Three Things

Welcome to Thursday, the day of the week where I share three thoughts or things or ideas or worries or accomplishments or whatever.  And then I encourage you to do the same.

Let's begin.

1.  Today is the 10K charity run at my work.  I'm helping run it, and I'm also running in it. So help me.

2.  Then it will be Friday, the day of my 30th high school reunion.

3.  If I survive 1 and 2, I'll be happy.

4.  (Because 3 is just a suggestion, and even if it were a hard and fast rule, I'd feel obligated to push the envelope.)  Last night I had to attend a winter sports meeting with my daughter at the very same high school I left 30 months years ago.  Evidently I need to visit the eye doctor.  As we were walking down the halls towards the meeting in the cafeteria, I saw a sign that said Athletic Disaster.  It was the Athletic Director's office.

5. This reminds me, the other morning on my way to work in the pitch black at ODark:30, I got all the way to Cobbs Creek before realizing I'd forgotten to put in my contact lenses, which I need to see anything at a distance.  Normally I can't see well driving at night even with the contacts, but this particular morning the signs were blurrier than usual.  Thankfully I caught it before I got much further down the road.

6.  Everything except #1 above indicates I'm getting old.  However, I'd like it noted for the record that I'm going down with a fight and would like to circle back to #1.  I'm running 6+ miles today, daggone it.  And I'm signed up for a half-marathon in a few weeks.

And I hope I live to tell about it.

Now it's your turn.  Three (or more) things.  Whatever is on your mind.

Three Things

Notice how Son is parked as far away from
Mother and Sister as possible. Facing the opposite direction, no less.
With iPod blasting in his ears, as if to say,
"There's no way I'm affiliated with that bunch over there."

On Thursdays I like to encourage my one reader everyone to share three things which can be random, related, off the wall, straight from the Complaint Files or right from the I'm Happy For No Good Reason channel. Whatever you want.


I'll go first.


1. Chesapeake Bay Daughter graduates from 8th grade Friday morning at Ware Church in Gloucester. We have an 8th grade dinner to attend this evening, and there's a graduation party at some point this weekend-- I can't keep up with it all, there's too much  so much pomp and circumstance. Did I ever graduate 8th grade? Of course I survived it, but I don't recall any ceremony.  All I remember was the sense of sheer relief at never having to wear those pin-striped, jail-uniform-like unitards in Ms. Barkers' gym class.  Amen.

The girl has some athletic legs. And she's beautiful inside and out.
Yes, I am bragging.
Signed, Her Mother.

2. Next year both of my children will be in high school. This high school.

3. A brief two blinks of an eye years from now, this son of mine, who is merely fulfilling his duties as outlined in the Teenagers' Guide to Suffering Parents and Family By Ignoring Them All, will be going off to college. (The good Lord willing and the creek don't rise.)

4. (Because 3 is only a suggestion.) Wasn't I just dropping them off at daycare/preschool/kindergarten/first grade? When did I become old enough to have two children in high school, when I just left high school myself thirty years ago?

5. If they're old enough to be in high school/almost college, that can mean only one thing: I am old enough to be accepted into an assisted living facility to know that in two shakes they'll be living their own lives. And I'll need to line up the movers for the next phase of my life, which surely involves a funeral home an assisted living facility.

The End.


Now it's your turn to share three things. Or one thing. Or ten things, it doesn't really matter.

Three Things

Another old house in the woods down Beaverlett.

Welcome to Three Thing Thursday, where you're encouraged to share three thoughts on any topic at all-- related, unrelated; important, trivial; random, or with purpose. Remember, three is only a suggestion, one which I rarely even follow myself.

Let's begin.

1.I am extremely fortunate to have some truly wonderful friends.  Tuesday night after work I stumbled up the steps to find a package from Zabar's waiting for me. It was from my Blog Friends Daryl, Kate and Lauren, and it was filled with the most delicious, beautiful cheeses I've ever seen/eaten.  I daresay that was the best package I've ever received. Thank you all so much!

2. That same evening, when I walked in the door clutching my Zabar's box (before I even opened it), I asked my son how his day was. "I got my license today," he said. "You mean you're done with Driver's Ed and we have to fill out some paperwork and go to the DMV and then you get your license?" I asked. "No, I have my license." Well, it's a provisional license, but the point is that as I type this he (in theory) is legally able to drive.  Practically speaking there is no spare car for him to drive, but the point is I am now the mother of a teenager who can legally drive.  Alone. Serenity now. Thank the stars above for that box of cheese from Zabar's, which I dove head first into upon hearing these glad  tidings of a son who is now free to legally drive.  

