Rub the Buddha

Two weeks ago, I found an out of the way gift shop called Earthbound.  I initially went in to purchase a pre-Civil was skirt and bodice for Robin, along with a large straw hat as props for a photo-shoot idea I had. I have this penchant to pose her in an antebellum cotton field that I spied on one of my backroad treks here in South Carolina.  Those items I was fortunate enough to purchase.

However, to our surprise, we also found sitting in the rear of the store a one-of-a-kind teak wooden Buddha. He sits about two feet tall. Our daughter has always loved and fancied to own one. When we saw the original price was slashed by 2/3, I knew it was ours to have. We took it home, set it on the credenza until we made the trip north.

Everyday Robin would walk by and smile at its robust and stout squat. Supposedly it’s good luck to possess a Buddha. As long as you don’t let it rest on the floor. That, we’re told, is not a good idea. I would pat its rotund torso and rub ‘da’ Buddha occasionally.  Robin took special pains to administer several coats of Liquid Gold to bring the grain to the forefront of each carved crease.

He must be working on us.  Last week, I sold several of my photos to the tune of $425.  We returned a small rug shampooer to Walmart and received more than its original price.  A lucky few days, no less.  Today, as we were packing the truck for the trip north, I remembered that I wanted to drain all the water lines as well as empty the hot water tank.  The temps are supposed to fall next week and we won’t be there to maintain enough heat for the water lines without running short of propane.  I bled the cold and hot water lines.  As I was unscrewing the plastic plug from the hot water tank, it broke off in the grips of my pliers.  There I hold in my hands half the end, the other still frozen within the threads of the drain opening.  We have to leave and at seven in the morning, no one is open to ask for help.  Oh well, I’ll leave it until we return.  My neighbor, Dennis, who must rise early, saw my dilemma and came over in his shorts and flip flops and said, ”  Go!  and worry about nothing”.

We headed out under a cool but sunny and beautiful sky.  As each hour passed and we inched our way north, instead of warming, the temperatures dropped.  About two hours up I-95 I received a text.  It was Dennis telling me not to worry.  He had purged and plunged my hot water tank of any sediment, removed the remaining plastic plug and replaced it with a new brass unit.  Buddha, sat in the back seat, smiling as he measured each mile north.  With each additional state added to our journey we were welcomed into cold, and clouds, and snow.

We’re so excited to see the kids, our grandchild, and welcome yet another addition to the family on Wednesday.  With each passing mile, another memory was brought to the conversation, another prediction of what is yet to come, another guess into the future, and another drop in the mercury.  We love the South, but we love our families more.  By the time we stopped at a rest in Virginia, we questioned our sanity.  We will always love our children, and their children more.   But damn, what were we thinking in not moving South.  By the time we reached New Jersey, it proved to be the coldest day of the winter, the Farenheit not getting out of single digits, and the wind chill in the negative.  The excitement had waned.  The misery of cold had broken our mettle.  All the dreary had once again taken over the night.   Until a knock came this evening.  There at the door was our son, our daughter in law, and this smiling face. Buddha had again worked his magic.

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Old Friends, New Friends,

Our friends Rod and Jackie decided to leave Myrtle a week earlier than planned.  They wanted to get together one last time as our paths won’t cross again until spring fields are being replenished by Amish manure spreaders. Ryan’s was the suggested meeting place. Why not? The afternoon special for seniors was a pauper’s delight and those buffets meant that the day’s last meal could be expunged.  As we dined we shared stories and new information about a club for Pennsylvanians living in Myrtle. The conversation was endless, and soon we found our quartet the only patrons in the place. Such was the quality of our visit.

We traded hugs and handshakes in the parking lot, knowing that there would be other times and other days when their good company would grace our home or table. We headed to the Colonial Mall as Robin needed to exchange a few clothing items I had talked her into purchasing and given some afterthought she found them not conservative enough for her liking. That was fine with me. It gave me some time in Books A Million to grab another literary edition. My last venture there, I found “Destiny Republic”. Its a tale of madness, medicine, and the murder of President James Garfield. I’m sure by now you’re thinking my taste is somewhat mundane but the author is the prize winning Candice Millard. I’ve read her previous best seller, “River of Doubt” and this one is proving just as scintillating.

No sooner we arrived  home from the mall that the phone rang. It was Mike inviting us over for the evening as they were having a small house party and wanted us to meet some of the neighborhood friends. Oh God.  Could we possibly put more food into our bellies?  Why not?  We had a large bottle of Reisling that needed to find another home.

