FLATUS

http://qilma.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/kitty_fart_by_murphysk8.jpg?w=510

A friend recently posted on Facebook about farting, or rather,
the odoriferous vapors emanating from the general direction of her husband
after a meal of bean soup.
Shortly after that, we had a get-together at her house,
whereupon she was presented with a gas mask & a bottle of Beano.

http://rlv.zcache.com/who_farted_sticker-p217160848871532325z8j38_400.jpg

Got me to thinking. BS has no problem whatsoever about... uh... releasing the pressure, so to speak.
And the silence of the valve opening (sometimes) is remarkable.
Suddenly, I am surrounded by a cloud of his digestive processes that seemed to come out of nowhere.
He is particularly fond of doing this when we are in the car and the windows are closed.
This is followed either by looks of complete innocence or a maniacal laugh,
depending on his whim.
I have actually had to pull over to the side of the road until the miasma cleared.
Really.

What is it about men and their misplaced pride in their bodily emanations?
Just don't get it.
"Dude, I let one rip that was so bad it killed the hamster."
"Man, that's nuthin'. I took a dump that looked just like a dachshund. Shoulda sold it on eBay."

My beloved sister (not sayin' which one) is particularly fond of letting one go when we are out together,
then looking at me with horror & shame,
letting anyone around us know, in no uncertain terms,
that I was the one with no social graces whatsoever.

Me? I have never been able to be so free with the after-effects of my digestion.
Never.
No one will like me anymore.
Seriously, this is what the demons whisper in my ear.
So, I suffer until I can get to a place where such things are permissible,
like my own bathroom,
or the great outdoors,
where there is sufficient space between me and any other humanity.
Until then, the pressure builds, sometimes with visible & painful swelling....

During all those years when I was living alone and had the whole house to myself,
this was not a problem.
I could toot away to my heart's content and no one would think I was gross. Or human.

Now, however, M&M is in close proximity,
and we have developed an ease & comfort level between us
that allows me to let him see me with dirty hair and no makeup.
Oh, believe me, that's a big deal, let me tell you.
But smelly gasses?
Umm, well, no.
It's a small house & he is usually within smelling distance.
I just. can't. do. it.
Don't know if I will ever be comfortable enough around him to make him aware that
my intestines work just like everyone else's.

Here's a handy guide to let you know when to reveal your bodily functions in front of your man:

http://hellobeautiful.com/sex-love/the-venus-files/von-anise-mccoy/how-soon-can-a-woman-fart-in-front-of-her-man/

HEARTS & FLOWERS & SMOOCHES & CHOCOLATE

Last year, because I was lazy, I just reposted my Valentine's Day post from the year before.
Here it is.

I was not very complimentary to Cupid, the annoying little fart.

So, regarding my disdain for the chubby, arrow-wielding, diaper-clad brat,
look at the picture below.


http://groovyfoody.files.wordpress.com/2011/10/liquid_chocolate.jpg

I have to again eat my words.
Not all of them, mind you.
Just a couple, but this time they will be dipped in chocolate to make them taste a little better,
although I still have to hold on to my previously uttered opinion that when you are alone,
Valentine's Day brings nothing but a little sadness, a little envy, a little wishful thinking.
And, for me, now it brings sympathy, because I remember those days.

I still maintain my opinion that Valentine's Day is for sweethearts.
Not for parents,
Not for children.
Not for teachers,
Not for classmates.
Not for bosses, siblings, cousins, or BFFs.

Besides, we don't really even know who we are honoring today.
There are a bunch of early Christian martyrs named "Valentine",
none of whom had anything to do with lovey-dovey,
and no one knows which one got the day named after him.

M&M is under orders NOT to get me any chocolate.
(I'm fat enough.)
No roses.
(They just wither & die.)

Hmmm, I wonder if he knows women don't really mean it when they say
"You don't have to get me anything."
??

(Just kidding, dear.)

We will go to Carrabba's for lasagna.
I will drink sangria like it's punch.
I will look in wonder at his lovely face
and wonder anew how I got so lucky.
I will make him brownies with drizzle.
And a good time will be had by all.

