FLASHBACK: Sometimes I will have written a post, but not entered it on the blog. Since we are on the gun theme, I thought I would include this one...
The moon is full, which means the tide is high and that translates into terrific kayaking through the marsh grasses out back. 12 noon is high tide so I went to the back room to change into my kayaking gear, only to come out to find Landon…packing a pistol. Toto, I’m not in Kansas anymore…apparently I’m not in New York either. Why take a pistol to kayak? Because of the possibilities of alligators, of course.
Landon explained it this way: “I take the pistol so that when we see an alligator, I shoot you. That way the alligator has something to eat.” Very funny, that Southern humor.
What are the chances of seeing an alligator? Well…half-way into the trip, guess what we see? That’s right, an alligator about 50 feet away. Landon dismissed the danger with a “Oh, he’s just a small one. About 6 feet.” To which I replied, “Sweetie, please take out your gun.” Not only did he pull it out of its holster, he cocked the trigger! Maybe I can learn to like guns after all. We didn’t have to shoot, but when we came back his way, we did see his back glistening right under the water and his eyes poked up. I paddled faster. Pretty exciting day for a city girl like me…
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Glock is My Best Friend
Today it happened...
I held a pistol for the first time.
My husband and I wanted to take a walk and you know that situation with the "wild dogs" next to us so we needed to arm ourselves, to protect ourselves.
Funny how guns can seem to be so strange and I still have judgments about people who have them until I realize how important they can be in giving me a sense of security in this wild land called "the country."
Who knows? Maybe I'll actually learn how to shoot one some day. More experiences like the "wild dogs" and I'll learn pretty quickly!
I held a pistol for the first time.
My husband and I wanted to take a walk and you know that situation with the "wild dogs" next to us so we needed to arm ourselves, to protect ourselves.
Funny how guns can seem to be so strange and I still have judgments about people who have them until I realize how important they can be in giving me a sense of security in this wild land called "the country."
Who knows? Maybe I'll actually learn how to shoot one some day. More experiences like the "wild dogs" and I'll learn pretty quickly!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Wild Dogs
OK, first I had to get used to the alligators down here. Then it was the snakes (rattlesnakes, copperheads). And, now it's...wild dogs?!
Tonight I got home from my trip up north. My husband hadn't come home yet and I was unpacking some things, thinking of taking the dogs for a walk in the field, when I received a call from a neighbor.
"Oh, you're home!, she exclaimed, "I thought I heard a car." And, then she proceeded to tell me that I couldn't go out for a walk because there had been an attack of wild dogs, feral dogs who apparently were living in the woods next to our house. They had killed a deer there. And then...
On Wednesday of last week, two ladies on horseback were crossing the field near our house when suddenly a pack of dogs came running out of the woods and started attacking the horses. Can you imagine? These dogs were between 35 - 50 pounds, attacking horses that weigh 1,100 lbs. Now, that's aggressive!
My other neighbor, John, was driving down the road and saw it all happen before his eyes. He told me he was happy that he happened to have a rifle in the back seat of his car. (That's one of the things that I still can't get used to -- everyone seems to have, and to carry, a gun with them. Bizarre to a city girl when seeing a gun usually meant your life was in danger. Now my life is endangered when I don't have a gun. People use them to shoot the alligators, the snakes and other threatening creatures...)
Back to the attack: John told me that when he arrived at the scene, the dogs were attacking the horses and the ladies were trying to dismount because they were worried that their horses would spook and then buck them off. John didn't want to shoot because he was concerned that the shot would spook the horses. At that point, a member of the hunt department showed up and with all of this commotion, the dogs ran back into the woods. The guy from the hunt department tried to chase them down. He caught up with them in the woods, but his gun didn't work and they started attacking him so that he had to use the butt of his gun to fend them off while he ran back to the truck to get another rifle. Apparently he was able to shoot one of the dogs. There were 6, now there are 5. Part pitbull.
We have been warned NOT to take a walk, not to travel alone. Everyone I know who likes to walk their dogs has been "packing heat," carrying pistols and shotguns and rifles. We are well armed here.
