Pt. 2 Not long after our first encounter I spotted her about a block down the beach from my house, wading out into the water with a rake and a bucket. Crabs, I thought. It’s an easy was to catch crabs if you’re without a boat and/or pots. Yet there was something odd about the whole scene. I snatched the binoculars from the basket on the deck table and quickly discovered what was troubling me. She was in the same clothes she’d worn the first time we’d run into each other; the billowy long white pants, tank top, old slip on sneakers. Now the pants appeared to drag her down as they became soaked up to her thighs. She seemed to struggle while putting one foot in front of the other, sternly concentrating on the sandy bottom. I wondered why she hadn’t put on shorts or a bathing suit if she’d planned to wade so far into the bay. It wasn’t long before she had a crab in her rake, pinchers snapping as it struggled to get free. The bucket was under the teeth of the rake in a second as she shook the crustacean off. Then she turned towards…
Category: Randomness
The Story of Cammie Orton (again)
For those of you who have already read this story’s beginning, I apologize. Summer got in the way of writing, so I’m starting over. It’s been so long, you probably can’t remember it anyway! My blog postings over the next few weeks will be an ongoing story I’ve wanted to share for quite some time. It occurred to me the other day that I could do it as long as I break it up into as many blogs as it takes to relay the whole adventure without wearing my readers out in any one sitting. So, here goes…I hope you enjoy it. The Story of Cammie Orton Cammie Orton was the only name I ever knew her by although it’s doubtful that was really her name. We first met one day about five years ago in the early morning while I was walking the beach with my dogs and she was combing for treasures, tossing shells and beach glass into an old worn duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She was tiny in stature; probably just under five feet tall, maybe ninety pounds. Her hair was bigger than life, gold streaks intertwined with mahogany and nearly reaching her waist. Her…
The Story of Cammie Orton
My blog postings over the next few weeks will be an ongoing story I’ve wanted to share for quite some time. It occurred to me the other day that I could do it as long as I break it up into as many blogs as it takes to relay the whole adventure without wearing my readers out in any one sitting. So, here goes…I hope you enjoy it. The Story of Cammie Orton Cammie Orton was the only name I ever knew her by although it’s doubtful that was really her name. We first met one day about five years ago in the early morning while I was walking the beach with my dogs and she was combing for treasures, tossing shells and beach glass into an old worn duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She was tiny in stature; probably just under five feet tall, maybe ninety pounds. Her hair was bigger than life, gold streaks intertwined with mahogany and nearly reaching her waist. Her wild curls dwarfed perfect features. I was instantly struck by her appearance. She had the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen and lashes thick as feathers. Her smile made me feel as though we were…
Beauty in a Bottle
After years of insisting that one mascara is not just as good as any other, my daughter has won the debate. We conducted a test and the high end mascara’s costing three times the average price are indeed, much better. Now that my lifetime search for the best products out there is down by one, I’m excited to continue on. There is an infinite array of beauty products available these days, each touted to be the product that will change my life. I have fallen hard and fast for so many, like a flash flood careening down a mountain side, taking out trees and boulders and millions of pounds of earth as it goes. These products have promised a newness in me that compares only with starting over from birth. As that isn’t going to happen, I’ve opted to believe in serums formulated to ease the wrinkles from the creases around my eyes, from the corners of my mouth, from the crevices in my forehead. I have been convinced over and over again that this product, this one and only product, this new discovery, after centuries of laboratory research, will be the one truly offering the fountain of youth. All…
Unrealistic Expectations or Just Positive Thinking?
It has been brought to my attention that perhaps my expectations in life are a bit unrealistic. I’m not sure this is true. I see nothing wrong with continuing to set high goals for myself regardless of…well… anything. Yes, it’s true, the aging process can slow us down a bit and I agree that no one has the endurance we had when we were twelve. I mean, have you tried to jump rope recently? If memory serves me correctly, my childhood friends and I would jump rope until the endless counting bored us to death, at which point we’d move on to hula hoop. That would last until our mothers called us in for lunch and still no one had let the hoop hit the floor. I took up the jump rope last winter. One hundred skips is like running half a marathon. And then I found some old hula hoops while cleaning out the shed and discovered it’s nothing like riding a bike; just because you learned how once upon a time, doesn’t mean you’ll never forget. Yet I’m going to work on it. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain is the correct placement of the hoop…
Rose Garden
It’s been said, we were never promised a rose garden. I’ve heard it my whole life. Every time the going got tough and life was not in my favor, Mother would say, “Well, Mary Ann, no one ever promised you a rose garden.” No, I would think, no rose garden. But neither did I expect to be thrown into the cacti quite so often either. Life can be prickly to say the least. As I see it, the trick for survival is making sure to check words before they fly out of our mouths and think carefully before acting. If we slow down a bit and consider pro’s and con’s before anything is said or done, we will cruise on through to the good times regardless of the rocky conditions getting there. Now, as we all know, the thing about the good times is they’re not here forever. For some reason, there is no sailing through without the current eventually changing course and the wind whipping our sails in the opposite direction. Not much we can do about it but hang on and pay attention. Life will change directions again; we just need to do the best job we can…
You will never hear the end of it!
