The phrase "dree your own weird" comes from Scotland, where they preserve the Old English definition of "weird," as "fate." (The OE word is "wyrd" and in MacBeth, the "Wyrd sisters" are not odd-looking or eerie, but rather sisters of fate. It makes sense, if you think about it.)
To "dree your own weird" means to make your own way in the world, to create your own fate, or sort it out for yourself. As a phrase describing what we have to eventually let our children do, I like it.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Dolphin's Den
I had been telling Chip for two days that we could go down to Avon so he could get a present for Marnie. Yesterday seemed like the perfect day, insofar as the diet Mountain Dew had gone critical (we were OUT), and Mac & Maggies only had regular. Eventually, everybody wound up going, in two cars.
We had dinner at the Dolphin Den, because it's locally famous and Hank wanted to see if it lived up to its reputation. We were early enough to beat the line, so we went on in. Even at 5:30, the place was lively. By the time we left, the line was out in the parking lot. I digress.
The seafood was really good, as was the cornbread. We had crab dip and potato skins as appetizers, and the potato skins were the ones made from real potatoes and other stuff on-site, not frozen. The only disappointing thing was Sarah's lasagna, and she said it was what she deserved for ordering lasagna at a seafood restaurant. I shared my scallops with her, and Hank shared his seafood casserole, so it worked out okay. Trey had softshell crabs which he loved. I appreciate adventurousness in an eater.
My only issue with the Dolphin Den is the dumb name. Dolphins do not have dens or anything resembling them. Dolphins just swim around and eat fish wherever they happen to be. Porpoises without purposes, as it were. Dolphin'Den indeed!
It made me think of someone's basement recreation room with a large, stuffed fish over the mantle. (Obviously a large, stuffed seagoing mammal would be in bad taste.)
After dinner, the kids went down to Buxton to play putt-putt, and Hank and I stocked up on Dews and Pop Tarts. A citronella candle kept the mosquitoes at bay on the back deck, and we watched night settle over the sound. Do we really have to go back on Saturday?
We had dinner at the Dolphin Den, because it's locally famous and Hank wanted to see if it lived up to its reputation. We were early enough to beat the line, so we went on in. Even at 5:30, the place was lively. By the time we left, the line was out in the parking lot. I digress.
The seafood was really good, as was the cornbread. We had crab dip and potato skins as appetizers, and the potato skins were the ones made from real potatoes and other stuff on-site, not frozen. The only disappointing thing was Sarah's lasagna, and she said it was what she deserved for ordering lasagna at a seafood restaurant. I shared my scallops with her, and Hank shared his seafood casserole, so it worked out okay. Trey had softshell crabs which he loved. I appreciate adventurousness in an eater.
My only issue with the Dolphin Den is the dumb name. Dolphins do not have dens or anything resembling them. Dolphins just swim around and eat fish wherever they happen to be. Porpoises without purposes, as it were. Dolphin'Den indeed!
It made me think of someone's basement recreation room with a large, stuffed fish over the mantle. (Obviously a large, stuffed seagoing mammal would be in bad taste.)After dinner, the kids went down to Buxton to play putt-putt, and Hank and I stocked up on Dews and Pop Tarts. A citronella candle kept the mosquitoes at bay on the back deck, and we watched night settle over the sound. Do we really have to go back on Saturday?
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Out on the Town
This afternoon, with the gang all in different spots, I went out for some personal R&R. I started off by going to the realty company, which was my real reason for traveling, to tell them that they might want to deal with the dryer in our house. It works fine; it just doesn’t turn off. Turning off is something I always value in a dryer, and I would assume that the house’s owners would appreciate not having it burn down at some point.
That done, I went to the Top Dog Café for lunch, taking along my current book. Top Dog is very beach – weathered wood and no air conditioning. I sat in front of a fan and drank diet Coke, reading Alberto Manguel on the subject of libraries. Dining alone also gave me the opportunity to watch families at other tables. Mom at table next to me: “I started to read a book once, but I lost it.” Dad: “Yeah, and now we have two copies, because you bought another one.” “Does it count as two if we can’t find one?”
Next on my agenda was the Big Wave Grocery, just to see what it’s like. The one thing you can’t do in Rodanthe is buy a week’s groceries. Staying here means that you either 1.) bring the groceries with you (requires a big cooler and a fast trip), 2.) stop in Nags Head and buy them on the way down (requires a big cooler or the confidence that your house will be ready for you), or 3.) drive down to Food Lion in Avon after you settle in. Mac & Maggies, known to us as the Texaco station (because that’s what it was, eight years ago), has some stuff for emergencies – milk, bread, Mountain Dew – but you couldn’t live for a week on Mac & Maggies unless you like bologna and Rainbow white bread.
