Weekend

I sat on this dock Friday night. It was wonderful.

Once upon a weekend, Chesapeake Bay Woman found herself sittin' on a dock near the bay talking to a new blog friend about how it might have been hot but not really because there was a breeze blowing.

And all.

Even though temperatures hovered closer to 100 than any other number except 500, nobody complained much because it was Friday night and it was Friday night.

The End.

Upon arriving home  and gasping for breath due to the dense humidity, I took a moment to respect the intensity of the heat but otherwise retreated to the cool and comfort of my wonderful, air-conditioned home.

Around midnight, over the din of my fully functioning ceiling fan and air conditioning unit, I noticed the lights flicker for a second.

Or two.

Maybe.

Whatever.

I stepped outside and was introduced to the violent storm, already in progress. After taking note that the storm was hurricane worthy as far as sustained winds were concerned, I went back inside, crawled under the Friday night covers (which usually promise no early morning interruptions) and quickly fell asleep.

Since the next day was Saturday, and there was no good reason to get up at all at any particular time, I slept until the sounds of the swirling ceiling fan finally plucked my last nerve before trotting to the kitchen to make myself a pot of coffee.

I enjoyed that coffee as if it were the only pot I'd ever tasted.

The only thing on the schedule that particular day was meeting  Jamie over at the Deltaville ballpark.  I asked Waterman JP if he'd like to come along, and he obliged.

Mind you, all afternoon I'd not left my yard. I didn't go to the Court House for any reason. I did not turn on the TV or the radio. E-mail was checked a few times and Facebook was scanned maybe once, but otherwise CBW was absolutely clueless as to what was going on in The Rest of Mathews the World.

Later that day, Waterman JP knocked at the door to announce his arrival, and CBW hollered for him to come in.  When he marched into the kitchen shirtless (but otherwise in shorts and shoes)  and commenced to declaring this the hottest day that ever was, CBW sensed something might be awry outside of the cool little cocoon (complete with swirling ceiling fan) she was dwelling in.

"Did you not have power today?" she asked, not realizing the new level of duh-ness she'd just reached.

Waterman JP was very restrained in his response.

All he said, as he mopped the sweat off his highly distressed brow coming into contact with the first bit of air conditioning he'd felt in 24 hours was, "No."

Bridge Over the River Piankatank

The drive from Mathews to Deltaville mercifully included A/C, for those who had been suffering for days forever without power.

It's a very scenic drive

At the ballpark we met Jamie and Daughter and sat down to slow roast enjoy an evening of baseball.

Although we were cheering for Deltaville, they lost.  

The only time they came ahead was when we retreated to the parking lot for refreshments.

(The Universe was trying to send us a message, I'm convinced.)

Not sure where else you'll find folding chairs set up in the spectator section.
Also not sure where else a spectator could sit that could possibly be any hotter.
Well, one place does come to mind.

Crab pot wire protects fly balls from hitting unsuspecting spectators
whose responses and reflexes are already stunted due to 100+ degree temperatures.

Jamie is in the blue shirt.  Waterman JP is to her left.
She's listening to her daughter's dissection of the game and why the right fielder should have been replaced instead the pitcher. Waterman JP is just wondering when this is all gonna be over and done with because he hasn't had current (aka electricity) for goin'-on two days, and he'd just like to know when the oven setting will be changed from Roast to Off.

Queens Creek

After another thunderstorm Saturday night, the county is slowly returning to a "We've got current" status.

I'm grateful that I never lost it and am more grateful to have spent these past few days with friends, new and old.

What happened in your world these past few days?

Friday Evening Drive

Trumpet Creeper

On a Friday evening that was supposed to be uneventful, my friend Waterman JP stopped by and asked if I wanted to ride down to a super secret spot where he goes oystering. Always up for an adventure, particularly when it entails oysters a place I've never been, I said yes.

This super secret oyster place is so secret, I am not allowed to reveal its name or location, but to get there you drive below the Blah Blah and before you get to Yadda Yadda you turn left and drive to a place he calls the Blahblah Blah.

(Step right up, folks!  In the center ring we have the most ridiculous sentence ever written by a person who, in spite of herself, wrote a book not long ago--a book that was actually published!)

This might be the most graceful cedar tree I've ever met.

But back to shellfish.

Waterman JP tells me that he breads and freezes the spectacular oysters he retrieves from this super secret place, which means even in the summer/warmer months he can indulge in the delicacy whenever he wants.

(There's an old saying that says you should never eat fresh oysters in a month without an "r" in it, which tends to rule out the summer months. Whether there's truth to that or not, I have no idea. But it's usually a good idea not to tempt fate when your name is Chesapeake Bay Woman, who once got so sick off crabs that she was begging to die. Luckily nobody was listening. Is anyone still reading?)

My father whips up The Best Batch of fried oysters I've ever had anywhere. The secret is in the breading (of fresh, local oysters) and he has that process down pat.

Waterman JP, however, says he can whip up a mean batch of fried oysters himself.

I'm thinking there needs to be a taste test. Soon. And I'll be the judge.

In the mean time, thanks, JP, for another educational and entertaining evening.

Now. When are you gonna fry me up a batch of oysters?

Just Playin'

When a person reaches the age of 47 or thereabouts, and someone asks what that 47-year-old did over the weekend, one of the least anticipated answers might be, "I played in a tree house."

This isn't the tree house, but this was on the way to The Tree House
 and is a story for another day.

If Chesapeake Bay Woman happens to be on the receiving end of that question, however, that's her Final Answer that's not entirely outside the realm of possibility, as far as answers go.

The Tree House is hidden in the right  side of this photo.

Once upon a Saturday afternoon, Chesapeake Bay Woman was waiting to see what life would bring next, because it always brings something fun and unusual. And all she has to do is wait for it.

(It's never, ever planned.)

Lo and behold, her high school friend Waterman JP asked if she'd like to take a trip to Bavon to see Something Which Escapes Her Memory but which turned into a side adventure involving tree houses.

Technically these are considered tree stands, from which he hunts. But in my book, no matter what, they're tree houses.

He built the one below stem to stern. The original structure was a tree house for his daughter.

Now that his daughter is in college with no immediate need for a tree house, he has re-purposed it for hunting.


(And random Saturday afternoons with an old friend.)

FYI. A 10 47-year-old with the soul of a 47 10-year-old can scale that ladder like it's nothing.  Coming down is a whole other story.

When someone stands or moves inside this tree house, even with no wind, the structure sways.  When two adults approaching the age of 50 are inside trying to get their bearings and find the quickest way to discern who will still be alive to dial 911 open up the windows for cross ventilation before they cook to a medium rare and the turkey buzzards hunker down for supper...well. 

That thing is swaying way more than is comfortable for CBW.

However, there was one ingredient in this Recipe for Potential Disaster that made CBW realize her fears of impending doom a possible Tree House Catastrophe were unfounded.  

And it was this person.

Waterman JP, who can build, fix or do just about anything. 

If JP was confident that a 911 call was unnecessary, then I was too.

(I did insist that we not be on the ladder at the same time, so that one person would have the sense to dial 911 if the other person slipped and splintered their 47-year-old bones.  Luckily that wasn't necessary.)

Thank you, JP, for reminding me that I am still 10 or 12 years old even though the birth certificate says otherwise.