Ocracoke, Week II

As we enter the second week of our Ocracoke Island vacation, there begins to be dissention in the ranks.

The Heirs and their friend LT are bored, in spite of an invitation to a pirate party in the woods where Blackbeard hid out. However it did trigger a spate of pirate talk for awhile, which was funny -- for about 30 seconds.

Topper has had the runs, in spite of giving him bottled water. (Go ahead and click. We’ll spare you the graphics.)

The rest of us, Dirtman, John Boy, Zsa Zsa and I, are taking advantage of local offerings. Especially Zsa Zsa, who has charmed some local fishermen into giving her all their fish heads.

Dirtman and John Boy are going into the clamming business because now they have a bucket…

And a clam.

The rake is a rental.

We are beginning to doubt Dirtman’s commitment to this venture.

Yesterday we took a tiny little boat to Portsmouth Island. On the way we passed this little island full of pelicans. Lots and lots of pelicans.

On Portsmouth Island the rain had apparently brought out the fiddler crabs, which were cute - for about 30 seconds. Then they were just in the way of walking…

…to the beach.

John Boy and Heir 1 took a kayak tour and learned the difference between this and this.

Heir 1 ended up running into their guide at the pirate party, which calls his information into question, but his ability to talk pirate is beyond reproach. Or so I’ve heard.

It's not that I'm not thinking of you all..

I've discovered a whole new posture...lifestyle...philosophy...creed...I've discovered I like inert.

Yeah.

Inert.

Just. Sitting. There.

Or there.

To make it complete, though, I need a servant. I mean, if you're going to do slovenly, do it right, right?

Two claps: Pina Colada.

I read. I doze. I move out of the tide and start all over again.

A brief flip of conscience. Where are the Heirs? Oh, that's right. On Their Own. Testing freedom with, hopefully, my words in their ears.

"Let go," Dirtman advised.

Fine with me. No problem. I'm doing slovenly, thank you.

Flip the page. Doze.

(Meanwhile, back at the ranch...


The House of Never-Ending-Construction? No one lives there. Not a soul...The owners are...not in residence...)

...And movin' on...

I'm going on island time for two weeks starting on Monday. So posting will continue to be sporadic.

I vow to be a consistent and clever blogger forevermore after and to never bother you all again with "housing updates."

We're heading out to Ocracoke Island off the North Carolina coast. I don't think cell phones work there. We are packing more books than clothing. There will be no talk of deadlines, drainfields or (for the love of god) construction.

The puppies, they are excited, as you can see!










I hear we will continue to be able to make ice on Ocracoke Island. Good thing too, since I'm bringing a big bottle of Tanqueray.



I'm very sorry, Powers That Be, that a lot of really wonderful things are happening to me all at once. Please don't strike me down because of it. I promise to find something to suffer about when I get back. I promise I won't have too much fun at the 3rd Blogger Conference West. How about I get a really, really bad sunburn? Will that satisfy you?

Home at last...

Hi.

Remember me? The lady who wouldn’t shut up about the construction on her house?

I’ll stop now. We are constructed and moved and all is right with the world.

There are no moving pictures. That’s because we started at 9 a.m. and finished at 5 p.m. and no one had time to take a freakin’ picture.

With the help of John Boy and Dark Garden, we moved the few salvageable items from the House of Squalor and all the new stuff out of storage, slammed it all into the house and then, like true Italians, cooked a big honkin’ meal.

In fact, I don’t recall much about moving over the 4^th of July holiday. I more remember eating and the associated activities. But we must have moved because this:

…is now this:

And this:

…is now this.

And this:

…is now this:

And this:

Dirtman finally got to set up his Christmas present…

…which the lovely John Boy will now demonstrate.

We even had our first dinner party, which I insist on calling it even though I couldn’t be sure

whether dinner would be the shish kabobs I planned or pizza delivered because I couldn’t figure out how to work any of my appliances (Instructions? We don’t need no stinkin’ instructions.). And so we invited the Providers of Gnome, who are very easy-going people, and because Mrs. POG forced me to unbox all my kitchen stuff, not just the absolute necessities, because she must suspect that I am one of those people who would rather go out and buy a new garlic press rather than unpack the old one. And she would be right. (Mr. and Mrs. POG also own Shenandoah Style, a wine and gourmet shop at the Strasburg Emporium, so they are good people to know when your priority on moving day is what’s for dinner…).

And so life is good, what with being able to sleep all night without the bed attacking and a washing machine that sings a happy tune whenever it finishes a cycle and an office to myself without a trace of Hokie maroon and orange.

Now what have I got to write about?

Quick! Before they pull the plug...

In the process of MOVING!!!!!!

So sorry for the brief post, but they're unhooking us from internet as we speak. Whenever we are back on line, I'll have a lovely post on how it looks when totally disorganized people attempt to move over a holiday weekend.

But, if you see the county of Shenandoah -- we're only visiting the house, NOT LIVING THERE! Got that?

TTFN -- as Tigger would say. (Oh. My. God. I'm quoting Tigger. I'm very tired...)