Big Waves is not comprehensive either, but it's higher-rent non-comprehensive. They have Boar's Head meats, for example. They also have a huge range of micro-brewry beers, some wines, and many shelves of interesting salsas, sauces, etc. Since I am the Queen of Condiments, I was enchanted. But groceries of the weeklong variety are still an issue. Tonight somebody's going to have to go to Avon or we're gonna be eating bologna for breakfast. It's better than Spam, I guess.
My final stop was the bead gallery Hank and I found on Sunday. I wanted to make a beach watchband, plus I'd seen some cool beads I'd like to take home and play with. The shop was jumping, although I soon came to realize that most of the activity centered around the bravest father I have ever seen. He was sitting at the beading table directing the activities of four little girls who looked to be about eight. One was his daughter, and the other three were her friends. All of them were making bracelets for their mothers, which was sweet.
Trouble is, none of them had a clue about the length of the average bracelet, or perhaps the arm size of the average mother. I suppose they could all have had King Kong-sized mothers, but it would be odd that ALL of them have large moms. The bead shop employee helping them had to continually shorten the bead strings, to the girls' collective dismay. One child had about 14 inches of beads that she liked and was loath to part with any of them. The dad and the bead shop person should get medals for tact and discretion. I bet, even as I type this, that they're still working down there.
That done, I went to the Top Dog Café for lunch, taking along my current book. Top Dog is very beach – weathered wood and no air conditioning. I sat in front of a fan and drank diet Coke, reading Alberto Manguel on the subject of libraries. Dining alone also gave me the opportunity to watch families at other tables. Mom at table next to me: “I started to read a book once, but I lost it.” Dad: “Yeah, and now we have two copies, because you bought another one.” “Does it count as two if we can’t find one?”
Next on my agenda was the Big Wave Grocery, just to see what it’s like. The one thing you can’t do in Rodanthe is buy a week’s groceries. Staying here means that you either 1.) bring the groceries with you (requires a big cooler and a fast trip), 2.) stop in Nags Head and buy them on the way down (requires a big cooler or the confidence that your house will be ready for you), or 3.) drive down to Food Lion in Avon after you settle in. Mac & Maggies, known to us as the Texaco station (because that’s what it was, eight years ago), has some stuff for emergencies – milk, bread, Mountain Dew – but you couldn’t live for a week on Mac & Maggies unless you like bologna and Rainbow white bread.
Big Waves is not comprehensive either, but it's higher-rent non-comprehensive. They have Boar's Head meats, for example. They also have a huge range of micro-brewry beers, some wines, and many shelves of interesting salsas, sauces, etc. Since I am the Queen of Condiments, I was enchanted. But groceries of the weeklong variety are still an issue. Tonight somebody's going to have to go to Avon or we're gonna be eating bologna for breakfast. It's better than Spam, I guess.
My final stop was the bead gallery Hank and I found on Sunday. I wanted to make a beach watchband, plus I'd seen some cool beads I'd like to take home and play with. The shop was jumping, although I soon came to realize that most of the activity centered around the bravest father I have ever seen. He was sitting at the beading table directing the activities of four little girls who looked to be about eight. One was his daughter, and the other three were her friends. All of them were making bracelets for their mothers, which was sweet.
Trouble is, none of them had a clue about the length of the average bracelet, or perhaps the arm size of the average mother. I suppose they could all have had King Kong-sized mothers, but it would be odd that ALL of them have large moms. The bead shop employee helping them had to continually shorten the bead strings, to the girls' collective dismay. One child had about 14 inches of beads that she liked and was loath to part with any of them. The dad and the bead shop person should get medals for tact and discretion. I bet, even as I type this, that they're still working down there.
And Today's Sweet Story
I forgot to mention this, but I have to stick in in here because it's pretty nifty. Little Alex* called Sarah Monday night at 11:30, which alarmed everyone, but it turns out, her boyfriend, Mitchell, had proposed. The WAY he proposed was just the coolest:
He and Alex met because both of them work for the Newport News Pilots baseball team in the summers. They're both huge baseball fans (don't talk nasty about the Yankees to Alex), and both have sports management degrees that they're actually using in baseball. Alex will move to Richmond this fall to work for the Diamondbacks. Anyway, on Monday night, the Pilots had a little ceremony during the 7th inning stretch, to honor Alex and Mitchell and all their hard work for the past three years. They had them come out to the pitcher's mound, and the manager made a little speech about them and said he'd made a slide show of their tenure with the team.
