#100!

How we be #100!

We be leaving Georgia. There’s a chance we’ve been here too long. After three months of cold and rain, three weeks of glorious warmth, the Sultries are here. I have known Ms. McSteamy before, in the Cook Islands and North Carolina in July, but it never bothered me enough to be put off by it. Well, I’m put off. I feel as if I have fallen naked into a bed of stinging nettles! Every day some nasty little voice, or sometimes a perfectly incredulous little voice says, “Migod, you’re 70 years old!” Now that voice is whining, “You’re 70 years old and your skin is like paper and when it is damp all the time and gets rubbed (or creased or pressured), it stings and COMES OFF!!!” Gawd! I hate to complain about damp and hot when so many of you are still wet and cold, but … I’m just sayin’….

We’ve been at Richard Russell State Park on the Savannah River, which borders South Carolina. We spent a day in Augusta last week, ate poor boys at Beamies on the River (James Brown Blvd) and soaked up some southern style. Did you hear them talk about the privacy afforded golfers at Augusta National during last month’s Masters? Private really doesn’t cover it. The course is on the main highway from the NW and is as densely screened as any convent or prison. A solid green vegetative screen, no doubt with a fence in there somewhere, and uniformed security at the gate, one tiny little sign: Members Only.

The other day I was getting in the car, ready to go to work, and a slim, sprightly lady walked up to me and said, “How do you do? I’m Geraldine Pugh.” (Rachel, I swear this is true!) Turns out it was Geraldine’s husband Walter we had seen circling the bus earlier and sure enough he showed up for a lengthy tour. Walter is retired; Geraldine works at the prison “over to Zebulon;” administration would be my guess.

We find it interesting that once people find out we’re from Oregon, they strain to think of someone they know in Oregon. Walter says, “I have a half brother, Ed, who lives in Grants Pass.” To which Dave predictably replies, “We call it Grass Pants,” and Geraldine says “I didn’t know you had a half brother.” Ed inexplicably explains, “Well, my first wife knew … I guess I just forgot.” After that we talked about the dog Daisy, who eats what they do, and if Daisy can’t go somewhere, they don’t go. And when Daisy indicated she wanted to leave, Geraldine and Walter wished us safe travels and passed out of our lives, perhaps to review their relations.

Times like this we’re reminded once again how lucky we are to experience and enjoy the hundreds and hundreds of little pictures that make up the big picture. And to enjoy them together.

Next stop, Greensboro, North Carolina.

Love, Sam