So, to those for whom Valentine's Day is still a day to be endured with false cheer,
please feel free to use this, with my best wishes...


http://images.zwani.com/graphics/antivalentines_day/images/90slapcupid.jpg

CHANNELING JUNE CLEAVER

On second thought, it's not really channeling. That implies a willing participation on my part. An invitation for her to live in my brain.

Au contraire, mes amis.

She invaded me. She is possessing me. She is digging up the memories that my lack of, and indifference to, domestic skills caused me great problems in my past life. The bee-yoch whispers in my ear that I better not let that happen again. So, here I am, after years of living alone, being accountable to only myself, and, after vowing never to do it again, worrying about things like planning meals, keeping the laundry done, cleaning (but not very well). After all, M&M works a whole lot more hours each week than I do, so I should those things, right?

See what I do to myself? These expectations are all self-imposed, self-inflicted. He has assured me many times that he doesn't expect those things. In fact, I get a puzzled look and the question "Why would I expect you to take care of me. I know how to take care of myself." He really is blessedly low maintenance, good-natured, and accommodating. So why don't I pay attention? Why do I sit at my desk wondering what I should fix for dinner? Why do I continue to worry about being the "good little woman"?

HA! Not that I'm any better at it now anyway. I'm thinking that, once I clear out some more STUFF, I might be making a periodic investment in Merry Maids. It's for my health. Really. Decreased stress levels mean a longer life. Right?

TIME CHANGES ALL THINGS

I was awfully young & stupid when I got married just 1 month shy of my 21st birthday. Did I say stupid? Let's add 'naive', 'wimpy', 'spineless', 'timid'. Get the picture? I am noticing a world of difference between now & then. Then, I couldn't have brought myself to use body part terms as part of a normal conversation with the spouse. I wouldn't have wanted to disagree for fear that, I don't know, his affections might diminish? I want to be the kind of person he wanted. I didn't assert my own personality too much, not that I had much of one anyway.

Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but not much.

But with HS, time and a boatload of life experiences have made all the difference in the world. I'm not the same person I was all those years ago, and neither is he. I was still in the whole 'image', 'fitting in', acceptance', 'wanting to be liked' phase of my life. Of course, I still want those things. Who doesn't, but they are not the focus of my life anymore. It's odd to remember that, back in high school, neither of us looked at the other with much interest. And if we could go back in time & tell our high school selves that we'd be together in 35 years, we'd probably have said "No way, nuh uh!" And now, I don't want to think about life without him.

One of the best things is the easiness of the time we spend together. Silences can be comfortable. I don't have to worry about him seeing me without makeup. I don't have to be self-conscious about the wrinkles or rolls. I can belch. Still can't fart, but that's another post. I can disagree with him. Haven't really come across a subject that is too embarrassing. Heck, I even used the word (male appendage)** in a pretty entertaining conversation the other day.

Isn't getting old GREAT?
Oh stop, I can hear you snorting from here.

**Can't use the real word here or I get hits from perverts coming to my blog after googling some nasty stuff.

MAKE YOUR WORDS SWEET.....

... for you may have to eat them.


http://www.softwarenewsdaily.com/2009/12/eat-your-words-americans-consume-over-100000-words-a-day

I have been munching away with great relish, amazement & just a bit of
trepidation for the last few months.

The time is 7 or so years ago.
The place is my old office at the college.
The conversation partner is my dear friend and colleague.
The topic is men.
We are both divorced and dateless.

"I don't care if I ever get married again. I'm getting old & crotchety & set in my ways."

"I know. I'm fine the way I am. I can eat when I want, sleep when I want,
go where I want, whenever I want. I don't have to answer to anyone."

"And my house is too full of crap as it is. I don't want anyone else's stuff in here."

"But, you know, it would be nice to have someone to do things with."

"Yeah, someone to go to dinner & the movies with."

"But not someone here all the time."

"I kind of like being on my own. Don't have to answer to anyone but myself."

