Richard and I own a timeshare in Key West. Our week is in the middle of July. With millions of barrels of oil looming in the Gulf, should we go or shouldn't we?
What kind of vacation will it be if the boats are not allowed out of the marina? What if we couldn't go fishing or swimming or relax on the beach? What if we were forced to hang out in Sloppy Joe's Bar all day for something to do? Or maybe I'd have to take my laptop to Hemingways's house to soak up the ambiance and write the next great American novel. Would the enjoyment of our vacation suffer because of it?
I may not be able to take the ferry ride to the Dry Tortugas that I've always wanted to do. But I can hang out in the Guy Harvey art gallery or climb to the widow's walk of an historic old home. From there I can watch the oil roll in while feeling the warm ocean breeze on my face. I feel sad for the people living in the Keys. Their livelihood depends on tourists to come, enjoy and return again next year. I think the sun will still set on the pier every night and be breathlessly gorgeous. And the cats will be there to jump through flaming hoops to the delight of the onlookers.
I looked up the Gulf currents on the Internet just now to see where the oil slick may be headed in the next six weeks. I clicked on a link 'Current location of oil slick'. Guess what I learned. Hot Oil Wresting video is on sale today for only $4.98. I think I'll buy it, take it along with me to watch in case it rains.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Ginger To The Rescue
Ginger has been laid off from her job. It's just too hot now for her to go to the golf course every day searching for balls. Plus she's got quite an inventory right now sitting in the garage that we don't know what to do with. Not to be discouraged she's been searching for a new job to supplement her biscuit income from bringing in the paper from the driveway each morning. I'm proud of her. Yesterday she landed a new job. Fire marshall.
Yesterday we celebrated Richard's birthday. We went to Panera Bread for lunch and then to the movies. We saw Sex And The City 2. It's cute and funny. Light movie entertainment. On the way home we stopped at Walmart where Richard picked out his cake and ice cream. Then I cooked him a fabulous prime rib dinner. Mmmm it was good.
After dinner I decided to run the self cleaning in the oven. The timer set itself for four hours and twenty minutes. Richard and I laid on the sofa watching a baseball game, (Go Tampa Bay Rays!) stuffing ourselves with cake and ice cream. Ginger was nowhere to be found. I thought it odd that she didn't have her nose within an inch of my dish, poised to have her own helping of birthday fare.
"Richard, call Ginger." She'll come when he calls but never when I do. I figured she was into something she shouldn't be like the trash can or the laundry basket.
"Ginger." No response. "Ginger, get over here." Still no dog appeared.
I dragged my over-stuffed belly off the couch. I went to the kitchen, checking on the oven first. The top of the stove was almost too hot to touch and the room smelled like burnt cookies. That's where I found Ginger staring at the appliance. She sat rigid on the kitchen floor.
"Ginger. It's OK. Good girl." I rubbed her neck under her ear where she likes it. "You were protecting us, weren't you? Good girl." I coaxed her with a biscuit to the cool and comfort of the sofa.
Richard showered her with praise. We were amazed at the power of love from our little baby girl. She only wanted to protect us. We were just happy that she found herself a new job.
At least somebody around here is contributing to the household. I went and cut myself another piece of cake. And I got Ginger another biscuit. She earned it.
Yesterday we celebrated Richard's birthday. We went to Panera Bread for lunch and then to the movies. We saw Sex And The City 2. It's cute and funny. Light movie entertainment. On the way home we stopped at Walmart where Richard picked out his cake and ice cream. Then I cooked him a fabulous prime rib dinner. Mmmm it was good.
After dinner I decided to run the self cleaning in the oven. The timer set itself for four hours and twenty minutes. Richard and I laid on the sofa watching a baseball game, (Go Tampa Bay Rays!) stuffing ourselves with cake and ice cream. Ginger was nowhere to be found. I thought it odd that she didn't have her nose within an inch of my dish, poised to have her own helping of birthday fare.
"Richard, call Ginger." She'll come when he calls but never when I do. I figured she was into something she shouldn't be like the trash can or the laundry basket.
"Ginger." No response. "Ginger, get over here." Still no dog appeared.
I dragged my over-stuffed belly off the couch. I went to the kitchen, checking on the oven first. The top of the stove was almost too hot to touch and the room smelled like burnt cookies. That's where I found Ginger staring at the appliance. She sat rigid on the kitchen floor.
"Ginger. It's OK. Good girl." I rubbed her neck under her ear where she likes it. "You were protecting us, weren't you? Good girl." I coaxed her with a biscuit to the cool and comfort of the sofa.
Richard showered her with praise. We were amazed at the power of love from our little baby girl. She only wanted to protect us. We were just happy that she found herself a new job.
At least somebody around here is contributing to the household. I went and cut myself another piece of cake. And I got Ginger another biscuit. She earned it.
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