Three-Thing Thursday

Welcome once again to Three-Thing Thursday, not to be confused with a three-ring circus, but if the shoe fits then by all means let's wear it and call it what it is.

So as part of Three Thing Thursday the three-ring circus which is my life, every Thursday I like to have a time where I can say at least three things, whether or not they pertain to a circus living in Mathews or to some abstract photograph of a sinker, or some Name that Ghost Contest , for example.

More importantly, you get to share three things, and your three things always make me smile and laugh. Lots.

Here are mine:

1. In typical Chesapeake Bay Woman fashion, I held a Name that Ghost Contest last week--or last month, who can remember?--then promptly neglected to select a winner, not that there was a prize or anything. This sort of well-run machine is highly representative of most everything else in my life. I have good intentions, but become distracted by emergencies and/or a bird flying by (isn't it pretty?) because clearly I suffer from ADD and early-onset-Old Timers Disease, where focus and memory are the first to go.

1b. If I am not distracted by a pretty bird or a paper clip have time, I will announce the winner of the Name that Ghost Contest tomorrow. Saturday at the latest. Or Sunday. (Pretty bird.)

2. This week I was thrilled to arrive home from work in daylight. Daylight is this phenomenon where you can actually see. When you live in a rural area like Mathews, the only street lights are near the main part of town, or sprinkled hither thither and yon. I don't live near the main part of town, and hither, thither and yon is about five miles away. So I'm usually fumbling in the dark trying to get in the door, all the while being circled by hungry cats. The hungry cats were still there, but at least I could not step on them see them.

3. My Pinto-driving, skating rink partner from high school--known as Ms. Seabreeze in the Comments--was married last Sunday. She called to tell me her plans, and she was glowing, beaming even. (FYI- You can see someone beam over the phone if you're paying close enough attention.) Congratulations, my friend.

Now it's your turn to share three (or more) things, whatever you want, anything at all.

Winner

This spectacular Gwynn's Island sunset from last summer was taken from the very beach where our Blog Fest picnic will be held in July. I am posting this up here for a couple of reasons. One, this spot of Earth always calms and relaxes me. Two, I'm tired of the dreary brown, lifeless scenery that abounds this time of year.

Speaking of Blog Fest, which rhymes with contest, it's time to announce the winner of our recent competition.

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I cannot begin to express my gratitude to the participants in our recent story-writing contest. I was very pleasantly surprised with the responses, and I loved each and every one of them.

If I were writing this for work and/or if I were the succinct sort, I would have told you in the first sentence who won, short and sweet. As I wait for you to stop laughing at the notion that I might be capable of being succinct, I will go into more detail about who wrote what and other background information; in other words I will drag this out until you're blinking back tears.

First of all, I want to identify the writers using their internet screen names:

Contestant #1 - Moon Over Mathews - Submitted by first-timer "Jack" who has never commented before, but says he's been reading a while. I hope he and his crew continue reading and that they'll leave comments and/or send me more stories.

Contestant #2 - Most Memorable Hitch-Hiker - Commenter Anonymous Mathews Native (AMN)

Contestant #3 - Everything Old is New - Commenter Anonymous Mathews Native (AMN)

Contestant #4 - Cast of Characters - Ann Marie

Contestant #5 - First Kiss - Commenter Mathews Mountain Man, aka MMM

Contestant #6 - Young People - Phyl

Contestant #7 - Chesapeake Bay Middle Sister - Commenter Icey

Contestant #8 - Hitch-Hiking: A Lost Art - Commenter Anonymous Mathews Native (AMN)

Contestant #9 - Larry -Foolery

Every single story received votes, and truly they all are winners. It is important to me that all the participants know it was a very close race, and there were only a few votes separating the winners from all the others.

And now, without further ado, I am pleased to announce we have a tie for first place between

Moon Over Mathews by "Jack" and Young People by Phyl

I am declaring these two winners. Congratulations! They both received the same number of votes. The runner-up was First Kiss, and all the others were very close on the heels of these 3. Again, I truly applaud your efforts and thank you so much for participating.Thanks to all who took the time to vote as well.

So, "Jack" and "Phyl" went up the hill to fetch a pail of water....

No, just kidding. "Jack" and "Phyl", please send an e-mail to ChesapeakeBayWoman@gmail.com and let me know if you prefer lunch at Linda's Diner or a $25 gift certificate.