And on and on... sour grapes... ad nauseum.
But it was true.
After many years of being on my own, especially now that BS is grown & out of the nest,
I had fallen into a rut of complacency.
Wouldn't use the word 'contentment', because I was lonely a lot.
I'm not a social butterfly. I don't go to bars,
so most evenings I was at home, by myself.
Me & my laptop.
Me & my television.
Me & my books.
Hadn't had a date in more years than I want to admit.

(Please take a moment to wipe away the tears of sympathy rolling down your face. I'll wait...)

Don't get me wrong. I have family in the area. I have friends.
But no friends that I could call on the spur of the moment and say

"Let's go get something to eat",
or
"You wanna go to a movie?"

They are either married or non-local or not very good about returning calls.

But, in April, all that changed. Because of Facebook.
I'm part of an 'us' instead of just 'me'.
And now, my house is full of more stuff.
I cook dinner... occasionally.
Some mornings I even pack his lunch.
I check with him before I make plans.
I greet him at the door... usually... when he comes home.
(fully clothed - don't want to scare him away - and no, I don't wear pearls.)
And I'm very happy about all this.

But, you know, after 20+ years of being on my own and stubbornly independent,
this will take some getting used to, and I'm thinking it may be a comedy of errors on my part...

...navigating the waters of couplehood again.

MAKING ROOM

BS was home recently & his momma rejoiced with song & dance.

One of the tasks he set for himself was to shovel out his room & sort & toss & pack. Well, that's what he SAID he was going to do, and he KINDA succeeded.

A little more than 3 years ago, I posted about cleaning out the house. Didn't work very well.

You see, over the years, more stuff has crept into my house during the night & when I'm at work, because I swear it all wasn't there when I went to bed. When my beloved aunt died, some of her stuff snuck in. Then when my mother downsized her big ol' house for an apartment, it happened again. When BS came home from college, he brought several years worth of independent living with him. When he moved to the big city, he found (what to him were) plausible reasons that he couldn't take it all with him, so here it stayed. Add to that, I have found concrete and tangible examples that inanimate objects are capable of spontaneous generation, occurring in various hidden corners of the house.

I swear.

This could make the science journals. Add to that my almost-complete lack of domestic skills. As a result, my little house was stuffed to the gills with STUFF.

Enter HS & more STUFF. And not even all of his stuff, because most of his stuff is still in a storage unit. I have a storage unit full of stuff too, but I don't want to talk about it.

Right now, HS's stuff resides in the dining room. At least, I think it's a dining room. Can't really tell anymore, not that we ever did much dining in there. We're more the 'eat-on-the-sofa-and-watch-tv' kind of people, but nevertheless, the room is there. And it even has a table. And chairs. And what's a table for but to use as a receptacle for STUFF?

So, I take bags into St. Mary's for our semi-annual yard sale. I wade through piles of paper. I even tossed out a whole lot of my old college materials - handouts, lecture notes, old class notes. That was hard, as I have also posted about how much I wanted to teach again (here, here & here). But, no. Have I even looked at it in the last 2 years? No? Out it goes! Anything valuable is on the computer anyway. HS is demonstrating great patience as I try to turn from a pack rat into a minimalist. Good luck with THAT!

Baby steps, folks. Baby steps.

ANNOUNCEMENT:
The gentleman who was originally known as BB (Beloved Boyfriend), who then changed to HS (House Stud) at the suggestion of one of our twisted classmates, decided that he liked BB better after all, but then I proposed another that he likes best of all. Since he loves the mountains, used to live in them, and wants to again, he is going to be the Mountain Man, or M&M (since he loves chocolate too). So.... ANOTHER NAME CHANGE! Hopefully, this will be the last one.

HERE'S TO FACEBOOK

This is my old high school:


http://www.kellamhs.vbschools.com/

Spent 3 years there.
At the time, it was the only high school serving the entire southern half of the city.
We had so many students, we had to go to school in shifts, 8-2 and 10-4.
There were all the usual cliques - jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, ROTC, brains...
you know, because you had them too.
We were all overly concerned with image, with being liked, with being cool, with fitting in.
What idiots.