3. Yesterday was a good day in spite of the fact that the calendar says I'm now a year older, 47 years old to be exact.  I sure don't feel 47 and find it really difficult to believe that I'm so close to 50. In spite of that, yesterday was great. My present to myself was a day off from the paying job; I heard from people I haven't heard from in a long time; and the day pretty much ended the way this blog post started:  with me being very grateful for my friends--and family, even those who are now legally able to drive away from me if the opportunity presents itself.

Now it's your turn to share three (or more) thoughts. Whatever you want. Anything at all.

Three Things

Glimpse of the barn near the public landing at Harcum.

Welcome to Three Thing Thursday, where we share three or more things related to whatever is catapulting around our addled brains:  frustrations, observations, proclamations, exclamations, obfuscations, realizations, special occasions, questions, statements, sentiments, predicaments, commitments, resentments, current events, and Oh, for cryin' in a bucket, CBW, just get on with it!

Well then. Since some people seem to be in such a hurry, let's begin.

1. Several weeks ago, I ran into someone I hadn't seen in 30+ years.  Just a few short sentences into the conversation, he asked me how my three daughters were.  That's because he thought I was Chesapeake Bay Mumma, who happens to be 23 years older than I am.

2.  This week the doctor's office neglected to call me back with the results of some recent blood tests.  Coincidentally (?), my mother (who has cholesterol concerns) came over to say the very same doctor's office declared her test results to be spectacular. When I called to inquire about my blood work (cholesterol was not one of my concerns),  they determined there had been some confusion based on our same last names and more. It's truly a very long story involving a Big City Regional Hospital.  The Little Local Doctor's Office was not to blame. Nevertheless, when you add (1) above with this, you can see where a person named CBW might start to get a complex.

3.  Not too long ago, an invitation to join AARP appeared in the mailbox.  With my name on it.  My name. Not my mother's name, my name. And a complex, weighing in at 4,000 psychological pounds, was officially born. Pass the cigars.

3b.  Just shoot me now.  When you reach a certain age and things start to fall apart;  when every little ache and pain is translated into the first sign of The Big One, Elizabeth (I'd love to link to an audio clip of Fred Sanford but can't find one); when people start confusing you for your mother and you receive invitations to join AARP, you realize a few things, including:

a) Your mother looks great for her age.  

b) You look great for your mother's age.  

c)  Except, oops, you aren't your mother's age.

d) BLEEPITY BLEEEEEEEP!

The End.

Now it's your turn.  Please share three things or twenty three things, and if only one of those things are tips for hiding wrinkles, well then bless you.   

Three Things

-near Public Landing, Onemo, VA

Welcome to another edition of Three Thing Thursday, where we share three random thoughts on any topic at all (provided it's suitable for a PG audience).

Let's go.

1. Am I the only one who cringes, flinches, slams on the imaginary brakes and then lets out a scream when the car hits a butterfly? Tonight driving down the Colonial Parkway, I hit two butterflies (in separate incidents) and was troubled the whole way home, which is approximately sixty thousand fifty miles. It takes them so long and they go through so much just to get their wings, then off they fly until WHAM they're hit by a car and I scream and then nobody thinks of that butterfly ever again. The End. Yes, I am weird.

2. Yesterday at the paying job, our new admin person-a most delightful individual who will soon be my BFF--said, "I haven't heard coffee lately." She knows since I'm the first one in every day, I always make the coffee. But she doesn't drink it, so I was a bit puzzled as to why she'd notice whether the coffee pot was brewing or not.

Nevertheless, the rest of the conversation went like this:

CBW, who drinks three pots of coffee before 10 a.m. and is still sniffing around for more: "No, I didn't make any this morning, because we ran out. I have to bring some more in next week."

Delightful Person, who drinks hot tea: blank stare

CBW, nervously trying to fill in the silence: "Actually I did make some yesterday but couldn't muster the energy to make any on Monday, because I was too sick. But yesterday? There was a whole pot just a-waiting. "

CBW: Wonders why Delightful Person Who Drinks Tea Not Coffee is smiling politely but not saying a word.

CBW: "Yeah, I do try to make it every day and will get back on the stick next week."

Delightful Person: Continues to employ the "pregnant pause."

Delightful Person: "I was talking about coughing. I hadn't heard (you) coughing lately."

CBW, who has been sick all week spreading germs throughout her work environment: "Oh! Well then, that's a different story entirely. Neeever mind. Yes, I'm feeling better, thank you."