And now, folks get ready to go into hibernation until our next contest, because it is back to the Same Old Same Old CBW hot air since I no longer have other people's stories up here to carry me through these winter doldrums.

Given that I'm off to the paying job today and tomorrow and have absolutely nothing lined up as far as posts for this week, you can rest assured that anything you read here after this contest will be as mind-numbing as ever.

If not more.

Contestant #6

This picture will look very familiar, but I can assure you I am not reposting the same one. This one's just a sister to the other 12 that look identical. I took this on a calm morning when the day was very young.

Speaking of young, this is a story about a former Mathews High School teacher, Mrs. Thomas, who was well known for dispensing nuggets of life lessons to her "young people" as she also juggled the responsibilities of teaching gym, health, driver's ed and any number of other subjects to some very unruly high school students. Her favorite way to begin the dispensing of her wisdom or to call the class to attention was always with the phrase, "Young People!" and usually included a well-timed, methodical shaking of her head or a dramatic rubbing of her temples or her eyes (*cough*) as she conveyed with minimal effort how much pain and distress we, the Young People, were causing her. She had her work cut out for her, I'm here to tell ya.

We have now arrived at the sixth contestant in my little story contest. I was wrong yesterday when I said we had only 3 left; we actually have 4 (3 after today's), so we ought to have the last one up by Friday and can start voting then. Because Chesapeake Bay Woman is so good with numbers, details and facts/figures, there's a very good chance that she has under- or over-estimated the number of entries left along with how many days until we can vote, but let's just use her terminology and say this: We are getting close to the end of our contest, and we have several more stories remaining. I anticipate voting will be possible in the very near future."

Thanks again to all participants, and to Contestant #6 for bringing back such fond memories of my favorite gym teacher, Mrs. Thomas.
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Young People
By Contestant #6

We were lucky enough to have her for two years. It was really one year because we alternated health with gym. I’m not sure any of us could have handled her for back to back weeks. It wasn’t until after I left school, I realized she really passed on some great wisdom mingled in with the craziness. One particular piece of wisdom came in rather handy when I was exiting a limo in college. She saved me from having my own little a “Brittany moment”. Or at the time I guess it would have been more along the lines of a “Basic Instinct” moment. Only this Young Lady wears her drawers with skirts!

The first year I had Mrs. Thomas, her room over looked the parking lot. It was early in the year and still warm. We all entered the classroom and you could tell it was going to be one of those days. She was sitting at the desk, her head in her hands. We all took our seats and begin to wonder what she had seen in the parking lot. So far, we had learned that “Young Men should never giggle”, “Young Ladies should have more respect for themselves than to walk up and kiss a Young Man” and when your pencil on your eyebrows, you really should be very careful rubbing your face.

With a flip of her hand, she signaled someone to shut the door. As the door clicked shut, she slowly lifted her head, rubbing her mouth with her thumb and forefinger. A move we’d come to learn that would mean, “Young people, I’m distressed, I’ve seen something today . . . .” And so she started with a dramatic pause right there. Looking around at all of us captivated but near giggles, to afraid to look at anyone else in the room but her for fear of completely losing it.

“Young Men! Out.” And so they scampered (all elbows and knees at 14!) out the door of the classroom and promptly out the school door to listen at the window. Lucky them! They could now laugh out loud.

A few of us girls steal a look at one another as she gets up, goes to her high bar stool and places both hands on the seat staring us down. With a big sigh and another rub around her mouth she starts again, “Young Ladies! It distresses me so. I see you in the parking lot.” Pause. “You wear those skirts.” Pause. “Young Ladies, you must take more care. You simply must!”

We steal more glances at each other wondering where is this going? Another lecture about the too short cheering skirts? Personal hygiene? What?

“Young Ladies, don’t show your goodies!” Too stunned to laugh, we sit and stare at her. Huh?

“I see you in the parking lot, you do no know how to get in and out of a car without showing your goodies. And that, Young Ladies . . .” Pause and rubs her face. A larger circle and off goes the right eyebrow. This is serious.

She proceeds to show us on the stool the WRONG way to exit a car. (Thankfully, she always wore pants.) She says to us, “Young Ladies, Young Men will be looking and looking hard. They want to see your goodies.” As she stares very intently at one particular Young Lady!

