The morning began inauspiciously with a fifty-five pound dog lying over me. I heard the steady rhythm of the rain on the Love Shack’s roof followed by a faint awareness of distant rumbling. LuLu is no fan of thunder so she made her logical move to higher ground. Later she and I walked to the ranger station to extend our Skidaway Island stay an extra day (I had made a miss-calculation when we arrived).
No dice said the scruffy ranger. Georgia has a 14 day limit and you are tapped out. Hmmm. Where was that cute ranger in the office that usually helped me? I’m sure I could have wedeled an extra day from her. Or at least the bad news would have been less bitter because she would be smiling while she said it.
Anyway, today has become moving day and we are slowly getting out act together and taking it on the road. We are headed south to Crooked River State Park eighty-five miles down the coast. Unfortunately yesterday I walked and carried my bag on the golf course. Today my back is a little tender then I did something twangy while lifting stuff. Ouch! We will go south with the asprin bottle near at hand.
Some people may be unaware but I lead a rich and diverse fantasy life. No I’m not talking about the cute ranger. Yesterday I posted here about some wonderful regional architectural styles. Those ideas fuel my imagination so I speculated with Barbara over dinner about maybe building a house – speculatively – for one of the urban neighborhoods in Rochester. I think it was that discussion that led to a dream / fantasy filled night of tossing and turning (which ended dramatically with a dog on top of me).
In my life history I have done a fair amount of construction work and eventually designed and built a small, simple but rewarding dwelling deep in a Vermont valley. Is it time to reprise that role?