I don't know which alarms me more -- the fact that there are a pack of wild dogs living in the woods next door to my house or that all of my neighbors walk around heavily armed, and think nothing of it! I'm still getting used to this culture...slowly...
Tonight I got home from my trip up north. My husband hadn't come home yet and I was unpacking some things, thinking of taking the dogs for a walk in the field, when I received a call from a neighbor.
"Oh, you're home!, she exclaimed, "I thought I heard a car." And, then she proceeded to tell me that I couldn't go out for a walk because there had been an attack of wild dogs, feral dogs who apparently were living in the woods next to our house. They had killed a deer there. And then...
On Wednesday of last week, two ladies on horseback were crossing the field near our house when suddenly a pack of dogs came running out of the woods and started attacking the horses. Can you imagine? These dogs were between 35 - 50 pounds, attacking horses that weigh 1,100 lbs. Now, that's aggressive!
My other neighbor, John, was driving down the road and saw it all happen before his eyes. He told me he was happy that he happened to have a rifle in the back seat of his car. (That's one of the things that I still can't get used to -- everyone seems to have, and to carry, a gun with them. Bizarre to a city girl when seeing a gun usually meant your life was in danger. Now my life is endangered when I don't have a gun. People use them to shoot the alligators, the snakes and other threatening creatures...)
Back to the attack: John told me that when he arrived at the scene, the dogs were attacking the horses and the ladies were trying to dismount because they were worried that their horses would spook and then buck them off. John didn't want to shoot because he was concerned that the shot would spook the horses. At that point, a member of the hunt department showed up and with all of this commotion, the dogs ran back into the woods. The guy from the hunt department tried to chase them down. He caught up with them in the woods, but his gun didn't work and they started attacking him so that he had to use the butt of his gun to fend them off while he ran back to the truck to get another rifle. Apparently he was able to shoot one of the dogs. There were 6, now there are 5. Part pitbull.
We have been warned NOT to take a walk, not to travel alone. Everyone I know who likes to walk their dogs has been "packing heat," carrying pistols and shotguns and rifles. We are well armed here.
I don't know which alarms me more -- the fact that there are a pack of wild dogs living in the woods next door to my house or that all of my neighbors walk around heavily armed, and think nothing of it! I'm still getting used to this culture...slowly...
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Darien Boat Club
We had the moving company come today to give my parents an estimate on what it would cost to move their things to Chicago.
I know that I should be feeling really emotional about the breaking up of our home, about losing a footprint in coastal Connecticut, which has always been home to me, about the passage of a chapter in my life. But, right now, I don't.
I don't have time. There is too much to do.
This week we have accomplished a lot. We got my dad back on his feet and into some personal training, or physical therapy, where he can work on building strength and gaining more flexibility. That was Tuesday.
Wednesday I measured out the size of the rooms in their new home and put string markings on the floor so that mom, dad and I could create furniture arrangements for the rooms in my parent's new home. I moved a lot of furniture. It was so much fun to see what pieces they can take with them and how it will look. We even took pictures. It just felt good to make decisions about what pieces to take and which ones to leave behind.
Thursday we had an Estate Sale Specialist come to the house, someone who has a great reputation in the area. I walked her through the house, showing her furniture, art and collectibles. She is interested in having a sale to help us dispose of our things. Boy, that would be great if she could.
Friday we needed to get out of the house because the buyers needed to bring in a building inspector into the house. So, we all went down to the local beach.
And, that's when it hit me. It happened as I walked from the car to the Boat Club. I stood on the pavement, looking at the boat slips below, remembering how much fun it was to have a boat when I was little, how much I enjoyed having a boat and how disappointed I was when my father decided to sell ours and not replace it. All of the joys and disappointments and hopes and celebrations and family moments were captured in that moment at the Boat Club. My childhood. Our family. My relationship to my family. Growing up in Darien, with all that that meant. We were closing a chapter -- the best of times, the worst of times, mostly good times. My eyes welled up and I walked on. Keep moving forward, I told myself, and don't look back.