Mrs T says, “Listen! Close your legs together at the knees and swing both legs out the door at the same time.” And very gracefully mimics the movement on her high bar stool. “Young Ladies, keep your goodies hidden. The Young Men try to look but they really don’t think well of Young Ladies who show the world!”

She beams a great smile at us all, making us feel a bit like we were now in on a great secret of womanhood. With a nod of her head, one of us motions for the Young Men to come back in the room.

As I slid across the leather seat of the limo almost 3 years later, with a Young Man waiting at the door, hand extended, I remembered her advice and the gracefulness of her move even on that high bar stool, 1 eyebrow and all! I turned and watched the other Young Ladies exiting and cringed. They needed a crazy Health teacher with one eyebrow and honest advice.

The next year they moved her classroom behind the school and into a trailer. I am curious if the upcoming Young Ladies got a lesson in properly getting into and out of a car.

Contestant # 5

I took this last week on a bitterly cold morning when the sun was making its first appearance for the day . At my house it was cold, but there was no wind. Here, though, the wind was blowing so hard I was nearly blown backwards to Deltaville, even though it doesn't look rough in this picture.

Speaking of unexpected events, we turn now to a story about a first kiss. Oh, and remind me to tell y'all about my first kiss which involves a Ford Pinto, a family reunion and a whole lot of "What in the world is goin' on here?"

Below is our fifth entry in my little story contest. If I'm remembering correctly, there are three other stories after this one to publish. Thanks to all who have participated, and hopefully by the end of the week we can get around to voting for the winner.

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Contestant #5
First Kiss

The story below is not entirely true, but it was inspired by events that actually occurred in Mathews. The one name given in the story has been changed; and, as far as I know, no one on this blog, other than the contributor was involved in any of the events detailed below – similar events, likely, but not these. In some ways, "Life in Mathews" is just like life everywhere else.

In some ways I was a slow starter; a fact that caused me much frustration and embarrassment as a teenager, but I eventually came to terms with the pattern of my adolescence. Thankfully "Anna" was there, patiently waiting for me to catch up. When I think about the times when she was not around, I don't feel as though I missed much. In fact, I find it easy to believe that some sort of guardian angel was looking out for me. Those pimple-faced days were often confusing.

Not that I see it this way, but let's assume that to some adolescents in my hometown a real date occurs when two people who would consider the most intimate of relations with each other spend a significant amount of unsupervised time together – I also recall that a date somehow seemed even more official if a car was involved. According to that definition, my first date was with a girl I hardly knew. In fact, the only time I ever spoke to her before we went out was to ask her out. We went to a movie with another "couple." Two things about that night stand out. The first is that I sat silently in the back seat two feet away from my date while my buddy, who was driving and looking at me through the rear view mirror, kept suggesting with his eyes that I get closer to her. The only other thing I remember is how my date introduced me to French kissing when I walked her to the door to tell her good night. I enjoyed the kiss for a moment, but then something my older brother had once said began haunting me: "If you French kiss a girl for too long an allergic reaction will cause your tongue to swell and you could choke to death." That night when I got home I brushed my teeth three times, gargled twice and took two Benadryl. I also prayed that I'd wake up in the morning. The only good the Benadryl did was put me to sleep and give me a hang-over in the morning. The unfortunate thing about that first date was that I think I liked the girl, but I was not brave enough to ask her out again.

Progress was slow, painfully slow at times. When you're sixteen and someone you think of as a friend says, "She told me you wouldn't do it," it hurts. Somehow I survived. I hope she did. I'm glad I listened to whatever force, or perhaps counter-force, of nature was telling me not to "do it".

Then there was Anna. When we were in middle school we went to dances together and had great fun. There was no pressure to be anything more than friends. We were in the eighth grade before I first dreamed of kissing her.

Soon after school started that year a friend invited me to a party. My mother drove me there. I didn't know that Anna was going to be there, so I was pleased when I arrived and saw her standing outside with our friends.

"Anna, you're here."

She spread her arms out and said with a big smile, "I'm here."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Play records and dance."

"Dance?" I said, making it clear that I was not interested.

"Dancing is fun."

"Not for me. Are we playing any games?" I asked anxiously.

"You mean like 'truth or dare'?"

"Yeah."

"I hope so," said Anna.

