a large woman".  Which she was . It seems most of the women in our family are "large". Sighhh. One thing I learned from her that means the most to me, to this day; whenever we left the house, she'd inspect how we looked, but more importantly, she'd expect a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. When we returned, she'd expect the same. I love that. I instilled that in my kids, too, because it's what she taught us, and it's her heritage. I'll bet all her grandchildren in my cousin's families do the same.
   Today, being Mothers' Day, of course I remember Mama, as I do every day. I love my mother dearly and miss her every single day that I'm without her and will, no doubt, until I see her again, in Heaven, if I'm found worthy to be there.  But today, I'm remembering Grandma, because it's Sunday...church day, and a couple of occasions popped into mind of the many, many times she took us to special meetings, besides regular church. She'd even take us to revival meetings. Bev and I really didn't like going to them. We'd be sitting there giggling and sure enough, somebody would try to drag us to the altar and force us to "give our hearts to the Lord and get saved". (It wouldn't be Grandma, tho'...she never preached; she lived her life the way the Lord taught us.)
 I said she was fun. Sometimes, she'd even get in on our giggling. There was one family at church, who were so stiff and rigid...kinda like the Church Lady on Saturday Night Live years ago. Pursed lips, 'needle' butt, as I like to say. (hah...I tend to be like that myself sometimes). One evening, their teenaged son sat directly in front of us, sitting up as straight as an arrow, every single hair slicked down...tight! Well, except for two of them. They made a perfect "V" on top of his head. We sat there for quite awhile staring at his head. The two hairs rebelling against conformity. Precisely impeccable...except for.... Finally, I leaned over and whispered to Bev, "I wonder what channel he's watching". So Bev giggled...and so did Grandma in spite of herself. We don't think he 'picked up' on us.
 Another memorable "special go to meetin' " night-time service found Bev and me accompanying Grandma, as usual. Sometimes sermons would be so poignant that they would bring tears to Grandma's eyes, at which point she'd daintily pull a tissue from her "decolletage" and lightly dab each eye. To keep us giggly 12 year old girls quiet, she'd often discreetly bring up sticks of yellow-wrapped Wrigley's peppermint gum from the same 'compartment', where she apparently stored many handy things. That seemed to be something that many of the older ladies used to do. She even had a small pocket watch attached to her bra by a little safety pin. Now on the evening in question, the preacher had most everyone's rapt attention,...and for quite awhile. A hush was all around and Grandma was deeply engrossed in the sermon going on, so when Bev whispered and asked for some gum, Grandma distractedly began ferreting things from out of her bosom, all the while keeping her eyes riveted up front, on the pastor. First she pulled up a wad of hankies, which she handed for Bev to hold, then she brought out some round red and white peppermint candies in cellophane wrappers and handed them over toward Bev's lap. Still concentrating on the pulpit, she began pulling out a very long, narrow, dark brown belt, which she had to pull wayyyyy up in the air, this way and that,  to completely free it. If Bev and I hadn't been rolling in the pew and snickering so hard Grandma never would have realized what she had been doing. Her arm fully extended over her head, belt in hand, she glared over at us, realized what she was doing, stuffed it into her lap, became immediately mortified and huskily whispered, "How did that get in there??" We wonder what all she might have had stored and would have pulled out if she hadn't noticed us 'misbehaving'. We don't know if anybody else noticed, but...how could they not?? Although the pastor never let on that he saw, how could he not have seen also? We three "girls" spent most of the rest of the sermon stifling giggles. (We probably should have just quietly gotten up and left, but we stayed instead.) Grandma was a pretty cool lady; she could laugh without making a sound, but her belly would shake, giving her away. I can't remember if we ever did get any gum that night. I think we were stuck with the wrapped candy and probably used the hankies to dry our eyes. I think the belt rode home in her purse... (which nicely matched her shoes).       
      
 

Drop O' Da Hat BBQ

Peg and I were wandering through the local grocery store last week and we spied the pork spare ribs on sale.  Well, it's from such things that back yard adventures are started. 
We got a couple racks and were home making preparations in a very few minutes.  I broke out a charcoal lighter thingy I had recently bought and I must say it worked as advertised.  A few wadded up sheets of newspaper and a couple gentle breaths was all it took to light the coal.  Once it was lit good I poured it in da pit and dumped more charcoal on top.  With our BBQ mascot Pourky da Pig standing guard, it wasn't long before da pit was ready for the meat.   

Good ole Pourky stood guard with a belly full of water in case of flare-ups.

After adjusting the temperture by tweaking the damper, the pit was ready for the goodies.  The grilled asparagus is one of Peg and I's favorite "cappytizers".  Believe it or not, the chicken is for the dogs, and the ribs rubbed with a sweet, spicy rub and later were basted in Peg's lip smacking BBQ sauce then put back on the pit to "coast".  The last picture coulda been yours hadda you been here.  The asparagus didn't stand a chance getting to the plate what with me, Peg and da dawgs munching on 'em.  Just think; all that, just on the spur of the moment, drop o the hat, and if'n ya know us, ya know that ole hat gets dropped quite often.

BBQin' A Ham

Peggy and I took a pork shoulder outa the freezer the other day.  We injected it with a home- made marinade of butter, beer, Cajun seasoning, garlic juice and cane syrup.  The next day Peg scored the skin while I mixed up a rub of one part Cajun seasoning and 2 parts light brown sugar.

We put it on the pit and smoked it for over 6 hours.

When it was done I tried to get it back into the house to take a pretty finished product picture, but I couldn't fend off the samplers, and a couple snitches got taken off from the pit to the kitchen.

Oh, and incase you are wondering it was every bit as yummy as it looks.