Pine Tree

This pine tree lives on a point that juts out into Stutts Creek.

I guess you could say it juts into Stutts.

It juts into Stutts and it's just on Stutts.

Thanks to my fascination with Dr. Seuss-level rhymes, I've completely forgotten what I came on here to say.  Please be patient while I recollect my thoughts.  Thank you.

(*Tries to stop thinking about more words that rhyme with Stutts but can't think of a way to weave pork butts into the story.)

ANYWAY.

A storm called Hermina passed through Mathews yesterday, and all things considered it wasn't that big of a deal.  As far as I know, there was no major damage around here, just lots of wind and flooding.  A few folks lost power.  I have lots of tree limbs in the yard and pine needles stacked six inches deep on my deck and patio, but otherwise, everything's fine.

Have a great Labor Day weekend. I intend to.

Three Things

Aarons Beach, December 2010

Welcome to Thursday, celebrated on this blog by sharing three (or more) things which are usually random, off-the-top-of-your-head thoughts.

For those of us with self-diagnosed, adult-onset ADD (brought on by old age  technology and the ever-increasing expectation that a person must do sixteen things at once, in three or four different locations),  it's slightly liberating to receive permission to spew off completely random thoughts, even if that permission comes from oneself.

(Isn't "oneself" an odd looking word? Shouldn't an apostrophe show up somewhere?)

Let's begin.

1.  A week from Sunday, Chesapeake Bay Father turns 70. Born with a defect which required open-heart surgery as a teenager (and submersion in ice), he has every reason to celebrate. And celebrate he will, assuming I can clean the house and get to gettin' on the birthday fiesta, which will be on Saturday, January 22, for anyone interested in attending.

Celebrating is so much more fun than cleaning, and yet I spend more time cleaning than celebrating.  (Note to self:  This really must change.)

2.  Chesapeake Bay Daughter, a seventh grader, had a basketball game last night.  They lost 21-20, but that close gap was made possible by her inability to accept defeat until the game was actually over, and the two three-pointers she scored in the last seconds of the game.

I blinked back tears of joy and pride.  She's absolutely amazing. Truth be told, she looks just like Chesapeake Bay Baby Sister on and off the basketball court.

Chesapeake Bay Baby Sister scored over 1,000 points in her high school career and was one scrappy, determined player, just like her niece.

After she and I debriefed tonight, I gained a whole new respect for her performance on the court.

She kept fighting and didn't resign to losing before they actually did. She believed until the last millisecond there was a reason to fight and a chance to win.  

There are many life lessons to be learned in her way of thinking.

3.  After months of scanning old photos for the book that's due this summer, I discovered a wrinkle in my methodology that may require me to cry to start over.  Terms such as "grayscale" and "output width" are involved.  "Grayscale"  now refers to the color of my hair, and "output width" involves the size of the tears that I've been blinking back will be streaming, if in fact I have to start over.  For now, though, I am not going to think about it panic; the publisher will let me know for sure if something is wrong next week. As far as I can tell, I'm still in the game and there's still a chance.

There's still a chance.

Now it's your turn.

Thanks, as always, for participating and commenting.  There are not enough hours in the day to respond to each of you as I'd like.  Just know that I thoroughly enjoy reading your responses and thoughts each and every day.  To use the quote we talked about on Monday, my readers are finest kind.

Baby Sis and Chesapeake Bay Daughter, Basketball Twins Separated at Birth, November 2010

Wandering Wednesday

Today's little trip is down Beaverlett, and yes indeedy, that is a real name.

From Heres have heard of Beaverlett but most Come Heres (depending on how long ago they arrived) will struggle to find it on the local map. Just like Blakes, Redart or Peary, Beaverlett is an area that once had its own post office. At some point over the years the post office shut down, but the name still lives.

Beaverlett--very broadly defined because as you know I have ADD am not fond of details and specifics--is somewhere between Diggs, Onemo, Port Haywood and Close Enough.

(For those who know the exact road names and route numbers or who can recite the latitude and longitude, just substitute those details where Close Enough appears in the previous sentence. Thanks for your understanding and cooperation. )

The house above appeared on this blog many moons ago, but I just had to stop and take its portrait again. She posed very patiently while I snapped away. This is another place that just begs to have its story told. What is that story? What went on here?