"I hope not." I was always terrified that someone might chose "dare" and the "dare" would be to kiss me. When we played the game, I always chose "truth."

Anna and I stepped up onto the porch and sat down together in a swing. Anna softly said my name and asked, "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

"No," I said nervously.

"It's nothing to be afraid of."

"Oh, I know," I said, as I regained my composure and tried to act nonchalant.

"It's really kind of nice."

"It is?" If I had not been so worried about where our conversation was leading I might have felt a rush of jealousy and I tried to figure out who Anna had kissed.

"Yes, it is," she said.

We both sat quietly. Each time the swing came forward I touched my foot to the porch column and lightly pushed backwards. Although the sun had not set, the porch was darkened by the shade of the many tall trees in the yard. I assumed that all of the guests had arrived because everyone, except Anna and I had gone into the house.

Anna turned sideways on the swing and looked at me. "Would you like to try?" she asked.

I knew what Anna was asking me, but I didn't know what to say. My heart was pounding; I felt dizzy and wanted to run. The best I could do was delay the inevitable. "Try what?"

"Don't be afraid," she whispered.

"I'm not afraid," I said defensively.

Anna placed her hand on my arm and leaned forward. She looked into my eyes and said, "You're very special to me. Don't you ever forget that and don't let me forget it either. Promise?"

"Promise," I said and I closed my eyes.

Contestant #4

What's wrong with this picture? Correct - that telephone pole in the background ruins the whole thing. If I were the photoshopping type, I'd eliminate it, but I'm not so here it is in all its imperfection. That sea gull looks bored. He looks like he wants to get into some trouble.

Being bored and looking for entertainment that may or may not have been trouble is the topic of our next entry in my little story contest.


Below is Entry #4 in our ongoing story contest.

Contestant #1's story is here.
Contestant #2's story is here.
Contestant #3's story is here.

Enjoy!
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Cast of Characters
By Contestant #4

To write a story about only one character in Mathews would be unbelievably hard to do without it intertwining with others, much like our family trees around these parts. So today I give you a glimpse into a few of the characters and experiences that one might have had the great opportunity to meet and live through by growing up around here.

First time you got a job here in Mathews and if you worked in the right spot, a spot that many teenagers in this tiny little town could have considered their second home; you would have learned the art of compassion and generosity from the owner. (Unlike her counterpart where you may have learned, how to scribble out a license plate on a order pad or the art of the piercing mean look) The sweet lovely owner of this popular hang out gave me my first job, even if I never could get the grill quite right or maybe I spent more time flirting than working, I still got paid and she never told me not to come back. I remember late one night long after we had closed we sat down and tallied up the “I O U” list and being shocked to find that the total was STAGGERING. I learned a huge lesson that night, I learned that a big heart also had a big price tag, but that it was OK because it meant you could be happy with who you were and that is a gift that is priceless. I have often thought about the peoples names that were on that list and wondered if they realized the price that this woman had to pay so they could go home that night full, and I wondered if they had enough in them to go say “Thank You” and offer her a big Mathews county hug.

On a Friday afternoon, you may have met up with two of your high school friends for a couple of laps around the town. You would enjoy your ride from the back seat of a Ford Escort, a little gold one, in which may or may not have been a beer or two. Windows down, hair flying, radio up, brakes tapping. As you ride by the ever popular local teen hangout the driver of this little adventure notices that EVERYONE (by everyone I mean anyone who was in a truck with 4 wheel drive and a 3 inch lift kit) was going through the HUGE hole in the back of the joint and water was flying!! The driver exclaims “WE ARE DOING IT!!” to which the Shot Gunner replies “ YEA!!! WE CAN DO THIS!” to which the back seater says.. “Better not.” they laughed at me.. Called ME a wimp.. Me the leaper of tall buildings with a single beer? me the leader of the let’s try everything once club? ME A WIMP??? So through their fits of giggles with anticipation of driving through the mud filled crater I repeated my slightly annoyed now plea of “Seriously.. You really ought notta.” (side note: ought notta is perfectly good language around here) A peal of laughter erupted from the front seat as we pulled into the parking lot in that little one horse sled of a car, I knew we were head straight to the back for our spin through bottomless pit. By this point I knew there was no turning back so I just shrugged down in my seat and smile an evil little grin knowing where we were headed no self respecting teen aged Mathews county girl would want to emerge from. Right about that second SPPPLLLLLOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!!!! The water hits the car and the laughter from the front seat quickly turned from squeals of delight to screeches of disgust!!! As I leaned up to my mud covered counterparts in the front seat perfectly free of mud and dirty water I could not help but giggle and say “Told ya. Maybe next time you should put the winders up.” Characters those two..