What does this have to do with Facebook?
Up until a few years ago, I saw all my old classmates only at the reunions,
secretly glad I didn't look THAT old.
Up until a few years ago, I had kept in touch with only a couple of them,
and those were cherished friendships.
Up until a few years ago, I remembered them as they were in school.
But then, something happened.
Technology crept into my world.
It really started with BS begging me to join Facebook so I could do the farm game with him.

"Oh puh-leez! No way."
"Come on Momma. You'll like it."
"I don't wanna. Facebook is stupid."
"It'll be something we can do together.

(Man, did he have to go & put it THAT way?)

And back & forth it went.
I resisted for a few months, but apparently I have the spine of a jellyfish.
So, there we would sit, at least when he came home for visits, mother & son,
side by side on the sofa, each with our laptop, tending our farms.
If any of you are considering playing the Facebook games, DON'T!
STEP AWAY FROM THE ZYNGA!!!

But while I was glued to my cows & chickens, harvesting my crops, a funny thing happened.
I started hearing from some of my old classmates from school.
Some of them were farming buddies, others intermittent chat buddies.
We even planned some casual get-togethers.

And you know what?

Well, other than discovering some will-power to 12-step my way away from the farms,
I discovered something about all those classmates.
Time becomes the great equalizer.
35 years later, the cliques are gone.
Our image is pretty much the same - wrinkles, bags, sags, gray hair, no hair, bulges & rolls.
No one really gives a flying hoot what the others think any more.

Granted, some of these classmates were virtual strangers to me.
I hadn't known them well in school, but since the masquerades of youth had melted off,
so did the foolish blinders fall away.
I discovered a treasure trove of wonderful people.
People I might not have wanted to be friends with in school,
being the spineless twit that I was,
ended up being people of humor, intelligence, wit, kindness, generosity...
What is it about youth that prevents us from seeing those qualities before?

Maybe because those qualities take time and life experiences to refine?
Maybe because it's hard to recognize qualities in others when they are
sadly underdeveloped in ourselves?

Life does that, I guess.
Reinforces the truth that youth is wasted on the young.

For whatever reason, we can be friends now.
There is little awkwardness.
There is an instant connection of shared history,
shared people,
shared teachers,
shared experiences.
It creates a bond; a fellowship; a camaraderie.

I can cherish these people now.
One in particular, especially.
Facebook brought me together with the love of my life.
(I mentioned him in my last post.)
I knew him in school, but didn't really know him all that well.
Our separate lives have brought us each to a place & time that,
where we probably would have scoffed at the thought back in school days,
now I see the utter beauty of the man I couldn't have seen in the boy.
And I look forward to being able to appreciate that for years to come.

By the way, a moniker change has taken place.
Instead of BB, for 'Beloved Boyfriend",
he shall be known as HS, for "House Stud".
This was not my idea.
Blame my old new friends.
You know who you are.

A Girl Thing

I have had a couple of facts reinforced recently:

1. Beloved Boyfriend (BB) is an incredibly good sport.
   
2. There are huge differences between men & women. And no, I'm not referring to THAT! Get your minds out of the gutter.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I remembered that I was invited to a christening the next day. Oops, forgot about that, and I hadn't gotten a gift yet. This means I need to make a trip to that fortress of female delight, that bastion of baby-rufflyness - Babies-R-Us.

You girly types know what I'm talking about. Most people that have sufficient estrogen love this place. Baby clothes, baby furniture, baby accessories, baby toys, baby blankies. OMG! Especially yours truly, since I have a hankering for a grandchild (but no pressure, BS, hear?). So BB nicely says he will go with me. Huh? What's that? Did I hear him right? He'll go with me into the black hole of powdery, Pamper-y, pastel-y plentitude? Now, in my book, that's akin to volunteering to go to a Tupperware party or get a root canal. Did I mention he was a good sport?

The drive over showed his deceptively calm exterior, but as we approached the front door, a heavily pregnant woman and her whiny toddler-appendaged friend were exiting. Out the corner of my eye, I noted the start of an ever-so-slight slight twitch.

