I didn't explain myself well in that post. Actually, the title made little sense without an explanation. Here it is as embarrassing as the explanation is. I was trying desperately to get out of the ocean. Jack was on our beach blanket and it was getting late. It was time to go. Problem is I could not get my big ole' butt out of the ocean. Each time I tried, the tide would come in and knock me on my butt. I dug my feet in to the bottom and hung on for dear life. Didn't help. The tide would go back out and suck me out like soap water going down the drain. I kept praying, "Dear Lord, please do not let the tide suck my bathing suit off. These children on the beach will need therapy for years." My thighs were scraped raw by the sand. Jack's laying up on the mat and yes, I could have yelled to him for help but I already looked like a 58 year old moron sitting there in two inches of water like a beached whale. What should I do? The only thing I could do. I start picking up hands full of tiny shells that lined the ocean floor in the two inches of water. I acted as if the fascination of those tiny shells was all I wanted to focus on. I was waiting for my break to stand up and walk out of the ocean with some dignity. That time did not come. So like the lady my mama raised me to be I grabbed my neon yellow chair, held my hand over my boobs and crawled out of the damn ocean scraping every part of my lower body along the way. Take that, ocean. Ha! The scrapes only bled a short time and hardly hurt at all after a day or two.
The Okefenokee Swamp
A few things Jack didn't mention about our little adventure into the abyss of the Okefenokee Swamp.
He posted a picture of me manning the boat in the swamp. What he didn't do was post the many, many pictures of the alligators who surrounded us at many ventures in the swamp. It was as if several of them got ticked off because we were taking their pictures. They would start swimming towards us and suddenly disappear under the water. Of course, I immediately became concerned. I just knew they were going to get under that little rickety ass boat we were on and rock our boat until it capsized. I could picture one of my Crocs just floating down the swamp; the only thing of me remaining after I was eaten by a gator or two. Surprisingly though I wasn't afraid. I know, shock, right? However, bless Jack he didn't tell you the whole truth about our adventure of that day. I had a "big head" from my navigational skills on the last John boat we rented. I handled that trip with the professionalism of a "real" captain.I was hooked on the thrill of guiding the boat through water, making the boat go where I wanted it to go. Empowering. So, after our lunch in the middle of the swamp I told Jack that I would take over driving the outboard motor. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that this boat had too much space between my short arms, the driver's seat and the motor. The only way I could navigate effectively was to sit sideways on the seat and hold the motor handle. Problem is there were too many close encounters of Cypress trees that I hadn't calculated in to my vanity dream. So, though patient as he was, Jack could not ignore the fact that I drove in to an area that was chalked full of alligators and I unwillingly I began to play bumper cars with the Cypress trees. He kept yelling, "Put it in to reverse. Put it in to reverse. No, now go forward." I became so flustered that I kept hitting tree after tree and screaming, "What? What should I do? Help me, Jack, really. I don't know what to do." Now, most of you are saying to yourself, "Why didn't Jack just take over the driving?" Let's put it this way. When you are in a swamp loaded with gators and Lord knows what else you don't make sudden moves in a flimsy John boat. Cause trust me, if that sucker goes over you are toast. Simple as that.
I couldn't breathe normally for a good five minutes after Jack took over the helm. And to add insult to injury there is no easy way for an overweight older lady to get out of a boat where the dock stands over your head. This crawling thing is getting old. This time the steel dock was so hot it left burn marks on my hands for several hours.
But later that day was a different story
We took the dogs for their last walk of the night. It was pitch black. Remember, we were 17 miles from no where. No lights obstructed the view of the brilliance of the stars. So Jack talked me in to laying down in the middle of Georgia Hwy. 177. Of course there was no traffic (who in the hell goes to the end of nowhere in the middle of the night?) but all I could think of for the first few minutes laying there was the Road Runner. Remember how he always showed up at the craziest times and ran over everything in his way? Nuts, I know but that was my thought process. So, we laid there gazing up at the dark sky admiring the many stars that we rarely see in the city. All around us was darkness. We could see nothing but the stars and the outline of Tanner, at my side, and Sydney, at Jack's side. Suddenly, I see Tanner's head tilt, silhouetted by the stars light. His ears perked up and I froze. Jack and I heard the sound at that same second. An animal's cry from the woods that stood just feet from us. You've never seen two people move so fast in all of your life. I was up and running down the road in 3 seconds followed closely by Jack and Sydney. I felt bad for leaving them but as long as I heard their breathing I knew they weren't being eaten by any creature. Tanner and I weren't waiting around.
Our last night at the swamp
Several years ago our sons gave us a very nice bottle of wine for Christmas. Jack and I normally aren't wine drinkers but their dad had mentioned he wanted this particular wine after he retired so the boys were kind enough to buy it for him. Well, our last night at the swamp, we were feeling pretty darn lucky having not gotten eaten by gators or creatures of the night so we broke out the bottle of wine. Now I must admit that wine makes me laugh at everything. That's why I don't drink it that much. However, Jack had started a nice campfire, the dogs were asleep inside and nothing stood in our way of a nice glass of wine while looking for a falling star. But then I got paranoid. Jack," I say with the utmost seriousness," what if the ranger catches us with this wine? We need a plan B." "What is plan A?" Jack questions me. No alcohol is allowed in any state park and certainly not wine. "Like I know," I answer wondering what I'm going to look like in prison stripes. "I can never remember Plan A so that's why I always want to know what Plan B is." We look at each other and start laughing. Jack prepares his speech to the Park Ranger. "Sir," Jack begins in his most authoritarian voice, " we do not know how that wine ended up on that table between our chairs. I'm guessing, and this is just a guess, someone drove the 17 miles from nowhere and unbeknownst to us they placed that wine on our table." "Why would they do that, sir?" the officer asks us. "I'm sure we do not know that officer," Jack comes back, "isn't that your job?" And we both dissolve in to hysterics and laugh until our sides hurt. And that my friends, is why we don't drink the wine too often.
Finally, the burn
I hate motorcycles. I have since we owned our old Honda Goldwing. There was a couple our age that died just outside of Warsaw some years back and ever since then I have been afraid of motorcycles. But Jack bought this latest motorcycle and although his driving skills are top notch and have always made me feel safe on the back of a motorcycle it's not him I'm worried about; it's the other guy. I've never been injured in all of the years we've rode a bike until yesterday. It was totally my bad but I think Jack feels guilty. He shouldn't in any way feel like it was his fault; I always check that my pedals are down but I neglected to do so yesterday. The right side passenger pedal was not down and my leg slipped and caught the top exhaust pipe. It burned the top layer of my skin immediately and only burned more seriously in just a small section. Funny thing is it really didn't hurt. I quickly gobbed some anti-bacterial salve on it and not once did I even realize I had been burned. Until my shower. But once again a smattering of anti-bacterial gel soothed the discomfort instantaneously. I probably won't be riding that bike again. Jack promises me he's going to buy a Harley that will eliminate any danger of me being burned again by the exhaust pipe. The exhaust configuration on the Honda has both pipes on one side one above the other. On the Harley he is looking at it has one on each side down at the bottom farther away from where you leg would be. Jack doesn't like the exhaust on the Honda either since he has been burned a couple of times himself.
Okay. This is my view of events and the story I'm sticking to. A few pics to follow.
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| The burn on my right leg from the motorcycle. |
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| I know I've posted this pic before but if you really enlarge it you can see every hair on his face. I guess it's only a face a "Mom" could love. |