I know that I should be feeling really emotional about the breaking up of our home, about losing a footprint in coastal Connecticut, which has always been home to me, about the passage of a chapter in my life. But, right now, I don't.
I don't have time. There is too much to do.
This week we have accomplished a lot. We got my dad back on his feet and into some personal training, or physical therapy, where he can work on building strength and gaining more flexibility. That was Tuesday.
Wednesday I measured out the size of the rooms in their new home and put string markings on the floor so that mom, dad and I could create furniture arrangements for the rooms in my parent's new home. I moved a lot of furniture. It was so much fun to see what pieces they can take with them and how it will look. We even took pictures. It just felt good to make decisions about what pieces to take and which ones to leave behind.
Thursday we had an Estate Sale Specialist come to the house, someone who has a great reputation in the area. I walked her through the house, showing her furniture, art and collectibles. She is interested in having a sale to help us dispose of our things. Boy, that would be great if she could.
Friday we needed to get out of the house because the buyers needed to bring in a building inspector into the house. So, we all went down to the local beach.
And, that's when it hit me. It happened as I walked from the car to the Boat Club. I stood on the pavement, looking at the boat slips below, remembering how much fun it was to have a boat when I was little, how much I enjoyed having a boat and how disappointed I was when my father decided to sell ours and not replace it. All of the joys and disappointments and hopes and celebrations and family moments were captured in that moment at the Boat Club. My childhood. Our family. My relationship to my family. Growing up in Darien, with all that that meant. We were closing a chapter -- the best of times, the worst of times, mostly good times. My eyes welled up and I walked on. Keep moving forward, I told myself, and don't look back.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
New York State of Mind
I'm flying up to New York to spend Easter with my parents -- and to help them with their upcoming move.
As we fly over the city, I feel a familiar sense, not quite like I'm coming home, but that everything feels familiar; the houses in Queens, the city in the distance, the web of street lights below. It was comforting, and at the same time, I realized it's not my life any more. I wondered, "If I were still living here, what would I do this evening?" I couldn't really imagine what I would do -- and that's when I knew that my life has changed and my center had really shifted.
It's a strange feeling, really. When I'm in South Carolina, I feel that I'm home because that's where my heart is, that's where my love is, and still, the environment feels very strange to me. All around me, the air, the smells, the strange creatures, all of it feels so unfamiliar and I feel discombobulated when I feel at home in a place that feels so alien to me.
I'm home, but it's not home. Do you know what I mean?
As we fly over the city, I feel a familiar sense, not quite like I'm coming home, but that everything feels familiar; the houses in Queens, the city in the distance, the web of street lights below. It was comforting, and at the same time, I realized it's not my life any more. I wondered, "If I were still living here, what would I do this evening?" I couldn't really imagine what I would do -- and that's when I knew that my life has changed and my center had really shifted.
It's a strange feeling, really. When I'm in South Carolina, I feel that I'm home because that's where my heart is, that's where my love is, and still, the environment feels very strange to me. All around me, the air, the smells, the strange creatures, all of it feels so unfamiliar and I feel discombobulated when I feel at home in a place that feels so alien to me.
I'm home, but it's not home. Do you know what I mean?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
They Scooped Our Poop
Yes, that's right.
Today the septic tank cleaners came to our home to pump the poo. Now, how's that for alliteration?
Why am I telling you this? Because I wanted to write a blog post with that headline. Because I wanted you to know that I appreciate potty humor. Because I can be puerile...and after all, Everyone Poops! Oh yeah, that book has already been written...
OK, no more poop posts! At least for now...
Today the septic tank cleaners came to our home to pump the poo. Now, how's that for alliteration?
Why am I telling you this? Because I wanted to write a blog post with that headline. Because I wanted you to know that I appreciate potty humor. Because I can be puerile...and after all, Everyone Poops! Oh yeah, that book has already been written...
OK, no more poop posts! At least for now...
Yesterday's Post...
Ooooops. I goofed. I wasn't referring to a "crap" pot. It was really a "crab" pot.
Here's the crap pot. Sorry for the potty humor. I couldn't resist.