The slide show was one slide, and it was "Will You Marry Me?" on a poster. Alex gasped and turned around to find Mitchell on his knees, holding a baseball he had cut in half, with an engagement ring nestled inside. The whole team applauded, then made an arch of baseball bats for them to walk under back to the stands. How sweet is that?
*Little Alex was Sarah and Suz's suitemate their sophomore year, then housemate for the last two years. She's "Little Alex," because Jeff's housemate is "Big Alex." He's not all that big, but Little Alex is five feet tall, and that's with heels on.
He and Alex met because both of them work for the Newport News Pilots baseball team in the summers. They're both huge baseball fans (don't talk nasty about the Yankees to Alex), and both have sports management degrees that they're actually using in baseball. Alex will move to Richmond this fall to work for the Diamondbacks. Anyway, on Monday night, the Pilots had a little ceremony during the 7th inning stretch, to honor Alex and Mitchell and all their hard work for the past three years. They had them come out to the pitcher's mound, and the manager made a little speech about them and said he'd made a slide show of their tenure with the team.
The slide show was one slide, and it was "Will You Marry Me?" on a poster. Alex gasped and turned around to find Mitchell on his knees, holding a baseball he had cut in half, with an engagement ring nestled inside. The whole team applauded, then made an arch of baseball bats for them to walk under back to the stands. How sweet is that?
*Little Alex was Sarah and Suz's suitemate their sophomore year, then housemate for the last two years. She's "Little Alex," because Jeff's housemate is "Big Alex." He's not all that big, but Little Alex is five feet tall, and that's with heels on.
Like Oil on Troubled Waters -- Or On a Housefire
Sarah took this yesterday, before the flies ran us off the surfing beach. Sandpipers and plovers, doing what they do.We're having a better day, I think, but the central issue is problems between Suzanne and Trey, and there aren't enough people here to diffuse the tension. Sigh. Chip and Hank have gone up to Pea Island for a while. Sarah, Suz, and Trey are on the local beach. I'm getting ready to run some errands. People have to dree their own weirds sometimes, even if it's not comfortable or convienient for everybody else.
Last night, after a "family discussion" that helped clear the air some, we had our annual shrimp boil. Sarah went to the fishmarket for the shrimp, and got steamed herself, because the guy in front of her in line pretty much bought a dozen of everything. She had to wait while the fishmonger bagged up shrimp, scallops, crab, softshell crab, clams, and tuna steaks for one person, who insisted on inspecting everything. When her turn came, she bought a couple pounds of shrimp, had them bagged up, and was out of there in jig time.
Which is why she didn't notice that one of the shrimp still had its head on. I didn't notice this either, insofar as I just opened the bag and dropped all of them into boiling beer and Old Bay. Sarah found the shrimp with a head as we were eating dinner, and she proceeded to terrorize Suz with it. At one point, she was making it talk, waggling its antennae like a puppet. Then she ate it. Afterward, Chip had to stop her from digging the shrimp head out of the bucket of peels and putting it in Suz's toothbrush cup, antennae and eyeballs peering out. I admit, it would have been funny, but we have to draw the line somewhere.
While Trey and I watched Mythbusters -- and, to be honest, several other things -- Chip, Hank, Sarah and Suzanne played Surfopoly. I went to bed after eleven and they were still at it. Hank said this morning that he finally won because everyone else gave up and went to bed. That's why I hate Monopoly and all of its spinoffs. Rumor has it that someone finished a game once, but no proof exists, since everybody involved died of boredom. Kathy and I used to play with our cousins, Will and Rob, and those games only lasted until somebody clobbered somebody else and our parents separated us. The only thing that makes it bearable in even a small measure is watching Suzanne find inventive ways to cheat. (Last night, she was sneaking property out of the "unsold" pile when no one was looking. Sarah caught her and made her turn in property she actually owned, which created a little lesson in justice and risk.)