Inside the vast cavern, a look of pained resignation settled on his whiskery face as he followed me on my quest. Every now and then, he couldn't resist belting out a falsetto "oooh, it's so cuuuute!", but otherwise he soldiered on, forcing himself to smile, or maybe I should say 'show his teeth', whenever I held up an ever-so-cute frou frou to consider. I could see the thought bubble over his head that read "When will this END?"

Coming out into the sunshine of a world that had men & testosterone in it, I saw my atonement. Next door to the Babies-R-Us was........a Best Buy.......................

Why Do I Worry About This Stuff?

Thanksgiving is here, and as time goes by, I am having a bit of a problem with it. I know that sounds strange, but it is something I stew over more & more as the years go by. Let me see if I can make this sound coherent.

Thanksgiving - giving thanks. That's pretty obvious. Being thankful means that you are happy for something someone has given you. We are supposed to be thanking God for the things we have: our food, our health, our home, our friends, our family, blah blah blah.

So when we thank God, we are thanking Him for giving us all those things. Now, don't get me wrong. I am very glad I have a job, a family that I love, a home, the best son in the world, enough to eat, and now a wonderful person to share my life with. But, what does that say for the people who have no family, no roof over their heads, not enough to eat, poor health, profound disabilities? What are we really saying when we say "Thank you"? Thanks for giving the goodies to me & not to them? Did He choose not to give those things to those other equally deserving people? How do I give thanks without sounding selfish?

And did God really give me my job, my house, and the food on my table? Or did I provide/work for/earn those things for myself (with help from my family & friends)?

I want to give thanks for those things that have been given to all of us equally - a world that can take my breath away with its beauty; humanity's capacity to love deeply. So, my prayer would have to be something like this:

Lord -

We give you thanks for the bounty and the beauty of the earth. Grant us the wisdom to use it to provide for all.

We give you thanks for the bounty and beauty of love, which binds together family and friends. May it shine through each of us to bind together all of mankind.

As this food nourishes out bodies, so does your spirit nourish our souls.

Amen

My good friend at work came up with an idea too - we can be thankful that we are in a position to be able to help others, so we can show it by helping to feed the hungry, heal the sick, provide comfort to the weary & friendship to those who are alone. Anyone interested in joining me?

What If.......

One of the perks of a job that allows me to travel is that sometimes I'll leave
the highway and take the leisurely way home.
Such was the decision last weekend.
After a meeting in Richmond and lunch with BN (Beloved Niece),
the run home down I64 was making me twitchity.
Up pops a sign for Rt 5 & the James River Plantations (read about them here),
so I careen across the lanes of the interstate to make the exit.
Lovely, peaceful road, winding along the river with trees arching overhead.
Ahhh. Much better.

How many times have we spared only a glance at the historical markers along the road without really noticing them?
Sadly, they often become white noise in the scenery as we speed along.
If it was really important, it would be lit up or something, right?
Just as I was getting to the pretty part of the road, one of those ubiquitous gray signs whizzed past.
I glanced at it with half an eye, then my brain cleared and I realized what I just read.
One of the most significant, in retrospect, "events" in our story.
Something that has shaped 400 years of history and still reverberates today.

This...



...allowed for these to flourish in the South,





made possible by this,


http://www.veteranstoday.com/2010/04/13/robinson-on-haley-barbours-diddly-sense-of-slaverys-history/ ; http://www.nps.gov/liho/historyculture/slavery.htm

http://www.crgate.com/shist.htm

(one of the darkest & most shameful scars on our collective history)

and ultimately leading to this.


http://fromusatoday.com/commemorating-the-civil-war.htm ; http://www.soldierstudies.org/index.php?action=webquest_1

http://www.pixelparadox.com/battles_of_the_civil_war.htm

(one of the bloodiest and saddest scars on our collective history)

Makes me ponder "what if?"
What if those early crops had failed?
How would our history have been rewritten?