Due to the lack of better things to do around here while at the rough age of somteen, you may spend hours consuming really bad wine combined with really cheap liquor with your sister and a pair of brothers, only to find about 5 pm you are on the brink of death from boredom. You all decide that it would be fun to “go across the river” I don’t think there was ever a real reason to make that trek other than it was something to do rather than sit there looking at each other. After consumption of all that yummy cheapness you would be surprised to find that the bridge in itself is more fun than the Loch Ness Monster! You spend roughly an hour going up one side at about 20 mile an hour to make it to the top to FLOOR BOARD IT on the other side to the bottom. (Luckily we did not meet a character that night in the form of the local police occifer.) On about the 2nd or maybe it was the 25th trip you may realize that you are mortality drunken and desperately need to get to a hospital quickly or you may die right there in the arms of your sister. You may in fact scream TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL for the next 30 minutes as the driver of the Loch Ness makes his way back home which is no where close to the direction of the hospital. Believe me realizing you are not headed in the direction of your request will upset you greatly and you being planning your next move 13 minutes before you are even home. “AHHHHHHHH... Know what ta do!” is the phrase that pops into your alcohol pickled brain.. The doors of the Loch Ness at last open and you SPRING (OK OK stumble) into action. While everyone is fumbling around getting this and that out of the ride... You slip off into the darkness. Seconds later (dang it stop that will ya this is the way I want the story to be... Ok Ok.. It was really 42 minutes later) your sister realizes you are missing and quickly gathers a search party (sigh .. FINE.. She put on her shoes alone and wanders out in the yard to peer into the darkness for your drunken self) This gets quite complicated and lengthy from here so I am going to wrap this up by saying..

You see if you have grown up around here you may have had the opportunity to climb a tree while completely intoxicated and giggle at the lone searcher of your dead body. You may have also had the opportunity to sit in the tree until someone finally found you because you realized that you were slightly related to a cat and could figure out how to get up there but couldn’t get down..

After writing this little excerpt of memories of Mathews I realize there is no place I would rather have spent my youth, no matter how many times I raged at hating this tiny little town to my parents, or threw the words out to my friends “As soon as I graduate I am outta here!” This town is full of people and memories of a youth gone wild that no other place on earth could ever compare to. The big city could never hold the excitement that one experienced by riding around after school with your friends, or working in a large department store could never hold a candle to the place where you learn valuable lessons of life as a 14 year old employee. Even as an adult and having moved back to this tiny little town (yup I really did take off after school) I can feel the kinship in my heart as I log online and spend hours with my regular cast of characters reminiscing over days gone by.. We will always be one. The cast of characters of Mathews.

Contestant #3

I love this, but I am befuddled by it. Is it a shed? Is it someone's former residence? If it is either one of those two things, why is the entrance so low to the ground such that you'd have to stoop to get in? To me--and I'm just Chesapeake Bay Woman who knows a whole lot about nothing, but a little about a lot--I'd say it was the top section to an old farmhouse (we don't know where the bottom section went), and that door you see is really a window. No brain cells were injured--or even used--in the uttering of that last statement. Speaking of old houses and looking through the window of the past, we turn now to a story about just that.

This is Day Three of reading the entries in my little Story Contest, and let me tell you we have some really good ones from which to choose. For anyone just joining the party, here are links to the first two submissions:
Contestant #1
Contestant #2

Below is our third entry. Enjoy.
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Everything Old is New
Contestant #3

I read on someone's blog the other day about a little polite trespassing going on in my home town, and I was reminded of my Daddy's penchant for crossing property lines.

When Daddy was a child in post-depression Virginia, it was an unsurpassed joy to go riding in the family sedan with his mother and grandmother. He was the fifth of six children, so alone-time with his much-beloved mother and grandmother was a rare treat -- and only made possible by the fact that his older siblings were probably in school, and his younger brother had not yet been born.

