Supreme Squirrel
Benny is the all-time squirrelliest little boy on this particular planet. The Supreme Grand Pooh Bah of Squirrelliness. From day to day he strews his environment with squirrelisms to the vast entertainment of those around him. It all comes so thick and fast that I lose track and take these Bennybits for granted, but they are special. Here are a couple of recent ones.
No one has a greater appreciation for Capri Sun juice pouches than Sadie and Benny, their beverage of choice, you might say. Yesterday we made a flash raid on Barnes and Noble just off the island. It was an emergency; Benny had run out of Captain Underpants books. As Lydia parked the van, Benny was slurping his last slurp on a juice pouch. Getting out of the van, I saw that he still carried the empty pouch and directed, "Benny! Put that down!" imagining that he might just drop it on the pavement somewhere. He began to puff air into the pouch, puffed until it was fat, held it away from his face and said in his explaining-to-the-handicapped voice, "Oh, no, Ahno. I can't waste this chance to be kind to the plants. These palmtrees need my help." And he ran over to the nearest vegetation, turned the little straw stick on the pouch until it was against a tree trunk and gave the pouch a small squeeze. "Plants need our carbon dioxide for their food, so I'm giving this palm tree a little extra treat. After it eats my garbage air, it will give back some oxygen to help me breathe. Don't worry, Ahno, I'm doing something good."
After we got home from the store, Benny looked anxiously out the window at the pool to see if anyone was swimming. "Mom! There's people out there who need a violin concert!" He hurriedly assembled violin, chin rest, and bow, grandly announced, "I'm going out onto my stage. Sadie, you may come, too. You can dance for the people while I play music." Grateful to be included, Sadie scurried along behind him. He closed the door. In a few minutes, we heard Benny's sweet, high-pitched little voice, loudly declaim above the sounds of wind and waves, "Good afternoon, everyone. Here's something you've all been waiting for. I'm going to play you a concert and my little sister, Sadie, will dance for you."
I peeked out the window. A couple of elderly fossils sat poolside, engrossed in their beach books. Neither of them had bothered to even look up. Benny wasn't daunted. "Thank you so much for that applause," he thundered, "And now I will play Gavotte from Mignon. Sadie's gonna dance." He began to play, yelling to Sadie, "Start dancing, Sadie!" She got up and began to twirl and wave her arms. Benny sawed away on the violin and Sadie danced, on and on. At the conclusion of each piece, he thanked the audience for their non-existent applause. He requested extra applause for his little sister. He urged the audience to verbally express their pleasure, "You really liked that one, didn't you? Let's hear it. Who enjoyed it the most?" He played and played. She danced and danced. The funny thing was that after about half an hour, he did have an audience and they were applauding. Happens every afternoon.
Exotic Dining
For the first time in many years, we have dined out with children while at the beach. Day before yesterday we went to a popular local dive, Red's Icehouse, on Shem Creek. This is a place where fishing boats come and go on their way to the sort of establishment which pays for fresh fish and cleans them up so as to be presentable for customers. Traffic moves briskly up and down the waterway. In addition to ships, the waterway is frequented by dolphins. We were shown to a shaded table at waterside where we watched the traffic and the dolphins. Also we watched sea-going customers pull up in boats, tie at the dock, come up the ramp, and report to the bar. The whole place looked as if it would be no surprise to the staff should customers get sick-drunk and throw up all over the floor. The whole place had that beat-up look of a far-too-popular bar/restaurant open to the salt air.
Lydia and I ate scallops, crab cakes, and coconut shrimp. The kids ate chicken and fries. The food was great. Lydia took the kids' picture by a sign that said," No drunks, No swimming from the deck, No unsupervised children." The waitress gave each child a new frisbee, the ones in which their food had been served.
Today we visited historic McClellanville. This sleepy, waterside, fishing village is hidden under massive old live oaks heavily burdened by Spanish moss, great, gray swaths of Spanish moss. The trees and moss meet above all the streets which resemble tunnels through the spooky vegetation. Each old wreck of a house has enormous porches, most of them screened.