I know I haven't posted anything in a looooong time, and I offer no explanations or promises of regular posting, but somewhere back in the annals of time, I mentioned finding the hidden gems of your town. Found another one this past weekend.

Every time I go to the Outer Banks, on the last leg home, I always notice a pretty little lake along the ramp from the 168 Bypass onto I64 W. Always wondered about it. And a couple weekends ago, when I went down to the OBX with a good friend, we noticed it again. What was it? Enter my high tech iPhone, my little pocket computer, my information-at-your-fingertips toy. We found out it was Oak Grove Lake Park in Chesapeake, so you know what that means? Time to EXPLORE! What a jewel of a place. A not-so-little lake surrounded by woods and a path that curves its way along the lakeshore. Only one short part is out in the open along the interstate. The rest of it is lovely, peaceful, serene, and relatively empty, at least on that Sunday. Benches and fishin' spots are laced within the trees.

On second thought, forget this whole post. Don't want the word to spread so crowds will start flocking there and cluttering up the paths. Oh wait, I think I'm giving myself a little too much credit. Since my faithful readers, after long neglect, are now down to 2.5, I doubt it will be much of a problem. My influence on tourism is about that of a gnat.

Oh, and Friend S is good at skipping stones. I got an action shot.

As usual, all my pictures are straight from my wee little point & shoot, unedited. Sorry RAD. I haven't learned my lessons yet.

Goodbye Sweet Girl

I know my last post said "Blah".
It's still pretty blah, but never so blah that I won't take the time to honor the memory
of one of our beloved children.

Our sweet girl left us last night.

She had so many close calls in her short life, we hoped that this would be another.
That she would again defy all the predictions about her. That she would again rally.
That she would again come home to the people who loved her.
But, this time, it was not to be.

She did go home, just not back to St. Mary's.
We won't see her incredibly sweet face anymore except in our hearts & memories.

What I wouldn't give to see her as she is now - whole, not struggling for every breath,
laughing as she runs to greet the angels.

Goodbye sweetheart.


(I haven't had to put one of these up in a very long time. That in itself is a blessing.)

BLAH

So, here's the situation. There have been things going on, both in my head and actual events, that certain friends and family might possibly find interesting . . . if only I could force fingers to keyboard & post about them. But I seem to be having a spell. It's not writer's block. I can think of all sorts of things to write about - BS's new job, Team Hoyt, Brandon & the Blacksburg trip, the St. Mary's record-breaking 5k, my overall dissatisfaction with life in general. It's a motivation thing. I can't seem to squeeze out the effort to push the "Publish Post" button. Sometimes I don't even want to check on my friends' blogs, and when I do, I can't muster the energy to comment. It's all kind of a big blah.

So, that's why there hasn't been anything up here in a few weeks. I keep thinking about why I started writing this blog in the first place. Haven't been totally successful in those lofty goals, so what do I want to do with this thing? When I figure it out, I guess I'll hit "Publish Post" with some enthusiasm. Until then, the button will get pushed to post this, but I guarantee I'll do it with blah blah blahiness.

Finding Family

I have a boatload of cousins -
first cousins on my father's side.
The kids of my dad's brother & sisters.
Problem is, I don't know most of 'em.
Never met 'em.
Wouldn't know 'em if I hit 'em with the car.

That started to change a few years ago.
I got to meet the Texas bunch & now I love 'em more than my luggage.
(movie reference. I know Sista G knows...)

Last weekend I got some more.

Even though we were strangers,
we have a shared history and heritage that somehow takes away the strangeness.
You are oddly comfortable with them.
Especially if one of them has your grandmother's nose.
Family is funny that way.

Okay, okay, we're friends on Facebook, but still . . .

It turns out that Cousin K lives in the DC area kinda near BS,
who I went to visit last weekend.
And even though any weekend spent with my li'l spawn is a good weekend,
meeting Cousin K & Husband A made it even better.

We started out at Ray's Hell Burger, Obama's favorite hamburgers.



I must say, they were very tasty.
And if you don't like them, you can . . .



We ended up driving out to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia
at the confluence of the Potomac & Shenandoah Rivers, site of John Brown's raid in 1859.