Grandma Alice and Grandma Susie's travels included a detailed travelogue designed to educate their young charge in the nuances of kinship, and his family's place in Tidewater society. He was chauffeured to his ancestor's home sites and the dwellings of his cousins both far and near.

The man had a memory for genealogy and geography. He knew his own family tree back seven generations, as well as that of many other families in the area. Sometimes he was a little shaky on the specifics ("Daddy, how did you say they were they related?" "Well, he was his brother or his cousin or his uncle, or somethin'"), but with a few (prying!) questions, he could place you and your family in that vast network in his head. He had lots of strange information stored in that cranium of his: he probably knew what kind of truck your grand-daddy drove, the location of the saw mill your great uncle operated in the 20's, or perhaps the name of your grandmother's sister-in-law who used to carry the mail!

Needless to say, he soaked in all the information those fine ladies were so anxious to impart, and in his turn he was equally anxious to impart it to me.

To understand my reluctance to receive it, you have to understand a bit about the geography of my region.

Tidewater Virginia, and specifically my hometown of Mathews, is blessed with a surrounding network of river, creeks and coves that, until the advent of the automobile, made traveling by land completely unnecessary. Study a Civil War era map of Tidewater and the Northern Neck and you'll notice a decided lack of railroad tracks east of the fall-line of Virginia. Why construct roads and rail-roads when you could travel so easily by boat instead?

Therefore, all the older homes in the area were not constructed near the road, they are almost all located on the waterfront. To view these ancestral halls, (now most likely inhabited by a couple of "come-heres" from Richmond) one must trespass drive down the long, narrow, bumpy lane, with no idea whether these were friendly "come-heres" (sipping iced-tea in their newly renovated kitchen), or grumpy ones (who might shoot us).

The thought that anyone might be less-than-enthused about our unannounced visit never occurred to my Daddy. He meandered on down the lane, and never worried about what he might find at the other end. You can do that when you're 6' 5 1/2" and weigh 275 lbs. (Unless they actually shot at you, grumpy "come-heres" mattered little in his reckoning). He was not worried.

I, however, was examining every hedgerow and road-shoulder for a spot wide enough to execute a three-point turn. I was sure we were going to be shot, or worse, embarrassed. I cowered in the back seat and waited for it to be over.

Skip forward thirty years, and my mother and I are touring the back roads of Hanover County near the historic landing at Piping Tree Ferry. We've been told by family-lorists that my great-grandfather's first wife, mother of my father's half-uncle (yeah, you heard that right, would I make something like that up?), was from this area, tantalizingly close to my current domicile, and that her ancestral home still stands! I've lived here for over seven years and never found her house, although in recent years, with clues from my eldest uncle, I've gotten really close.

On this particular sunny day, we've located a subdivision with a road named after the old home, but no evidence of a house old enough to be the right one in sight. On the way in, we passed a tall, elegant old place whose property borders the little subdivision. Its painted brick facade looked to be of the right vintage, so I determine that I will just STOP IN and ASK.

A certain four-year-old captive, tightly spancelled in her booster in the back seat, immediately begins to protest LOUDLY. "NO Mama! Don't get out of the car! Please don't knock on the door!" I can read between the lines - "YOU MIGHT GET SHOT!" I ignore her protests and proceed to have a perfectly lovely conversation with a very nice gentleman (who I swear was sipping iced-tea when I got there).

I explain to him that I am searching for the ancestral home of my great-grandfather's first wife, who died in childbirth. Her baby boy lived to a ripe old age, but was childless. His half-siblings loved him so dearly, that they passed his mother's family name down to their children, and we carry it forward in our family line to this day. I would dearly love to see her family' home.

The very nice gentleman just beams, and happily assures me, "This is why I just love Virginia."

His home was not the one for which I was searching for, but he directed me to it. The object of our search stands just around the corner: a beautiful old farm house -- majestic, plain and stately at the top of hill, hidden by a bend in the road.

I love Virginia, too, and if I don't someday get shot for trespassing, maybe I'll get a chance to pass that love on to my own little captive audience.

Contestant #2

This old shack stands right beside the road going down to Bethel Beach. I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who may know if it was ever anything other than a shack, but I'm not one of them. Speaking of old shacks and interesting things on the side of the road, we turn now to a story about Watergate--not the hotel, not the scandal, but the infamous Mathews character who presided over Eastview Inn and/or Westview Inn depending on the direction of the wind. When I say "inn" of course what I really mean is "drinking establishment."

