Anti-Social Dance

I told David that dance was my thing,
So he showed me some waltz and some swing,
Then a man with big shoes,
Gave me a touch of the blues,
Now the limp gives my salsa more zing.

Not my favorite dance step

Not my favorite dance step

In a rumba lesson, the man with big shoes stepped forward when he should have stepped back. I have a blue toe and a new appreciation for careful dance partners like my  friend, David Seghers, and my husband, Barry.

 

Dangerous Critter

Meps With the Dangerous Critter

Meps With the Dangerous Critter

What is this in the road? It’s a critter,
And although I slow down, I still hit her,
As she crumples in pain,
“She’s a bag!” cries my brain,
So I snatch her and then ride off wit’ her.

Strong winds were carrying all sorts of rubbish across the North River Causeway today, and from a distance, I mistook a trio of low-flying grocery bags for a herd of small animals. The first two got away, but I managed to catch the third one with my bike.

If you have not seen this short “mockumentary,” it is one of my all-time favorite videos on the internet, documenting the life cycle and habitat of plastic bags:

Sun boots

“Do I have to?” I whine and I cry,
As I stand under blue, cloudless sky,
But we’ve boiled every pot,
And the water’s so hot,
That my rain boots must keep my feet dry.

Barry buttonholed me today and asked me to to help him pour many gallons of boiling water over plywood (to bend it). This limerick is a fib — you can see from the photo that I love my rain boots. They’re cute and blue, like something Paddington Bear would wear.

The other photo is for my Washington and Colorado friends. It proves we have potheads here in Georgia, too.

Meps in her blue boots and gloves

Paddington Bear helps bend plywood

Meps with a cooking pot on her head

Meps, a two-quart pothead

Two wheels never fail her

There once was a practical sailor,
Who went off to pick up some kale. Her
Pink bike was too small,
For fruits, veggies, and all,
So she shopped with her bicycle trailer.

The picture says it all — sailboat, dinghy, two kayaks, and a pink folding bicycle with a trailer. Who needs a car?
My pink bike and trailer

A bird was heard

“Oh, these masts are such pretty, tall things,
I will sit here and dry off my wings,”
But a cormorant’s big,
When he sits on our rig,
Unaware of the chaos he brings.

We broke off conversation, mid-word,
When such banging and thumping was heard,
And we ran up on deck,
But all’s clear — what the heck?
Then we looked up. “Hey! Scram, you dumb bird!”

We were down below when the sound reverberated throughout the boat. We were sure that either a) another boat had collided with us or b) our anchor was dragging. But it was just an effect of the hollow mizzen mast carrying the sound down to us!

SQUAWK!!!

When I woke up, the boat was pitch-black,
And I thought we were under attack,
You have gotten my goose!
Now I’m calling a truce…
Go away and be quiet, Aflac.

Marine Propulsion, the boatyard where we are moored near Charleston, South Carolina, is home to a personable but extremely loud grey goose named Aflac. He came by to wake us up at first light yesterday morning. First, he floated next to the boat and kind of chuckled. When that didn’t get attention, he pulled out the big guns. My goodness, that bird is LOUD!
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