From Wiki:
"In 1750 Robert Harper was given a patent on 125 acres (0.5 km²) at the present location of the town. In 1761 Harper established a ferry across the Potomac River, making the town a starting point for settlers moving into the Shenandoah Valley and further west. In 1763 the Virginia General Assembly established the town of "Shenandoah Falls at Mr. Harper's Ferry"... Thomas Jefferson called the site "perhaps one of the most stupendous scenes in nature."

This view from Wiki shows the town in 1865.



If you look at Google Earth, this is what you see.



You can see the 2 train trestles diverging as they come out of the mountain,
at the right of the image.
one turning northward to follow the Potomac
and the other following the Shenandoah to westward.



Just where the 2 rivers come together, you can see 5 piles of something in the water.



Those are the original train trestles, as seen in the 1865 picture.
This is what they look like today.




Harpers Ferry has been the site of some devastating floods throughout the centuries.
You Tube has some videos of the 1985 flood.
The Harpers Ferry coverage in this one starts at 1:12.

Some other pictures of the area, which is just dripping with history.
The levels in the rivers were kind of low, inviting swimmers & waders.
It is also a popular spot . . .

Oh look, a spider web on the train bridge . . .



Sorry, a touch of ADD.

Anyway, it is a popular spot for rafting and tubing,
although I imagine it would be a bit more exciting if there was, oh I don't know,
enough WATER to make some rapids.






















Darn, too early for the war.

The next day, BS & I headed for a newer attraction in the area, National Harbor.
It's just across the Woodrow Wilson Bridge (on I95) in Maryland, right on the river.
It was FULL of Hokies because of the game with Boise State at Fed Ex Field,
which we LOST!
It also looked like money,
and it was full of places wanting you to part with too much of yours.
BS & I chose this place to eat because of my brother's love of ketchup.
There are only 3 in the world - LA, Saudi Arabia & Maryland.



Now, I'm not normally much of a wine drinker.
Wait. Back up. I'm hardly ever a wine drinker,
but this place had a white wine sangria that was heavenly. Fabulous. Sweet.
Look at it.



Oops, sorry, I already drank it.
The sweet potato fries were lightly sprinkled with cinnamon-sugar
and served with their signature '5 ketchups' - ranch, chipotle, maple, mango & raspberry.
Sweet potato fries dipped in maple ketchup. Raspberry & chipotle mixed.
Oh my.



The interior decor was ugly so we ate outside, but the food was very good.
Beautiful clear breezy day, not too hot.
A thirsty fly found its way into BS's empty sangria glass.
He didn't make it out alive.



A terrific weekend.
I think the cousins had a good time,
especially seeing as they didn't know us from Adam.
(HAHA - inside joke)
Husband A said he was afraid he might be stuck with douchbags all day,
or something like that.
Wait, he didn't really say we weren't douchbags, did he? Hmmm . . .

Much Ado....

Photo by Sun Realty Outer Banks Vacation Rentals

Whalebone Surf Shop is an Outer Banks business in Nags Head, NC.

Anytime the wind blows, the OBX sees the invasion of stern-faced storm reporters
in their fleets of satellite trucks,
risking life, limb, hair & makeup to stand in the wind & rain & floods,
sacrificing themselves to the greater glory of 24-hour storm coverage,
running down the locals who decide to ride it out for gripping person-on-the-street interviews.

"So Bob, why did you decide to stay instead of evacuating? Aren't you afraid?"

"Wellsir, we went to the Food Lion and got us some batteries and beer. Anyways, my house ain't never been blown over by a hurricane yet, so I 'spect it'll be okay. 'Sides, I'd rather stay in my own house than be stuck in the high school gym with a couple hundred smelly people and no TV."

"But Bob, I don't think you'll have TV either.
Excuse me ma'am, how 'bout you, are you going to stay?"

"Why, of course! Our little dogs just hate riding in the car."

Ad nauseum.

Jim Cantore of The Weather Channel has perfected this particular art form.
He is the master.