by Pat Laster
Two-weeks-ago’s column ended with an intro to the saga of the Jacuzzi AFTER the water—with the plug over the drain—reached the vents. It was never hot enough, but that didn’t matter.
Of all the shape shifting that went on to fit four women into the tub. Before Carolyn stepped in, Barb said, “Oh, set the timer on my camera so you can be in the picture.” Back Carolyn went, took directions about how to do it and then set it and quickly stepped into the water. We smiled obligingly at the digital camera on the ledge.
We waited. And smiled. Then we laughed. The rare kind of laughter that twists the face into contortions and brings tears to the eyes. After four attempts, we gave up and vowed to learn the correct method before the next time.
The next time never came. The three of them DID swim once more, but I was piled up in the bed for a nap after a hard day of shopping.
Most mornings while Bev and Carolyn were walking the neighborhood, Barb and I were on the deck reading and/or writing. And visiting. The only shade was behind a tall arborvitae. Like the air in Florida—or anywhere, I suppose—if it seemed hot and humid at first, it usually cooled enough to sit out.
“Early morning/ a screechy bird/from downriver.”
Only downriver was really Lake Thunderbird, one of the five or six lakes in Cherokee Village, a Cooper Community like Bella Vista and Hot Springs Village.
One evening, leaving from the marina, we took a two-lake tour (at $6, another bargain) on The Queen and learned a lot about the history of the community and the people who built/live in the area.
The map showed no lakes’ contiguity, but there is a canal under a roadway with just enough room for one party barge at a time to access a smaller lake. Saw no snakes, heard few dogs, and learned that many of the lake houses that look spacious and palatial from the lake look to be small insignificant dwellings from streetside.
In the evenings when it was either too hot or too “buggy” to sit outside, we gathered in the sitting area with our books and watched a DVD. The Debaters, Last Chance Harry, The Kings Speech, and one other (forgotten).
Jane Austen’s Persuasion was not their cups of tea, so after too long a time, I said, “Stop this; I can watch it at home.” They gladly complied. (You had to have read the book, which I had done.)
One morning, I discovered that a mouse had been in the drawer with the packaged oatmeal, sunflower seeds, crackers and teabags. We saw it skitter under the cabinet and immediately reported it. As in lots of businesses, there is bureaucracy, and though it was reported to the office, the word didn’t get sent on to the maintenance folks.
That night, Bev and I were awaked by a gnawing inside the bedroom wall. Those folks hadn’t gotten the mouse yet, drat it!
Lesson: plastic or paper bags aren’t good enough to store grains and seeds; store them in plastic containers with lids.
The final night, we endured the heat and the bugs, sat on the deck and played eight rollicking hands of Uno. And finished the wine.
The next morning, after repacking to include all our purchases and without all our foodstuffs, we three locals hugged our northern sister whom we wouldn’t see for another year, and began our trip home.
At the junction of Hwy 175 S, we parted ways, beeping and waving. Another great sisters’ vacation. #
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