Today we continue with another entry in The Story Contest. I'll continue publishing these until we reach the end of the submissions, then we'll vote on a winner.

Contestant #1's Story is Here.

Below is Contestant #2's Story which is actually Part II of this contestant's original submission. I'm presenting it before Part I because my mind is a mysterious place and some things cannot be explained. The story reads just fine without the first chapter--which I will post in a few days. Now I will shut up so you can read it.
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Our Most Memorable Hitch-Hiker
-Contestant #2

When I was a child, I worried about my daddy's habit of picking up hitch-hikers.I worried about it most when I was in the truck when he picked them up. No amount of protest on my part would over-ride his determination to stop.

Our most memorable and, arguably, our most famous hitch-hiker was the venerable denizen of a little shack up the road, known to me as "Watergate" (the denizen -- not the shack).

Any of my fellow Mathews readers know how he got that name?

Anyway, I was a little worried when we stopped to pick up Watergate. He was a raggedy little old man, who hung around at various street corners around the county. He was not too clean, and probably not too sober, and he didn’t smell too great -- I was really glad when he happily hopped into the BACK of the truck for his short ride up the road (instead of in the cab next to me!). I noted that he was pretty nimble for an old dude.

His requested destination on Route 14 was rumored to be a "shot-house." When we got there Daddy pulled off on the shoulder and waited for Watergate to exit the truck bed. The truck windows were rolled all the way down. (Daddy rarely went over 45 on the local roads), and I was leaning on the door, day-dreaming and waiting to get underway.

Suddenly, Watergate popped his head in the passenger window, inches from my face (he was nimble and he was STEALTHY!) and loudly inquired of Daddy, "You got a dollar, Mr. D****? You got a dollar?"

I jerked back. I had gotten a really up-close view of (what was left of) Watergate's teeth and a really up-close whiff of his breath. I scrambled across the truck seat and affixed myself to Daddy's side.

Daddy was looking straight ahead, as he cheerfully allowed that "No, Watergate, I don't have a dollar today" and he slowly put the truck in gear. He gave her some gas, since he was now sure that Watergate was clear of the wheels. Surprisingly, Watergate did not let go of truck door. He continued to harass Daddy for "A dollar, Mr. D****? You got a dollar?"

Daddy indicated, "Nawsuh, no dollars today, Watergate," and drove on.
The truck continued to accelerate -- and so did Watergate, reaching speeds I would have deemed beyond his capability, still shouting for his “dollar.” He was nimble, he was stealthy and WOW, he was FAST.

Eventually Watergate let go of the side of the truck (unharmed). I suppose he went back and paid for his own shot. Daddy and I continued on to Gloucester, or wherever we were bound that day.

I wonder if they had a track team when Watergate was in school? If so, he could have set some land-speed records I'm sure!

Contestant #1

Once again I have a picture from Commenter Breezeway's gorgeous Gwynn's Island cottage. For the two of you keeping track, this was taken the same morning as the picture of the tree limbs framing the moon. Speaking of the moon, here is a story about Moon, Virginia, which is in Mathews County.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who sent in (and are in the process of sending) entries for my little story writing contest. It's been a lot of fun reading them, and now we come to the process of sharing them.

As you may know, I am a rather unorganized, shoot-from-the-hip type of person, so the methodology I am using today may change an hour from now or even tomorrow or the next day, but for now here's what I'm thinking: I will publish each story submitted and will not divulge the name of the person (which would merely be the person's blogging/commenting name rather than true name). After I've shared all the stories, we will vote for the winner, probably by y'all sending me an e-mail so it can be private. We'll see. To be continued.

And now, without further ado, our first contestant.
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Entry #1: Moon Over Mathews

I was first lucky enough to visit Moon, Va. in the early 1970’s with my college roommate “No Nook, of the North” (which is the name given, by me, after he spent a summer at Mt. McKinley Natl. Park, in Alaska). His parents rented an “old historic mansion” located with water access on some fertile land that was farmed by local tradesmen. We college kids came to think of “Moon” as our upscale vacation home on the bay. We fished, cooked, drank, ate, drank and were very merry, in Mathews. On occasion we’d attend a Friday night football game, or go to breakfast at the local diner. We even had a wedding at “Moon Palace”, a tribute to what it meant to so many of us.

