Here it is once again, Thursday. That day where we share three things. There is usually no rhyme or reason to the three things, just whatever happens to be spinning around my/your head at the moment.
I'll go first.
1. My mother has finished a blog post (click here) that captures the Chesapeake Bay Children when they were much younger. I adore these pictures and am so grateful to her for all the work she's doing scanning and capturing the images for posterity.
2. A good friend from Northern Virginia recently informed me that BULL LIPS were the very best bait for crabbing that ever was. He said I should ask any commercial waterman. Bull lips. It's what's for dinner, evidently, if you're a crab. That's right, folks, I said bull LIPS. L. I. P. S, bull lips.
Bull lips? This reminds me of the first time I heard the word "cornhole." Even today, a full year or more later, I still twitch and convulse a little when I hear "cornhole." Something just isn't right....
3a. Last night I ran into my high school classmate Johnny Pugh in the Food Lion and asked about this bull lip for crab bait business since he knows all about commercial crabbing. He confirmed that he has heard that the lips of bulls do indeed make good bait; he also confirmed (as if there were any question, except I had to ask) that there are no bull lips available for sale in or near Mathews. So the bull lip bait shops haven't quite hit Mathews County yet.
3b. Mind you, this conversation is occurring in the checkout line of the grocery store at 7:00 p.m.(way too late for
3c. Dear Bag of Bread Person, Had I noticed you clutching that sole item before I became engrossed in the bull lip conversation which made me a little slower than usual at the checkout stand, I would have waved you on ahead of me and begged you to go first. My apologies, and hopefully one day soon you'll appreciate the humor in the exchange you
3d. While I was slinging groceries onto the conveyor belt, still pondering the whole bull lips issue, Johnny then commenced to telling me about some mutant frogs he has down his neck of the woods, something about his daughter's pet frogs escaping and intermingling with the native population, which are already enormous. He said they were about the size of chickens. Or maybe he said they tasted like chicken, who knows. I couldn't concentrate thanks to the realization that some poor person standing behind me (and this whole exchange) only wanted to pay for a loaf of bread.
So that's it, folks, the latest and greatest from this little speck on the map along the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay. From bull lips to mutant frogs that taste--and look--like chickens. There's never a dull moment here in Mathews!
Now it's your turn to share three (or more) things.