CBW: Laughs nervously, then crawls back into her cave of an office where she writes a Note to Self on a Post-It to buy some Q-tips. Or a hearing aid. Or a four-pronged walker. Or a cemetery plot.

3. My son is having a party here tomorrow night, one which includes girls. I'm distracting myself by obsessing fretting over the menu.

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

If you can't think of three things, leave a suggestion as to what I can feed approximately 10-15 starving teenagers who can eat around the clock. Then leave a suggestion as to how a mother is to survive the whole ordeal.

The Date

This is a shot of the second floor of the Islander motel, where the bar and dance floor lounge used to be. There are many stories to tell about this lounge, the site of countless happy social gatherings in my late teens and early twenties.

But today the pressing topic on my mind is dating, specifically does anyone date any more?

Although it's come as quite a shock to me, it appears I am the mother of a teenager who is ready to go to the Islander lounge parties and social functions and such things, when only yesterday I accidentally dropped him out of his baby carrier right onto the kitchen floor was giving him baths in the kitchen sink.

Don't get me wrong. Dating is not on his radar screen yet, at least not overtly. But already I sense a major shift forthcoming, sort of like the tectonic plates in California.

Here lately I've come to realize that teenagers nowadays do less dating and more "mass gathering, " i.e. boys and girls going to someone's house to do God knows what hang out, listen to music, or do God knows what lollygag around a bonfire. Or they go as a group to a movie, for example.

This never happened when I was growing up. Never. Other than my high school graduation party down Port Haywood, I do not recall any mass gatherings that would have been sanctioned and even chaperoned by parents, unless you want to count that one time my mother let us have a party for the girls' basketball team post season the dances at school or the skating rink in Gloucester, both very rich and flavorful topics for another time.

From a parental standpoint, there are many benefits to this newfangled group approach, including the knowledge that the kids are in one central location under adult supervision (in theory), as opposed to gallivanting up and down the road in cars going to nowhere in particular doing God knows what which is what we did.

Chesapeake Bay Son went to a high school party of sorts last night and has recently announced that he'd like to have a going away party for a friend of his next weekend, and a birthday gathering the following weekend-- a gathering that will consist of two girls and two boys. Ahem.

I, of course, am very happy to oblige and honored that he wants to have people over rather than wanting to escape somewhere else to do God knows what.

But when I think back to when I was his age, I can't help but make comparisons--and the differences are very shocking. This may be a good thing for him, because most of my early high school stories involve introversion, awkwardness and an utter and complete lack of social skills. Actually that still holds true today.

In the next episode of The Date, I'll talk about my first high school dance and try not to cry. Future episodes, documenting several of my favorite dates of all time, will delve into some of the differences between then and now, up to and including my use of Morse code the rotary telephone vs. Son's use of a so-called smart phone (i.e. a phone that makes me feel dumb).

Mothers of teenagers: Do they go on dates anymore or is it more of this group dynamic? Is the mother supposed to disappear into her room where she can play on the internet all night long or does she need to keep an eagle eye on the God knows what festivities?

Anyone still awake: Did you go to group parties/gatherings as a 9th grader?

Clearly, I have a lot to learn.

Serenity now.

Three Things

Once again it's Thursday, which means it's Three Thing Thursday, where I share three things and you share three things.

These Thursdays keep arriving faster and faster. Before you know it, I'll be sharing from a propped up position in a chair in the corner of the Mathews Convalescent Center, while the rest of my roommates are convened in one of the common areas tapping their toes to "If You're Happy And You Know It."

I wonder if they have internet access for nursing home residents ...

Let's begin.

1. Last night, since my son and daughter were eating elsewhere, I had a chocolate ice cream cone for supper.

2. It was so good, I had a second one.

3. Then, because I rarely eat sweets, I lapsed into a sugar coma that had me out like a light from 6:00 p.m. - 7:15 p.m, which is unheard of for me. But then again so is a chocolate ice cream cone for dinner. Or rather, two ice cream cones. And sleep of any sort.

Now it's your turn to share three things about anything you want, up to and including your guilty pleasures, which might even include tapping your toes to a song about clapping your hands.

Holding the Flag

This old car was resting peacefully over on the Eastern Shore last weekend as I wandered aimlessly searching for some formal gardens at the wrong house. I'll let you guess whether this was part of the formal gardens at the right house, or just plain and simple once again CBW inadvertently trespasses the wrong house.