Another lovely structure.

This was not my neck of the woods growing up. As a kid I might have come down this way never once or twice, so I have no insight or remarks whatsoever on any of this other than to say I admire the buildings and really want to go inside them.

Finally, I leave you today with a photo that best describes the content of my brain this blog post, which leaves the reader more than slightly confused and wondering not only which way (s)he's going, but where (s)he's just been.

When you figure it out, let me know.

p.s. Actually, I can sorta tie this together somehow. Later this same day, after taking the shots above, I drove to check on an old barn that I fell in love with a long time ago. Much to my horror, there were all sorts of workers and maintenance folks milling around outside, and the barn was gone. Gone. Completely gone, not one scrap left. So perhaps today's rambling post is a tribute to old buildings that may be here today but gone tomorrow without any warning.

Later when I have more time I'll post the picture of the barn that's now gone.

I hate seeing these buildings go.

Wandering Wednesday

As opposed to describing my writing style, the wandering this Wednesday refers to the joys of exploring the many back roads in Mathews; taking some time to meander aimlessly through life down quaint little byways and nameless lanes, leisurely stopping to check for No Trespassing signs take in the sights which can't be seen from the main road.

Last week's trip to Mobjack was rife with side trips down lanes that just begged to be explored. When I'm driving somewhere unfamiliar and cute little roads are waving and jumping up and down, hollering for me to come in and take a look around, who am I to say no?

I've already forgotten the name of this wharf, probably because I could barely focus on anything over and above the No Trespassing signs posted everywhere I can't remember my own name most days, but the road had "mill" in the name. Or "factory." Or "Fig Newton," I don't know, it's a detail I just didn't focus on and cannot remember. Plus I'm too lazy to pull out the map.

So, in conclusion, it turns out that the wandering does indeed apply to my writing, my thinking and, now, my driving.

Pass the Fig Newtons.

The End.

Three Things

Welcome to Three Thing Thursday, where I share three things and you share three things.

Let's go.

1a. Last week on vacation, I almost read an entire book. Almost. There are still a few unread pages left. The last time I read an entire book was probably never when CBS, NBC, ABC and PBS were tuned in via rabbit ears with tin foil and a good swirl of the tuning knob which you actually adjusted by getting up and walking to the TV the only television channels, and drinking from the garden hose was a daily ritual.

1b. In my elder years, I seem to have come down with ADD an affliction which requires me to do things like flip impatiently through read magazines from back to front stopping only to gaze at pretty pictures or a butterfly passing by outside. With books I usually read to about the halfway mark, become impatient, skip to the very last page and then toss the book in the corner never to be opened again. Jane Austen (and Tolstoy, believe it or not) temporarily cured me of this ailment, but she's dead and doesn't produce new stuff, so CBW's reading well is bone dry.

1c. One day a dear friend from college said, "CBW, I've just read a book and you must read it too." Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, showed up by the miracles of the flukes and eccentricities of the local post office the Pony Express, and I have to say it is an outstanding book. Although there is still some left to read, 331 of the book's 348 pages have been devoured ravenously. (I did peek at the last few pages though.)

2. A very long day of commuting and working will consume every ounce of my energy time today. As of this writing there's still no definitive word on what the storm is supposed to do.

3a. Whether the storm has an impact or not, I'm going to try not to post for a day or so, simply because there is way too much going on here, regardless of any potential hurricane, and I need to start redirecting my focus.

3b. If possible, I'll try to post over the weekend regarding what, if anything, happens with the storm.

Stay tuned.

Now it's your turn. Please share three things. On any PG-related topic whatsoever.

Have at it.

Trumpet Creeper

This is a shot of trumpet creeper vines on one of my favoritest * gates in the county.

Over thirteen years ago a year ago I asked permission to take a few shots of this and didn't get around to actually doing so until thirteen years later recently.

It's a beautiful gate.

In completely unrelated news, Ann Marie came over tonight to fix my ADD camera/computer issues, which boil down to stress an overloaded memory card.

She promised to download the overloaded memory card on some sort of disk of hers, but that required a blind hand-off of a memory card that contains every photo I've taken since December or January.