How do you like the black toilet against the cayenne colored walls? More on painting later...
Monday, April 6, 2009
Scenery from the Lowcountry
The was the view I saw when we were coming back from the crap pot experience. Isn't it beautiful?
Going Crabbing...
Well, what fun! One of the most hilarious parts of my new life is that quite often we go out to catch our dinner...flounder, redfish...and now crabs.
We put the crab pot out last night and promised to return in 24 hours to see what happened.
Not much actually. Here's what we got. A really little crab. Oh well, that's OK because even though it was too small to keep, I still thought it was fun. And, now I know how to catch crabs.
What a life we have. We catch our dinner and we can pick the vegatables too. I like the simple life. The simple, healthy outdoors life suits me. What about you?
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Action Jacksonette
I am becoming an Action Jackson-ette. That's what we call my husband -- Action Jackson -- because he's always on the go, doing something exciting.
Yesterday we went flying -- here's a plane that took off while we were waiting outside the main office.
We flew over our property we call Hoota Woods to see how it looked from the air. Everything looked great; - the pond, the hardwood bottom, the shed, the work camper, the newly planted fruit orchard, even the prepared planting beds looked great from the air.
And, then, as we were leaving, we noticed something tragic. The pine forest next to our property is getting cut, clear cut. What a shame. It's a beautiful pine stand -- couldn't they at least just think about doing a 3rd row cut to thin? It made me feel sick to my stomach (or was that feeling from the turns we were doing in the air?!)
Then we drove to Hoota Woods to meet Linda and to do some work. And, I mean work! Linda and I hoed 9 large beds and two long beds. Man, was that tiring work, but gratifying. This city girl is rapidly becoming countrified!
We all went to the fruit orchard, checked the 90 trees, some flowering, others putting out some fruit, and still others with no sign of life externally, except that by the firmness of their branches, we know they are still alive. We placed orange flags by every tree so that when the tractor comes in to plough under the weeds, he won't take the trees with him. Some of the trees are just 8 inches high.
On to Jinna's florist where we bought trees and shrubs and other things. A man carefully takes cuttings from his trees and repots them and nurtures them. You can buy beautiful azaleas for next to nothing. I bought hydrangeas, and Linda bought azaleas and a banana tree.
Then we went to Linda's house where she had planted many shrubs and trees and inspected her greenhouse. No doubt Linda has a green thumb.
Finally, our day began to come to a close when we were invited to the "Skinning Shed," a local, informal hangout run by her husband. It's a collection of buildings where his dad used to have a hog farm. They have two ponds, one stocked exclusively with catfish, and the other with bass and bream.
We ended the night by sitting by the fire in our Carolina room and watching the sun set over the marsh. It was a perfect day in the country...
Yesterday we went flying -- here's a plane that took off while we were waiting outside the main office.
We flew over our property we call Hoota Woods to see how it looked from the air. Everything looked great; - the pond, the hardwood bottom, the shed, the work camper, the newly planted fruit orchard, even the prepared planting beds looked great from the air.
And, then, as we were leaving, we noticed something tragic. The pine forest next to our property is getting cut, clear cut. What a shame. It's a beautiful pine stand -- couldn't they at least just think about doing a 3rd row cut to thin? It made me feel sick to my stomach (or was that feeling from the turns we were doing in the air?!)
Then we drove to Hoota Woods to meet Linda and to do some work. And, I mean work! Linda and I hoed 9 large beds and two long beds. Man, was that tiring work, but gratifying. This city girl is rapidly becoming countrified!
We all went to the fruit orchard, checked the 90 trees, some flowering, others putting out some fruit, and still others with no sign of life externally, except that by the firmness of their branches, we know they are still alive. We placed orange flags by every tree so that when the tractor comes in to plough under the weeds, he won't take the trees with him. Some of the trees are just 8 inches high.
On to Jinna's florist where we bought trees and shrubs and other things. A man carefully takes cuttings from his trees and repots them and nurtures them. You can buy beautiful azaleas for next to nothing. I bought hydrangeas, and Linda bought azaleas and a banana tree.