“I’m just so glad it was you who let the dogs out,” my husband said as we searched frantically for our run-away puppies. “If it had been me, I’d never hear the end of it!” Oh, how right he was; and may I just say – truer words have yet to be spoken. My parents bought my younger sister a car for high school graduation. When I graduated, I received half of a ten speed bike. Yes, I had to pay for the other half. They have never heard the end of it. Once, I forgot to put bananas in the banana cream pies. The subject of pies cannot be brought up without every family member reminding me of the banana-less, banana cream pies I made as they drove me crazy one Thanksgiving Holiday. I will never hear the end of it. Another time, I spoke in whale after a few glasses of wine. My kids have since requested whale talk from their mother every inappropriate chance they get. It’s guaranteed; I will never hear the end of it. “If I have to rescue you one more time,” my neighbor complained, “I swear you will never hear the end of…
You Might be Old, but I’m Not!
Lately I’ve been feeling pretty good about myself. I look in the mirror and decide I look a lot younger than I am and at the same time wonder how the world sees me. Surely they see me as at least a few years younger than my actual age. Surely I am unique in my youthfulness. And then along comes another AARP magazine toting the truth of the baby-boomer mentality. Apparently, we all see ourselves as different from everyone else over sixty. According to their survey, the majority of us look in the mirror and think, “Damn! I look so much better than anyone else my age. I bet no one can believe how old I am.” This self affirming is done while rocking out to Bruce Springsteen and perusing a Harley Davidson brochure. Even if we don’t buy the bike, we’ll look hot in the leathers. Yet, the reality is, our eye sight isn’t getting any better. It’s possible we can’t see the lines and wrinkles and age spots accumulating everywhere we look but don’t see. It’s possible our friends aren’t alone in the occasional short term memory loss we secretly make fun of, and maybe they’re not alone…
When I Get Old…
I can’t even imagine the number of times I’ve said “when I get old,” followed by a wild variety of things I will and will not do. When I get old, I will be in excellent physical shape, running and riding my bike every day. I will go to yoga and meditate and take great care of my body. By the time I am old, I will surely know everything there is to know about nutrition. I will embrace this knowledge, never straying from what I know to be best for my aging yet healthy, fit-and-trim, self. I will thrive on fresh vegetables and fruit and healthy grains, nuts and seeds. And I’ll only drink purified water and drinks that are 100% natural and full of vitamins. I will give up all drinks containing caffeine and/or alcohol. My mind will have spent many years growing sharper everyday and I will be more intelligent than I ever dreamed of. I will master the mysteries of mathematics and science that have been too difficult for me until arriving at Old. My brain will be brilliant, having spent a life time in training. When I arrive at Old, my mind will see things…
There’s an App for That
Did you know there’s an app available for the sole purpose of finding out what apps are available? There is! And where would we be without it? I start my day with an app: the weather app to be exact. Once I’ve determined what the day is looking like, I can get dressed accordingly, then check my tide table app to see if we’ll be taking our morning walk on the beach or on the road. If it’s on the beach and the tide is low, I’ll check my app from the department of fisheries to see if clamming is open. If it is, I’ll get a bucket of clams and make chowder by resourcing a recipe from one of many cooking apps. I’ll spend the middle of the day writing, accessing a plethora of apps designed to blast through any degree of writers block. For example, if I’m writing poetry (which I never do) I can go to Poetreat for help with rhymes. I use my dictionary app continually, mainly because I’m such a bad speller, and I definitely need my notebook app to log ideas and organize thoughts. I’ll forget a thought in seconds if it’s not written…