As always Mike and Gail had put on a spread that found us all gathering around the kitchen bar.  Grilled veggies, chicken, seafood, cheeses, were just the tip of the food chain. I can’t even remember all the offerings due their numerous choices.  It wasn’t long before we felt as if we’d known our new acquaintances for some time. Laughter and the ever present pull of “why don’t you just move to South Carolina” were the key note items of the evening. The guests dispersed into a couple of room but soon the lies and stories had pulled us all together.

I caught Mike lying to Robin and trying to make her believe what he was saying was honestly the truth. Imagine!

Other lies were being spread as even the men talked of things that are often exaggerated beyond belief!

All the while,  wives didn’t seem impressed with incessant bragging rites and seemed to take a doubtful attitude!

After ten o’ clock we had passed my three hour rule. “Never stay more than three hours. You’ll be invited back. After that, they’re thinking, when are these people going to leave”.  We had a great time, hugged our new friends a good night. Gypsies don’t say goodbye, hoping that again our paths will cross.

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Oh What A Night

 There is an ongoing daily attempt to combine the sun and sand as the temperatures have been

hovering in the mid 70’s. I’m sure that the annual hell on earth that we call February will soon and severely alter our lives.

We’re not the quintessential beach people. We enjoy a morning stroll, and love the breeze but the idea of sand in the shorts or shoes is not worth the trade-off.  However, there exists in all of us that anthropological pull to this venue that is innate in our make up as human beings, given our origination from the seas.

Listening, as one would with their ear to a conch, the mere sound of crashing waves and the receding of tides is often enough satisfaction.

But when not wanting to make the fifteen minute trek to the shoreline, the activities at our current location continue daily, ranging from cards and shuffleboard to horseshoes,bicycling, fishing, golfing and the morning coffee clatch. There is at a moment’s notice, a large contingent  that will engage in a myriad of small and personal activities.

 

But at least once a month, the office staff plans and host’s some sort of party or gala. This week the theme was a 50’s Sock Hop. Wanting to be in-tune with the theme, a few weeks ago I googled the internet and with the aid of UPS I was able to procure a poodle skirt to surprise Robin.  I also purchased a pink sweater as I knew she already had the bobby socks that would complete the ensemble.  Our visit to the local Goodwill store for some accompanying accessories completed an outfit taken directly from the  archives of “Happy Days”.  The intended plans for my outfit were simply for the rolled cuffs on my jeans, a pair of penny loafers, and the ever-present cigarettes, rolled into the sleeve of my t-shirt. However, while shopping the aisles of this second-hand heaven, I wondered if just a t-shrit would suffice in the evening chill.  It was then that I spied a multi color houndstooth blazer.  A perfect fit and at a price of $4.79, I couldn’t pass it up.  Had it been a day later I could have had the 25% Thursday discount. But I needed it now.  So I sprung for the extra dollar.

It has been years since I had even asked about buying a pack of smokes. While gassing up at the local Kangaroo I entered the store and found a pack of Pall Malls, also on sale for a mere $3.50.  I had asked the lady clerk for a soft pack, only to be informed that there was a move away from these to the box style.

I surmised that I needed a pair of those thick black spectacles. Those of you who lived the 50’s and 60’s should recall them. I’m remembering back to my elementary school days and  that was the only choice to buy. I just happened by a kiosk in the aisles of a Books A Million store and there they hung. The klunky frames, not very endearing to any onlookers, and only a few dollars more. I had a complete outfit for under $10.

All the while, I had been contemplating a  photograph of Robin, dressed as she might appear for a drive up to Al’s  soda fountain,  standing in front of Ron’s and Debbie’s newly purchased ’55 Chevy BelAir.  Ron and Debbie just live about two blocks away.  Prior to the dance, I saw them cruising the campground in their fin-tailed wonder.  Ron had attached a tray to the outside of his driver’s side window, complete with burger and a small package of fries.  However, any semblance of  lighting had passed as they drove to our site . Evening had come and the dance was about to begin.

 

Approximately 30 couples were treated to popcorn, cherry red, and complimentary refreshment. All

attendees brought a bevy of appetizers, and desserts, along with Bringing Your Own Bottle.  The DJ played a medley of Doo Wop, American Bandstand, and other Oldies  for the next three hours.  Robin and I danced over and over again, until ringlets shone on the tendrils hugging her cheek.   With each sip of wine, every swig of Ron’s soda fountain concoctions, we thought somehow we were becoming better and better dancers. By ten o’clock, Robin was exhausted.   She was ready to leave.   I found that when I arose to stand, I couldn’t.  Apparently, Ron’s soda fountain drinks were more  vodka than they were any other ingredient.  The fermented potatoes crept into the senses like a thief in the night.  I teetered out the door with some assistance and smartly decided Robin should be the designee for the four hundred yard drive home.  Oh, What A Night!

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