Then we went to Linda's house where she had planted many shrubs and trees and inspected her greenhouse. No doubt Linda has a green thumb.
Finally, our day began to come to a close when we were invited to the "Skinning Shed," a local, informal hangout run by her husband. It's a collection of buildings where his dad used to have a hog farm. They have two ponds, one stocked exclusively with catfish, and the other with bass and bream.
We ended the night by sitting by the fire in our Carolina room and watching the sun set over the marsh. It was a perfect day in the country...
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
The New Leslie
I am no longer Leslie J. Evans.
I am now Leslie Evans Thorne. My new social security card came in the mail today. It’s official.
It is a strange thing to change your identity. Sure, you can say that it is simply a name change and nothing more, but that’s not how it seems to me.
The Leslie J. Evans of yesterday doesn’t exist any more. She has been replaced by Leslie Evans Thorne.
I liked the Leslie J. Evans. She was fun and she liked to have fun. She would swing dance and figure skate and go to hear classical music and swim at Bally’s gym and network and meet people and walk in the park and give church services and hang out with her friends and go to Connecticut to see her parents. She was independent, single, a career woman. Well, not really a career woman, not in the sense that she sacrificed her life for her work because she sees her “work” as an opportunity to express who she is in the world and in that sense, “work” is “play.” And, since she loves to play, she loved to work.
Who is the new Leslie Evans Thorne? I don’t know yet. She’s married to Landon, which is a dream come true, and she’s living in South Carolina in a beautiful home with lots of love and support, for all of which she is grateful. But, she knows that she is in a chryallis state, a state of becoming. What will she become? Who will she be? Time will tell…
Will she become a horseback rider? Will she become a media star with an Internet TV show? Will she ever finish her two books? Will she become a farmer? Will she become a cook? Will she fall in love with the Lowcountry and not want to leave? Who will she be inside? Will she be loving and generous and grateful and full of grace? Or could she become bitter, unhappy, sad?
The exciting thing is that if she stays fully aware and is conscious about the choices she makes in her life, she can create the Leslie Evans Thorne of her choosing and help her to become the woman she always wanted, and knew that she could, be. Fat or thin, blond or brunette, these things don’t really matter. What matters is that she is able to grow into the woman she aspires to be. And, that is her personal definition of success.
I am now Leslie Evans Thorne. My new social security card came in the mail today. It’s official.
It is a strange thing to change your identity. Sure, you can say that it is simply a name change and nothing more, but that’s not how it seems to me.
The Leslie J. Evans of yesterday doesn’t exist any more. She has been replaced by Leslie Evans Thorne.
I liked the Leslie J. Evans. She was fun and she liked to have fun. She would swing dance and figure skate and go to hear classical music and swim at Bally’s gym and network and meet people and walk in the park and give church services and hang out with her friends and go to Connecticut to see her parents. She was independent, single, a career woman. Well, not really a career woman, not in the sense that she sacrificed her life for her work because she sees her “work” as an opportunity to express who she is in the world and in that sense, “work” is “play.” And, since she loves to play, she loved to work.
Who is the new Leslie Evans Thorne? I don’t know yet. She’s married to Landon, which is a dream come true, and she’s living in South Carolina in a beautiful home with lots of love and support, for all of which she is grateful. But, she knows that she is in a chryallis state, a state of becoming. What will she become? Who will she be? Time will tell…
Will she become a horseback rider? Will she become a media star with an Internet TV show? Will she ever finish her two books? Will she become a farmer? Will she become a cook? Will she fall in love with the Lowcountry and not want to leave? Who will she be inside? Will she be loving and generous and grateful and full of grace? Or could she become bitter, unhappy, sad?
The exciting thing is that if she stays fully aware and is conscious about the choices she makes in her life, she can create the Leslie Evans Thorne of her choosing and help her to become the woman she always wanted, and knew that she could, be. Fat or thin, blond or brunette, these things don’t really matter. What matters is that she is able to grow into the woman she aspires to be. And, that is her personal definition of success.
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