Anyway, today I'd like to dig deep into the vast wasteland recesses of my brain and talk about a very vivid memory that has haunted me for over 30 years: holding the flag for the school bus.

Back when phones were attached to the wall and you actually got up and walked to the television to change the channel (to one of the other two or three that came in via the rooftop aerial), I rode the bus to school.

Right next to Thomas Edison.

I had no problems with the whole bus riding concept; in fact I liked it, except for those hot, sweltering days when we drove by the pig farm on Ridge Road with the windows down because air conditioning had not been invented yet there was no such thing as air conditioned school buses. Or cars. Or houses.

Not only did the houses buses lack air conditioning, but they also managed to function without the yellow "slow down" lights that now change to the "you have to stop now" red lights.

But most of all they lacked the nice flashing red stop sign that now swings out on the driver's side alerting oncoming traffic to Listen. This is your one last chance and I will most definitely not say this again: STOP.

Back then, the flashing stop sign to alert oncoming traffic to first of all, there's no such thing as traffic in Mathews children crossing the road in front of a huge yellow school bus with flashing red lights consisted of this:

Let's send another child into the middle of the road. As a decoy. To hold a flag.

So, to review the thought process at the time--a time which included Magic 8 Balls Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans:

1. It's dangerous for kids to cross the road in front of a bus with the occasional car oncoming traffic.

2. We must take extra steps to alert the drivers who can't see the big yellow school bus with flashing red lights (but no swinging stop sign).

3. Aha! Let's send another spindly kid out in the middle of the road to hold a flag, which consists of a sawed-off broomstick and a bandana.

4. At times there were lots of ping-pong balls raining down on poor exasperated Captain Kangaroo.

In conclusion, if someone were so distracted in rural Mathews that he could not see a school bus stopped (with flashing red lights) in the middle of the road, the chances were pretty darn good that he wasn't going to see a spindly-legged third grader waving holding a flag in the middle of the road.

Who else had the privilege of holding the flag?

Town Crier

This is the bell at Mathews Baptist Church (aka Old Baptist) at Hudgins. This particular day I had pulled into the parking lot more interested in the neighboring house's wisteria than the church, but the sunlight hit the bell so beautifully I couldn't resist snapping a shot.

Mathews Baptist Church and wisteria are topics for another time, there's plenty to say about both.

Today, however, I would like to make a few general announcements.

Consider this a Town Crier post, where the crier is exceedingly tired which of course guarantees her writing will have you crying before too long.

My apologies in advance, it's been a long life day.

Hear ye! Hear ye! Oyez! Oyez!

1. On Saturday, April 24, there will be a grand opening of an expanded exhibit at the Clayton Building on the Historic Court Circle in Gloucester.

The building honors botanist John Clayton and is home to a collection of artifacts from his residence, Windsor, and his office. The exhibit will be open from 10-4 and 6-7. Lectures at 2 and 7 p.m. (I'll be attending the 2:00 lecture if anyone wants to join me. )

Archaeologists Robert and Lisa Harper will be available throughout the day to answer questions. Robert recently told me they're always happy to provide tours of the site. If you are interested in a tour or wish to volunteer at the dig, please stop by on Saturday or e-mail me and I can put you in touch with him.

2. Sandpiper Reef will be hosting Toby and Larry, a very popular duo, this weekend.

The last time they played was when Miss Pookie, Mathews Mark's mother, was celebrating her birthday. I can personally attest to the fact that they're good, plus the atmosphere is conducive to old folk those of us who want to hear ourselves think wish to be able to converse while enjoying the music.

Mrs. Anonymous Hallieford Resident may not be thrilled with my mentioning this because they usually sell out, but give them a call anyway and see if there are any tables/seats left. If not, be sure to pre-reserve for next time.

If Chesapeake Bay Woman is carding at the door, be sure to slide her a telescope magnifying glass so she can properly read the fine print on those driver's licenses.

3. The Mathews Farmers Market continues every Saturday from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m.

If you have even the slightest desire to sell something, I can't encourage you enough to go and try it on for size. The fee is only $5, and the Chesapeake Bay Children made $75 in only four hours of selling daffodils.

You just can't beat that. Not with a stick.

If you "bake it, make it or grow it," you can sell it there. All you have to do is show up by about 8:30 that morning, locate the organic farmers who have the gorgeous plants (both of them wear hats so it's pretty easy to spot them), and tell them you want a spot. Pay your five bucks, and have at it. It's great fun.