We ate lunch in a bar/restautrant which rivalled Red's for falling-apart ambiance.
Every single thing there was a drab, badly painted wreck...except for the neon signs advertising various beers. The place was a disgrace. However, the food was exquisite. I ate fried green tomato salad and fried fresh shrimp, all of it the best food I have eaten for a loooooonnnnngggg time. Just wonderful. Desert was key lime pie and chocolate-walnut pie. Beyond belief. As we ate, there were people waiting for tables. Amazing that could happen in this apparently semi-inhabited little assemblage of moth-eaten Taras and kudzu and Spanish moss all surrounded by a miasma of mosquitoes. This restaurant is a hot spot. I bought a cook book of recipes from local homeowners...all of it about cooking fish in some way.
Again, the kids wanted chicken and fries. As we left, Lydia took their picture out front on a bench under some flowers in an out-of-control window box. All the way home, the children played with puppets we'd found in a little craft store by the restaurant. Benny's puppet is a lovely calico cat. Sadie's is a rat which she continually referred to as, "So cute."
As I frequently say, "Just so that everyone's happy."
Jelly-Fished
In all the years I've been coming to the beach I have never had a jelly-fish sting. However, respecting the contorted countenances of my fellow swimmers on those occasions when they got stung, I do not wear a swimming suit. My standard swim wear consists of a t-shirt and a loosey-goosey pair of capri-pants. Every time some one near me lets out the tell-tale howl of a jelly-fish stung soul, I say to myself smuggly, "There but for the crazy swimwear, there go I."
Until yesterday. In the space between my ankle and my capri pants, a great big jelly fish wrapped its tentacles around both legs. It also snaked a tentacle up one pant leg. I was stung with stings on top of stings. Once the initial period of smarting and throbbing subsided and the swelling and welting set in, my lower legs were swelled and lumpy and red as though I had a combination of third degree burns and hornet bites. Quite awful to see...and to feel.
I got out of the water, at least temporarily afraid of jelly fish. Spent the rest of the morning builiding a big sand foot with clam shell toe nails and a lovely red coral ankle bracelet.
Today we have a tropical storm going on, lightning, thunder, and torrential rain, the ocean is pounded flat by the weight of water from the sky. I guess the jelly fish can have the whole beach to themselves. I hope they don't take this to indicate that having stung me, they scared everyone away. One wouldn't want to encourage them at all.
Solomon Was Right
Nothing's new. Solomon said this thousands of years ago, and it's still true, one sees the same stuff everywhere, both good things and bad. What exactly do I have in mind?
Bad stuff.......
Bad parents; here we are in a wealthy, tropical vacation paradise. Downstairs is a family with four kids and Mom's pregnant with number five. Dad's there and so are Grandma and Grandpa. They live in a super-expensive situation consisting of two million dollar plus condos turned into one really big one. Is that whole group having fun? Don't know. Certainly the kids are not having much of a good time. Thing is that Mom and Dad get up to something private and tell these oddly obedient kids that they may not come indoors. Then these under-ten-years-old children take themselves to the pool, to the beach, whatever, totally unsupervised. The other day I saw one of the boys urinating on the sidewalk. Whan I asked if he was locked out, he replied that his parents were indoors, but that he and his siblings had been told to stay outside, so, since he urgently had to go potty, he needed to use the sidewalk for his toilet. The other night, after a long afternoon when kids were out with no supervision, I saw Dad emerge with a glass in hand. Looked to me like he'd been hitting the alcohol pretty hard. hm....
Shabby workmanship; this place was just redecorated to the tune of a lot of cash. All new everything. How's it look? Ok on first glance and then things look worse as one continues to inspect the premises. The beautiful furniture bears little dits and dings. The lovely china has chips missing. The granite counter tops are losing their grout and pieces fall out from time to time. A piece is missing from the kitchen sink. Two of the curtains are falling apart. The Persian carpet is so badly misdyed that it looks like it has a terminal skin condition. Yadda, yadda, on and on, the list is endless. Bottom line...both rich people and poor people get victimized by workmen who submit bills for work that never happened.
