The Basement

This old barn is at Soles, on the right as you're headed towards Dutton. The property happens to be For Sale if anyone's interested. Given there was a For Sale sign out front, I figured if anyone questioned what in the heck I was doing parked on their property, I'd say I was interested in buying it. It happens to be a true statement. Doesn't mean that I can afford it, though.

I will be sharing more photos--close-ups--of this very beautiful barn in the coming weeks. If I didn't have dial-up internet, I'd post more than one picture of it here today, but a shred of sanity is required for Chesapeake Bay Woman to function minimally as she does, and therefore one picture per post is the recommended daily allowance.

Growing up, the Chesapeake Bay Sisters spent many gleeful hours in the basement of their house. The basement was big, with a cement floor ideal for roller skating, skate boarding--even bicycling, assuming you were content riding around and around and around in small circles on a pink bicycle with a flowered banana seat that belonged to Middle Sister but that you liked way better than your own. For example.

The laundry room was down there too, and Chesapeake Bay Mother would often rig up a rope between the basement's support poles to serve as a clothes line.

One day, Chesapeake Bay Girl took her sister's beautiful pink bicycle with the flowered banana seat for a spin down in the basement. Even though she was a tomboy, she secretly wanted that pink bike instead of the boring blue one with no banana seat that she had; but there was no bitterness or resentment on her part. No.

Chesapeake Bay Girl was so in awe of that flowered banana seat that she stared down and admired it as she pedaled around the basement. Her eyes drifted slowly over each pink part of that bicycle. As she pedaled.

(Insert sound of the needle being pulled off the record here.) Quicker than you can say, "Rope burn!" Chesapeake Bay Girl rode that beautiful pink bicycle right smack dab into the clothes line her mother had strung up precisely at eye level, making CB Girl wonder if her mother wasn't subconsciously rigging up a noose.

The rope hit her straight across the nose, and flung her backwards. Thankfully the only real injury was a rope burn, and for many years afterwards she sported a white line running horizontally across her nose. It would not tan and would not go away; there are several grades' worth of school pictures to confirm this.

In spite of lessons to be learned about coveting thy sister's bicycle or paying attention to what you're doing, the real moral of the story is this: Use a clothes dryer, Chesapeake Bay Mother.

The End.
----------------------------------------------------------

p.s. I am still having computer problems and can't access EVERYTHING on my computer. I just happened to have stockpiled two or three posts over the weekend and therefore can avoid a long stint in Saluda jail for at least 24 hours. (Once this computer dies for good, I will pitch a hissy fit the likes of which have never been seen around these parts, and that's saying somethin'.)

If anyone can tell me why I can pledge allegiance to deFRAG, toss my cookies and STILL have an aol system that moves the pace of molasses in January, please, please give me some advice. I am just about ready to check myself in to Eastern State Hospital.

So, while I am trying to avoid incarceration and institutionalization (is that a word?), please understand that if I do not comment here, if I do not respond to e-mail and/or if I do not show up on your blog to comment, it's because the computer is in the bottom of Queens Creek, and I am in a nice, comfortable, sterile environment complete with padded walls and prescription medicine.