4. In other news, Chesapeake Bay Woman ran into a rusty clothes line this weekend while chasing after her aggravating, ornery mutt of a stinkin' dog with all the sense of a small kitchen appliance her children's beloved pet in the comfort and serenity of her very own back yard.

Although she didn't quite hang herself, she did walk away stunned and now boasts a scab on her lower left chin which, she supposes, is better than some of the other alternatives such as CBW is a magnet for disasters a scab around the larynx.

A couple of years ago, she made fun of Chesapeake Bay Son for doing the same thing and said, "How in the world could you run into a clothes line without seeing it?"

Easy, that's how.

Daggone karma dog.

What's going on in your town, village, neck of the woods, state, hemisphere, back yard or neighborhood in the near future?

From the Frying Pan to the Fire

This delightful old shed lives down Shadow, which is on the way to New Point and Bavon, except not really on the way, you have to veer off the main road just a bit, but then eventually you reconnect to the main road so maybe this is sort of on the way to New Point and Bavon, and who's tired of this never-ending sentence besides me?

Speaking of being tired, as I write this Sunday evening tired doesn't even come close to describing the way I feel. Perhaps it had to do with the 5:30 a.m. alarm on Saturday to prepare for the Farmers Market, which included bending over in a daffodil field in cold, wet conditions that rendered every one of my fingers numb and useless, which was the exact same condition of my coffee-less brain.

After surviving the Farmers Market, delivering children to and from places, delivering parents to and from places, serving as middle man in a parental dispute that included, "Why the BLEEEEEP! can't he cut that BLEEP! BLEEP! wood some other time? Everything has to revolve around his schedule and that BLEEEEP!ing wood," I arrived home in time for a very quick break before heading over to Sandpiper Reef restaurant to work as a bouncer until 2:00 the following morning.

Why in the world would Chesapeake Bay Woman pretend to be serving as the gatekeeper to a restaurant/bar when her only real restaurant/hospitality experience involved waitressing at a pizza parlor in college, where she served a woman a salad with mushrooms after the woman explicitly said she was allergic to them? Read on.

Remember my post on Blue Collar Joes, home of the most delectable doughnuts ever created? Blue Collar Joes is owned by the brother of Sandpiper Reef's owner (aka Anonymous Hallieford Resident in the comments).

Imagine the horror of discovering that Brother Blue Collar's house burned to the ground last week. He was inside working on a hot water heater (I believe) and somehow or another it exploded and set the place on fire. Luckily someone found him in time and pulled him to safety. He's in the hospital but doing OK-- as much as someone can be OK after they've lost their home and everything they own. Everything.

Sandpiper Reef was hosting a very popular local band Saturday night, but Anonymous Hallieford Resident needed to be with her brother in a hospital on the other side of the state. She needed help.

Happy to assist, I found myself standing at the door with Bay Man carding toddlers young people eager to hear the band while Mathews Mark was busy tending to the goings on inside.

More on these escapades later, but for now a few key things:

1. Please leave some words of encouragement to the Maker of the World's Best Doughnuts in today's comments or on the Blue Collar Joes Facebook page.

2. Please also encourage the Maker of the World's Best Doughnuts to buy a home in Mathews County and open up a doughnut shop here. The old Fleets restaurant is currently vacant...

3. Dear Blue Collar Joe, You have a group of people here in Mathews who are very eager to help you in any way possible. Tell us what you need and consider it done. Same to you, Anonymous Hallieford Resident, except if I'm going to be at the door again, please provide me with some extra strong reading glasses to decipher the microscopic text on the Virginia state driver's licenses.

4. These doughnuts belong in Mathews County.

Three Things

Welcome to Three Thing Thursday, where you share three things and I share three things. Any three things at all. Or any thirty-three things.

Do you think it's possible to squeeze any more "th" words into one sentence? I'm starting to sound like Sylvester the Cat.

I'll go first, but if you were here I'd let you go first.

Ready? Let's begin.

1. The daffodils are in full bloom now; they're everywhere and they're gorgeous. I was going to force encourage the Chesapeake Bay Children to pick several baskets and sell them at Saturday's Farmers Market in Mathews Court House, but on the ride home tonight Chesapeake Bay Son informed me that he has to do community service a National Junior Honor Society project that has something to do with an Easter Egg Hunt fundraiser.

So no Farmers Market for us.

2. Daffodils always make me think of my grandfather, the retired Brigadier General, who was a commercial grower in his later years. Most people called him The General. We grandchildren called him Gus, which was his first name. (Actually it was Gustave, but since that's also the name of my mother's beastly goose, let's not focus on that technicality.)

