“Hey, Dave, J here. Do you have KB’s phone number?”
“Yeah. Think so. I’ll check.”
“Some folks back in town here lost their dog at the beach festival last week. I am gonna get KB to put a notice in the newsletter.”
“Oh yeah? What kinda dog?”
“Blue – something, a tick hound by the name of H.”
“That is not the funny part.”
“Seems they looked high and low. Called everyone they knew. Finally went to a dog psychic in the city.”
“What? You means someone who can communicate telepathically with lost dogs?”
“Yeah. And the dog psychic says H is in a house being cared for and is OK. The house is on your island and has a red roof. So, I am going to ask everyone on your island to look for H.”
“Gonna use your real name?”
Sal and I got a concrete step poured yesterday. Actually, it is a concrete ‘covering’ of an old steel stair in the line of stairs I have referred to in the past as the sea stairs. When we came here over 12 years ago, getting up the slippery, hard-barnacle beach was a scramble so I put down a series of heavy galvanized steps that covered the basic height of the tide. I didn’t expect that steel-in-water would last forever but I thought they might last my lifetime. And that will prove true if I croak tomorrow but not a long time after. One of the steps is pretty much ‘done’. It is so weak that stepping on it invites an accident. So….what to do….?
I can chop that one out but that leaves a missing tread. I can chop them all out but many still have a half-life and the stairs are still mostly useful. I can reallocate the spacing but that is incredibly hard. So, what to do……?
I chose to encase the eroding steel (after cleaning it of sea life) in a thick ‘skin’ of concrete. Yesterday we did that. The day before we prepped. As soon as the tide fell enough to reveal the bad step, we went at it. I can’t believe how much cement powder and heavy sand I used hoping the steel stair frame and mesh would add the strength normally provided by the small rock component in the usual mix. The mesh didn’t allow room for the small rocks. The equivalent of maybe three ready-mix bags and I was still a bit short. But, if it works, I will eventually re-do the entire steps (about 14 of them). And they will ‘see us out’ for sure.
Sal’s not happy about this job. But I don’t see why. She just has to lie there. It’s me running around, mixing, cutting, trimming, fitting. All she has to do is lie under the sea stairs structure on slimy wet rock with bugs and crabs underneath her and with sea-life hanging in her face to ‘weave’ the support wires through where the cement will go. In the dark. It’s a smidge claustrophobic, wet, and barnacles squirt her in the face but, hey! Life is always tough under a set of stairs. At least there were no spiders.
Trump………….what’s to say…………he’s doin’ all the talkin’ and it is not working out so well for him. And it may be too late to shut up. If Clinton debates him (and she should not) then she is going to have to find a way to talk over him, yell insults and/or interrupt with dignity and grace. That’s a tough job. Sal is the only one I know who has mastered it so far.
If Hillary doesn’t get a ‘handle’ on Trump’s bluster and crap, she’ll just be left standing there waiting politely for her turn to speak…….which will never come. He’ll talk-bully her and look stupid, ignorant and ridiculous in the process but she’ll look inept and weak as well.
Actually, Hillary should just hire Sal to stand in. Jeez, I would almost feel sorry for Trump if he had to face Sal. Like the lady she is, she would just walk over to him and punch him in the face so hard he tips over and then she would tell the audience, “Sorry. It had to be done. So, I did it. Now back to regular programming.”
a) How do I get a paying job as a “dog psychic”?
b)Where the hell do I find someone like Sal thats willing to lie down in a cold, dark place and work with “creepy crawlies” all around while I go “mix stuff”? Colombia jungles? And that raises the question, “What type of “powder” are ya mixin’?
c) Why does Hillary need to say anything?
Mr. Trump will nuke himself.
Dog psychic? First, you have to find your inner Chihuahua…………it’s a zen thing. ZEN you have to find a bunch of gullible dog owners. Zen you kidnap their dogs. The rest zen falls into place.
Finding someone like Sal is next to impossible. It was a ‘gift’. A miracle. You (and every guy) has a better chance of winning the lottery. You might be able to find ten women who add up to a Sal but I doubt it. A Mexican rancher once offered me a herd of cattle for her but, after determining the number of steers involved, I turned him down. I didn’t even counter!
I’ll buy some tickets for the Lotto Max. 60 million may help the search…
It has some juice, some jazz, some interesting imagery…good post. The dog psychic is on par with the bag lady kayaker as one can not just make gems like this up. Life over fiction every time. Cooking with gas my friend. Condolences to brave Sally under the stairs for hours on end!
Sally made her feelings about it known. But she wasn’t under the stairs for hours…..maybe one hour total…? AND I heard about it for at least three! Today she was peeling logs while I did some electrical work. We did good today.
John helped us make an anchor by filling a 55-gallon plastic barrel with cement made with sand and rocks from a nearby sandy beach. We made it and hauled it home on our cedar raft. An imbedded boom chain gave us a place to tie off the heavy anchor rope. Of course, the video on my camera didn’t start for the big splash. Love using all those local products. So much easier than hauling them by boat from town, and for sure the price is right. We are heading to spend the night again at Heriot Bay and them out to anchor probably at Rebecca Spit tomorrow night. We are in a huge nautical rut. But it’s a good one. – Margy
I know. Paradise. What are you gonna do? Repeat yesterday, of course! Not so much a rut as a live well lived.
Saw lots of your books in the gift shop at Heriot Bay. Had a nice breakfast, and lunch the first day and headed back over from the anchorage for another dinner. Wayne is buttering me for something, or maybe it’s just love. – Margy