Good stuff....
Scenery; the view is outrageously wonderful. Endless, to-the-horizon sight and sound of the ocean 24/7. Beautiful and splendid. Gorgeous landscaping. Palms and tropical flowers all lush and sprucely trimmed. Each building has been treated to careful exterior maintenance, charming paint and detail.
Company; Lydia and the little kids are entertaining at all times. Funny and original. I see them year round on a several times/week basis, but here, I see them all day every day and they are great human beings, even the tiny ones are superior specimens.
So from the perspective of this vacation, I can say that I don't see anything new on my horizon. I'm not on 38th Street, but even here in a rich-person's environment, there are mean parents treating their children badly. Also, I see here the evidence that wealth is not insurance against being cheated by unscrupulous workmen. Some things about this physical environment are as shabby as is the homesite situation on 38th Street in Norfolk. However, nature here is as impressive and interesting as it is anywhere else. Also, homefolks transplanted here are as loved and wonderful as they are back at the dear old rest-of-the-year domicile.
GMB
Recently there was curiosity about the GMB with which spray-paint vandals decorated various CPRV sites...what is "GMB"? Something about it struck a chord, but I couldn't remember and then this A.M. I did.
A while back for some forgotten reason I did a search among the lyrics of a number of then-prominent rappers. I don't remember the rappers' names and I don't remember the specific...you should forgive the expression..."songs", but I ran across references to GMB and, idly curious, pursued them around the internet. Now, remember that this was a while back and things in rapperland change fast, so none of this may still be available. However, on that day and at that time I came across a site having to do with lifestyles of the top-money-level rapper/drugdealer types, those with almost unlimited discretionary cash and no good sense to rein in their child-like cupidity.
GMB was the name of a concern dedicated to fulfilling the most whimsical and outrageous demands of a clientele that might want anything, at anytime, anywhere in the world. It was such an exclusive circle that it was like the legend of El Dorado for ghetto-thinkers; mythical, unreachable, beyond their wildest dreams to see that economic plateau. GMB is/was...I have no idea if it's even still in business......a small but agile company which provided complete 24/7 worldwide service to select clients, purveying absolutely anything in the goods and services spectrum, legal or illegal. Among examples of things done for clients were
* the outfitting of a tiny dog with a diamond "grill" to match that of the dog's owner,
* providing an all-pink mink-lined limo in which to drive the client and the client's baby and nanny around London while the client shopped there for a day.
The general idea was that this company represented the ghetto ideal; what you might have after not paying attention in school, not getting a job, messing around on the fringes of crime and then suddenly one day getting "discovered" and magically, luckily, becoming a popular rapper. You would have the modern-day equivalent of a genie at your fingertips, access to the stuff of dreams beyond avarice. There was no store-front, no number you could call. When you were ready, they might call you. Ooooh. Aaaah. GMB.
This morning I suddenly remembered this stuff because as I woke up, MTV was playing a new video that triggered the memory. I'm one of those insomniacs who go to sleep with the TV on in case I wake up during the night and need something to bore me back to sleep. Sometimes I have the TV set to MTV just because they never run late-night infomercials. Yes, I would rather see rapper videos than watch infomercials. Crazy like that. People. Who knew? "Why don't you simply read a good book?" Because that would keep me awake.
Now, I am aware that GMB represents many things, from a British labor union, to a company that's trying to make knock-offs of the Game Boy. However, when it comes to kids spraypainting stuff on public surfaces, I'm guessing that the GMB referred to is the one related to rappers.
Microculture
Every little subdivision of life on this planet has it's unique culture. One time I heard some business biggies talking about the "culture" at General Motors. Right. General Motors. But every little business, agency, office, etc, also has its own small in-house culture.
The Multi-Purpose Building in Park Place, the one connected to Monroe School. That place has a distinct culture of service to the consumer. In spite of the fact that most of their client base is poor, semi-literate, unemployed, needy, and sometimes troublesome, the people at the main desk as well as those who man the agency offices are all nice folks. They see someone approach, they smile. They stand up and extend a hand. They greet you with friendly words spoken in a nice voice. They do whatever you need and they go above and beyond. It's a difficult job site, but the employees' culture speaks volumes about their goodness and decency. You come out of there feeling as though you were among friends who will be glad to see you come back.