Don't you think it is odd that grandchildren would call their grandfather Gus?

3a. Gus had very, very bushy eyebrows that were so long they looked like awnings. Unfortunately, thanks to the witch's brew of hormones that attack all females as they approach the cemetery their mid to late 40s, my eyebrows seem to be growing bushier and bushier.

We won't talk about the other facial hair. Thank you.

3b. Yesterday I arrived home feeling gleeful and refreshed after the most enjoyable day at work. I did four loads of laundry, and the Chesapeake Bay Children even helped me!

Then I prepared a delightful supper which they thoroughly enjoyed. Not one single ant showed up at the dinner table, in spite of the fact that this and all other houses in the entire 23076 zip code appear to be built on top of the world's largest anthill. Afterwards, Chesapeake Bay Son and Daughter dutifully scampered off to clean their rooms. I think I even heard them whistling.

Then I won the lottery.

The End April Fools.

Now it's your turn to share three things or thirty three things about anything you want. If you can't think of anything, tell me about a memorable April Fools prank.

Click here to read my favorite April Fools experience.

The Hooptie

This aging Pontiac which lives down Hallieford way still has charm, no? I think so. Look at that face, it's loaded with personality.

I have a very soft spot in my heart for old anything cars. My favorites are muscle cars from the '70s but some of these older model tanks everyday cars have appeal too.

Back in the late '80s and early '90s I worked in Washington, DC, and northern Virginia for a telecommunications company formerly known as MCI.

Chesapeake Bay Children? This was when people used calling cards to place long distance calls away from home, sometimes from the confines a claustrophobic contraption known as a phone booth. What about cell phones, you say? No such thing. Regrettably there *was* such a thing as puffy blouses, and even worse they were in vogue. Also, the dress code known as business casual had not been invented either, and a very young Chesapeake Bay College Graduate was *most* appalled at the fact that she had to wear a suit and PANTYHOSE with high heels to work every day.

You won't be may be shocked to know I've strayed from the topic.

Anyway, during that time frame someone I worked with was telling a very animated story, and about midstream she said, "Girl, you will never believe what happened next. She pulled right on up to the house in a hooptie."

Well I'd never heard that term before. Perhaps, like the wheel cell phones, it hadn't been fully invented or circulated yet. Or perhaps my sheltered upbringing in Mathews had something to do with it, who knows. Using the rest of the story as context, I deduced that a hooptie was just another term for old, beat-up (and sometimes jazzed-up) jalopies the size of small aircraft carriers.

Lest you think Chesapeake Bay Woman has finally gone off the deep end with her silly, made-up words or completely erroneous statements, you are correct she offers the following definitions provided by the urbandictionary.com:

hoop-d, hoopdie, hoopdy, HOOPTIE, hoop-t, hoopty, hooptee, etc.
Today it can be any car or vehicle used as personal transportation. But it was originally used to refer to classic 70's or 80's era large American cars (Impalas, New Yorkers, Towne Cars and so on...), usually found in the ghetto and in poor condition, that had been "pimped out" with garish paint, animal print interiors, wheels too large or too small and so on. They are often roomy, comfortable, worn out gas guzzlers.
Ex: The tail pipe fell off my hooptie.

or this:

hooptie
Any car that meets the following: a) driver must enter car through passenger side b) three different brand and size tires - three of them missing hubcap c) exhaust is held up by half a clothes hanger - other half replaces the antenna d) backfires every three blocks - loudest backfire being when car is turned off e) must open door at drive-thrus as windows don't roll down f) you only get one AM station and the tape deck eats all tapes inserted g) can't open the glove box as the whole thing will fall out h) if you let go of steering wheel while driving you'll make a u-turn i) must manually move blinker lever up and down as it no longer blinks on it's own j) must keep one foot on brake and one on accelerator when at a complete stop k) has had the same temporary registration sticker in the window for the last 18 months.

There are still quite a few hoopties alive and kicking in Mathews but most, like the car above, are planted permanently in a yard or the woods or even an old shed.

Do you have a story about a hooptie? How about pantyhose? Pontiacs? Hallieford?

Happy Friday!

p.s. This is a standing offer to anyone who owns a hooptie, a muscle car, an antique vehicle (including a tractor or boat), an older house or a scenic vista. In exchange for permission to legally trespass, I'll photograph your property and feature the photos on the blog (only if you wish) and/or give you copies of the shots. Be forewarned that if older vehicles are involved, I may want to keep drive them.