Three Things

Step right up, folks, and welcome to another episode of As the World Turns Three Thing Thursday, where I share three random thoughts and you hopefully do the same.

Let's get started.

1. My stockpile of photos pre-loaded onto Blogger is dwindling, and even worse I've not had time to take photos, download and then upload them, which usually takes approximately several months days. Hence, we have the photo above of creek mud and periwinkles Canada geese at sunset, complete with too much glare, one leg missing, and one neck contorted into a water fowl pretzel.

In short, this photo represents the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay Woman Barrel.

2. This weekend there's a Relay for Life event at the high school, and our one and only Re aka Ann Marie needs sponsors. Please visit her site for info on how you can participate in the fight against cancer. In return, she promises to make some of her award-winning deviled eggs. Plus hush puppies. And fried fish. And macaroni salad. And succotash.

If she tells me she can fry chicken I'm going to have to put up a For Sale sign and move down to Bavon in spite of the infestation overabundance of insects and fiddler crabs.

3. This morning as I was counting the minutes of my life wasting away behind the steering wheel commuting to work, NPR had a piece on roller derby and how it's still alive and well with over 500 (!) leagues worldwide. I was born with no other purpose than to be a roller derby-er and would like to know where and when I can sign up. Do you they accept 45-year-olds with graying hair and Vitamin D deficiencies? Perhaps I can get the makers of Boniva, the osteoporosis medication, to be my sponsor.

Now it's your turn. Please share three things or more things. Random or related. Good or bad. Funny or sad. Mindless or cerebral.

Whatever you want.

Osprey

This osprey lives on a creek down Redart, Virginia, home of the Mathews Yacht Club and not much else.

Osprey dine on freshly-caught fish. When they aren't sitting on their nests--usually in a tall riverside tree, on a man-made platform (like the one above) or atop a channel marker --they spend their days swirling over creeks, rivers and ponds in search of their next meal.

When they spot their target, they forcefully apply their air brakes, beat their wings, and hover in place before swooping down to pluck their prey from the water. Then they take off in flight with the live fish clutched in their claws as they transport dinner back to the nest.

This sounds easy, but imagine trying to take off in flight from the water bearing the additional weight of a very unhappy, wriggling fish who is desperately struggling to get away.

For that matter, imagine being a fish minding your own business in a tranquil underwater world. One minute you're casually blowing bubbles while checking out the new fish in town. The next thing you know you're plucked from the water into another universe, suspended from talons as you fly over Queens Creek on your way to the lion's den osprey's nest, where you'll be pecked and eaten alive.

Fish anyone?

Recently two osprey stories have appeared in the Gazette Journal.

The first talks about the pond near the Old Mill Skating Rink, where osprey like to do the hokey pokey and they turn themselves around, that's what it's all about to fish. Unfortunately for them, though, Route 14, also known as the Gloucester-Mathews Intercoastal Pedal to the Medal Speedway, runs very close to where they fish. Many have been struck by cars as they attempt to ascend in flight with the wriggling fish weighting them down, impairing their ability to control their flight path.

In an effort to dissuade the birds from flying across the Indianapolis Speedway Route 14, nets have been strung up, but I don't think these are working very well.

This week, there was an article about a nest catching on fire at VIMS (the Virginia Institute of Marine Science, where one of my readers works). An osprey nest on top of a telephone/electrical pole evidently teetered off its perch and tumbled onto the wires igniting a blaze.

Scrambled eggs anyone?

The following groups were called to the scene of the fire, which severely damaged the osprey's ego the pole and the nest:

* Gloucester Volunteer Fire and Rescue brush truck
* Medic unit
* Six fire/rescue personnel
* Dominion Virginia Power (aka Vepco)

The osprey, who squawked, "I'm blowin' this popsicle stand!" came away unscathed and was last seen heading hurriedly towards the vicinity of Redart, where she was told there was nothing to bother her except those loud parties and class reunions at the Yacht Club.

On this Friday, a few questions:
* Do you have any osprey stories or observations?
* Have you ever heard the expression, "Let's blow this popsicle stand"?
* Has anyone (from around here) been to the Yacht Club for anything other than the salt-water swimming pool a high school reunion?
* Did you know that three months from today, we'll be in the throes of Blog Fest 2010?
* Am I the only one tired of these questions yet?

The Skating Rink

This is what used to be the Old Mill Skating Rink in Gloucester, our neighboring county. The rink closed years ago, and the building changed hands several times. It's been used commercially ever since. The upper portion was the actual rink. Even today the disco lights and the bumpy old wooden floors are still intact. But just don't go up there nosin' around. That would be trespassing. Trust me.

Some of my fondest memories are from the skating rink in Gloucester. It was one of the few places my mother would allow me to go as an unchaperoned teenager. I was allowed to go there before I could date, but in reality it was practically the same thing, just in a controlled environment. Well, somewhat controlled. Partially?

My grandmother skated here, and she was born in the early 1900's. My mother skated here. I skated here. Unfortunately, my children will never skate here since it no longer operates, but they would if they could. I take comfort in the fact that a place exists that my favorite grandmother frequented, no doubt with the same zeal and ardor that I did as a young girl.
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I must press pause for one minute and clarify something I've taken for granted. Kids? I am not talking about roller blading or skate boarding or dip-sticking. (OK, rip stick, but I like to call it dip stick.) I am talking about roller skating. Roller skates were a primitive form of entertainment that involved lacing your feet up in a boot with wheels; two wheels up front, two in the back. There was no such thing as helmets, knee pads, elbow pads or safety precautions other than prayers. You fell down and you got hurt. You then got back up, kept going and even if you had shattered your tibia you would never let on.

Then you did the Hokey Pokey and turned yourself around, 'cause that's what it's all about--even though you hated doing it. Next you bit your nails at the "Couple's Skate" and prayed The Cute Boy you liked would ask you to skate with him. He didn't, but The Guy You Were Avoiding did. After skating with him, you hid in a corner and pretended to be sick so he'd leave you alone. Then you went back out and stalked The Cute One. The End.
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As you can tell, the skating rink (or ring as some people who also say chimbleys instead of chimneys would say) was less about skating and all about teenagers co-mingling. I will confess, though, that as much as I loved the boy-girl thing, I was also daydreaming about being in the roller derby.

I swear I could have been in that movie Kansas City Bomber. Anyone see that? I'm not surprised. I remember it for two reasons: my father was GLUED to the screen, and so was I. He was riveted for entirely different reasons than I was, and it entailed the following: Raquel Welch and Raquel Welch. For me, it was all about racing around and skating fast and pushing people out of my way. Even thinking about it gives me the chills...I really believe I could be the first 43-year-old Roller Derby Champion if only I were given the opportunity....but I digress.

I will tell more skating rink stories as I remember them.

In the meantime if any of my 3 readers, one of which is local, would like to contribute their memories of this wonderland of the past, please do so.

There are so many stories to tell. Too many.