The small library housed there is famous for knocking itself out to serve the their patrons. The librarians may not speak English very well, may be physically handicapped, may be elderly and need new glasses, but they sure do act glad to see visitors. They sure do work to satisfy their reading public. "We can get you any book in the Norfolk system, ma'am. Don't do without. And you don't have to go elsewhere. Just check online here on this computer, and if you see a book you want and we don't have it, we'll get it for you and give you a call when it comes in." They always provide a second-hand grocery bag for you to use in carrying home your books. When you return books, they ask if you enjoyed them and which you liked best. It just does not stop. Those folks want people to visit that library and come away feeling the trip was worthwhile.
The Virginia Beach Library on Witchduck Rd., now that place has a lovely culture. It's all about friendliness and service to the customer, encouragement to those who seem confused, smiles and niceness. You feel welcomed into someone's big, comfortably appointed home that happens to be full of bookshelves.
In contrast, the Norfolk Van Wyck library has a culture of rudeness, and outrageous behavior on the part of employees...so much so that everyone who uses this place says the same, "Those librarians are so awful, I dread approaching the main desk." They are horrible librarians, just without excuse in their studied misconduct. The part I don't understand is that their little bad people party goes on year after year unabated. No one speaks up. Library patrons cringe their way in and out of the place. The strangest thing is this; that library is in the neighborhood known for the high level of income, education, achievement of its residents. People who go into and out of this library are the polite type...and they're being treated to absurdly churlish employee conduct. Someone needs to nmake that library clean up it's crummy microculture.
Stewing In Our Own Juices
How hot is it? Well...if I walk out onto my shady front porch, sit down on a rocking chair, put my feet up on a stool, and slowly rock while fanning myself and sipping a cold drink, I will sweat so much that the salt runs into my eyes and hurts. It was 101 degrees this morning at 8:00 A.M. That was in the shade. I just now went out to turn the sprinkler on the tomatoes. The hose was too hot to touch. I gripped the hose with a hand that I covered with the bottom of my t-shirt, went ahead and turned on the cold water, and after two minutes, the water still ran hot. My glasses steamed up immediately I opened the front door. The weather has been like this for two and a half weeks. Out doors, I can just barely breathe. Today I had a long list of chores out and about. I began with some things I needed to drop off at the church office. By the time I got the stuff into church and went back to the car, my clothing was soaked with sweat.
I went on to the second stop, the Van Wyck Library. I had two items overdue and one damaged book to pay for so I went indoors. Both librarians looked sullen and unwilling to accept customers. When I came through the door, they turned away and pretended to be busy. It's hot in the library because some knucklehead propped open the door into the foyer. The librarians are droopy and cranky. How droopy and cranky? Well, I asked what was my fine and the librarian answered churlishly, "You can't pay it. Different last name." I said, "But I'm returning it for a grandchild." She said....get this...."I can't let you pay it unless you happen to know the child's last name." How many grandparents don't HAPPEN TO know the child's last name? I was sorry for the librarians in that they were so hot and miserable, but before I made a donkey of myself on the job, I think it would occur to me to stand up, go around the desk, close the door into the foyer and thus keep the cool air inside.
As I left, a homeless man came into the library, toting his garbage bag of stuff and smelling quite impressive. He looked down as he passed the librarians' desk. Both of them had ignored me, but seeing the poor fellow who just entered, they snapped to attention and stood up. Clearly they were about to unload on the luckless homeless guy all of their anger at a world too hot to bear. Ordinarily I would stick around and champion the underdog, but today, seeing the fire in their eyes, I scampered out the door and left the homeless guy to defend his own right to stink indoors. In this life you have to learn to pick your battles. Never defend a malodorous homeless guy to an angry librarian on a day when the temp outside the propped-open library door is 115 degrees.