Although this makes me feel as though I need prescription medication because one third of every photo I've ever taken is on that memory card a bit nervous, perhaps the most frightening thing of all is that she has all my Blog Fest photos, which I've not previewed yet.

Serenity now.

*It's a word. Really.

p.s. Thanks, Ann Marie, for your help.

Misty--and More

Warning: Exceedingly long post follows in which Chesapeake Bay Woman proves once and for all that she has the writing skills of a third grader problems with attention deficit disorder.

Here is another shot from the recent foggy Saturday. After this, there's only one other picture from that morning I want to share, then I promise to move along to something worse different.

"Misty" was the first word that popped into my head after gazing at this last night. Unable to focus on anything, ever, on the picture much longer, I began thinking about the word "misty." Then my ADD-afflicted brain took off like a Mexican jumping bean down the hairpin highway known as Main Inane Street.

It started with "I get misty," and then went to Frank Sinatra or Bing Crosby; then I stopped by the memory of a college friend who used to imitate Sinatra. Then a strange smell came from the kitchen and I remembered chicken pot pies were baking. Or burning. Because I'd forgotten them.

After making sure no flames were licking the ceiling--this time--I came back and tried reigning myself back in to "misty." Misty of Chincoteague popped into my head. I love Misty of Chincoteague! I love the little island/town of Chincoteague for that matter. Where are we going for vacation this summer?

What, pray tell, does any of this have to do with the photo of a misty creek?

Knowing full well the answer, I then decided to do a google search on ADD since I always joke about having it.

Mind you, this is a self-diagnosis.

Imagine my horror surprise when www.borntoexplore.org had this to say about one person suffering from ADD. Note that I have highlighted in red the parts that scared the crap out of me seemed to resonate with me, added my own thoughts in green,and crossed out parts that don't apply. (If the color scheme below and associated random thoughts do not prove my point, nothing will.)

"Sara is quiet 40-year old woman with three kids. As a child she got average grades and was not a discipline problem. Her imagination was so vivid that she daydreamed a lot and had trouble focusing on the teacher, and she was harassed by her parents for being so far away and "in the clouds". Her entire life has been marked by disorganization and procrastination. Her IQ is 152 (I don't know what my IQ is because that would involve numbers, which I do not do) but she feels stupid (especially around numbers). She loves her family but is overwhelmed by the daily routine. (Can I get an Amen?)

Sara has the rarest MBTI temperament: INFP. This temperament is associated with the best writers in history and is said to have the "soul of an artist". She naturally focuses on her inner world and is inspired by imagination. Unfortunately, this perfectly natural temperament trait has caused her to feel different from others and to be looked down upon. She has been unable to find her niche, and she suffers from anxiety and depression, both of which cause an inability to concentrate and mental fogginess.

She is also a perfectionist, a trait associated with giftedness(no, that was Middle Sister), which is one reason she cannot seem to get started on the many artistic projects she dreams up in her head (Blog Fest movie, anyone? How about the reality TV show. Have I mentioned I want to sell photographs, do a calendar, give tours of Mathews and sell things on e-Bay?). Her natural tendency to think divergently causes her to be disorganized and her house is always a mess (Oh thank the stars above! Finally there is a medical explanation for the piles of clutter and clothes surrounding me! I truly am cleaning disabled.).

She has a strong tendency to blame herself and to try and meet everyone else's expectations, which is one reason she is so depressed. Her depression makes it even more difficult to accomplish anything, so a vicious downward cycle has left her feeling completely overwhelmed and worthless. She also has a fatty acid deficiency (who knew?) that became severe after her pregnancies, which has seriously increased her depression and inability to focus."

CBW's Remarks:
1. Holy crap mackerel.
2. I am an INFP (introverted, intuititve, feeler, perceiver) on the Myers Briggs Type Indicator. This is a test used for organizational development, and I've taken it a quazillion times all with the same result.
3. I am NOT some of that other stuff .
4. I've always said that after children I became progressively dumber and more scattered.
5. What is this fatty acid deficiency? Can it be cured by guacamole? How about McDonald's fish fillets? A bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken? Fritos? Please?
6. What's the number of the nearest trained medical professional? Is it Wine-One-One?

It's official. The internet says I have ADD. I'm going to McDonald's now to work on this serious problem.

Pass the french fries. And the fried chicken.