After graduation, we would continue to make yearly treks, which as my memory starts to fail, brings visions of the movie, Big Chill, to mind. One of my favorite recollections is of a wedding we attended near Gloucester Courthouse, which unfortunately to our surprise was DRY! Being a typical smoldering summer day, we wasted no time in paying our polite best wishes and headed to the local liquor store to acquire many cases of malt brew. We made the mad dash to Moon Palace, shed our business attire and pulled the boat and fishing rods out of the garage. This was really no sportsmen’s event, it was an excuse to drink and get some sun, along with the good possibility of telling or hearing some lies.

After consuming 75% of the libations, being totally unprepared, we found ourselves in the middle of a bluefish feeding frenzy. Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with this phenomenon, I can only clue you in, by saying that, “even the worst, most inept, fisher-person, will come away with a bounty of slimy trophies”. Fish were literally jumping in the boat for us, which was great…but then they spew their lunch all over the bottom of our craft. At this point, fairly well inebriated, we three are laughing uncontrollably, slipping, sliding and falling over each other, while trying to stay upright and keep the boat floating. That day turned out to be the biggest haul of many trips, but took a heavy toll on our energy and motivation. It was all we could do to get the boat back to shore, and in the garage, before dark. We were very proud and on our way, with a great “fish story”.

But it didn’t end there, for No NOOK...one week later to the day, he was back at Moon for a nice relaxing weekend. It was suddenly spoiled when he opened the garage door and the vilest stink hit him as the swarm of flies attacked his face. Sudden horrified realization that we hadn’t cleaned or even washed out the muck in the bottom of the boat! Story goes; he spent the entire weekend restoring the boat and the garage to something other than a rotting landfill.

My roommates’ family now owns a slightly more humble “New Moon Palace” on a different creek in Mathews, which thank heaven we are able to visit on a regular basis. Our times together are filled with great camaraderie and wonderful memories of days gone by.

Contest

This is (yet) another picture I took from Commenter Breezeway's property on Gwynn's Island. I posted a sister picture of this not too long ago. Speaking of sisters, family, and colorful characters from long ago (What? You didn't realize that's what we were talking about? See how I can jump from one unrelated topic to another without batting an eye and expect everyone to jump with me?), I turn now to a contest about characters.

I am pleased to announce something new and different here at Life in Mathews: a post that doesn't cause your eyes to roll back in your head.

Yes, a contest.

I'm not big on rules, but here are some suggested guidelines:

1. Write a brief story about a colorful, unusual, humorous or otherwise noteworthy person/character from Mathews or your particular hometown. This could be a family member, or it could be some other lively character who stands out. Although I am particularly interested in hearing from Mathews folks, non-locals are welcomed and encouraged to participate.

2. You may submit more than one entry.

3. This should be about a real, non-fictional person. (Yes, I know. Real + non-fictional=redundant. I excel in redundancy.)

4. There is no hard and fast limit on how long or short it has to be, but try not to pull a Chesapeake Bay Woman-style story that stretches from here to Amsterdam. However many words it takes to get the picture of your character across is fine.

Mail your entry to ChesapeakeBayWoman@gmail.com and indicate whether you're OK with me publishing your story on this site. No matter who wins, I am sure there will be stories I will want to share, assuming we have good participation.

Deadline: Wednesday, February 4, at 7:00 p.m.

The prize: Your story will be published here (I can just feel the enthusiasm). The real prize is a choice of the following:

1. Lunch at Linda's Diner in Mathews, either with or without Chesapeake Bay Woman (your choice), and possibly with another surprise local guest, who is quite the character herself. How is that for vague? This prize is being donated by a blog reader who wishes to remain anonymous.

or

2. $25 (Cash or a gift certificate, TBD)

Depending on how many entries I receive, I may post selected entries here and ask the readers to determine the winner.

Clear as mud? Welcome to a Very Chesapeake Bay Woman Contest where we make the rules up as we go. Ask any questions you have in the comments section, and I'll be back on here tonight after work to answer them, assuming my computer works, and that is a touch-and-go situation. Basically I touch it with a sledgehammer and then go away, hoping things will improve.

Have a good week, everyone.