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Controversy III
Wednesday is always the day for irritations and small frictions to show. We have been a bit cranky today, for a variety of reasons. Chip stayed home instead of going to the beach with the rest of us, and Hank was blasting his way through a book, mostly to get something unpleasant over with ASAP. The flies were biting like crazy, and Trey came back to the house early. The only way I could tough it out was by sitting in the surf, raising my book over my head when big waves came.
Sarah and Suzanne, though, played in the ocean the entire day. They stayed after the rest of us gave it up, only coming in when they were completely exhausted. Now we're all mellow and baked, in better humors, debating cooking shrimp or going out again. A little Tylenol helps, too.
Here's the third controversial thing: what made the beach bearable today was that we moved off of the surfing beach, which is up inside Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge, and down to the beach near the houses. It was more crowded down there, but had the advantage of fewer flies. The reason for the fewer flies is that Rodanthe/Waves/Salvo send trucks around every night with mosquito and fly mist. They do this from May to September, because if they didn't, the mosquitoes would carry everyone off, and the flies would eat the bits the mosquitoes didn't.
Normally, I hate things like this. I have always objected to the use of chemicals and the total-kill approach, on the grounds that we don't know what we're doing to the ecosystem or ourselves with all these poisons. BUT biting flies are a scourge on the earth, and I would cheerfully spray them with DDT, I think, if it would kill them all off. They're practically unkillable by normal means -- I knocked one senseless, crushed it with my fingers, and then buried it in the sand, only to see it come struggling out into the sunlight a couple of minutes later. Bring on the bug spray!
Sarah and Suzanne, though, played in the ocean the entire day. They stayed after the rest of us gave it up, only coming in when they were completely exhausted. Now we're all mellow and baked, in better humors, debating cooking shrimp or going out again. A little Tylenol helps, too.
Here's the third controversial thing: what made the beach bearable today was that we moved off of the surfing beach, which is up inside Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge, and down to the beach near the houses. It was more crowded down there, but had the advantage of fewer flies. The reason for the fewer flies is that Rodanthe/Waves/Salvo send trucks around every night with mosquito and fly mist. They do this from May to September, because if they didn't, the mosquitoes would carry everyone off, and the flies would eat the bits the mosquitoes didn't.
Normally, I hate things like this. I have always objected to the use of chemicals and the total-kill approach, on the grounds that we don't know what we're doing to the ecosystem or ourselves with all these poisons. BUT biting flies are a scourge on the earth, and I would cheerfully spray them with DDT, I think, if it would kill them all off. They're practically unkillable by normal means -- I knocked one senseless, crushed it with my fingers, and then buried it in the sand, only to see it come struggling out into the sunlight a couple of minutes later. Bring on the bug spray!
Controversy II
The thing we really love about the Outer Banks is their remoteness. They still have a wild element that t-shirt shops and Hooters franchises have not invaded. We come to the beach for the beach, not for country music shows, miniature golf, or outlet malls, something that has mystified Trey, who may possibly be going a little nuts with the lack of extraneous amusements. When Duck became impossible to get to and Nags Head got a Dirty Dick's, we moved south.
So, while Rodanthe has a go-cart track, it doesn't have much else, and that's what we love about it. We can drive two miles north and hike a quarter-mile over the dunes to the beach and not see another human all day. We realize this isn't everyone's cup of tea.
The second ballot in our packet was a much more urgent one about closing beach access to vehicles. One of the things people can still do here, if they have four-wheel-drive and nerves of steel, is drive on the beach. The feds, however, have really restricted access in 2008, because of the turtle nesting areas, which have expanded, and the birds. Limiting the number of areas in which people can drive has the locals screaming, particularly since the feds are threatening to close the Hatteras beaches to ALL vehicular access.
We are the wrong people to ask about driving rights, because we have never driven on the beach. Towing is expensive, and we don't know what we're doing. The latter will, in 90 percent of the cases, lead to the former. Fishermen, though, like to drive up to their spot. Carrying water and a chair across the dunes is not a problem. Carrying four ocean-worthy fishing poles, a cooler, chairs, and a tackle box, takes a lot more effort. So we see their point.
But the turtles and the birds matter to us more than people lumbering along the tide line in Ford Expeditions. Besides, the Oregon Inlet fishing area will stay open, as will the one south of Buxton. The survey asked if we'd still come to the beach if we couldn't drive on it, and I think about the turtle nests and the sweet little plovers, whose speckled eggs lie in the sand itself. Heck yeah, we'd still come.
So, while Rodanthe has a go-cart track, it doesn't have much else, and that's what we love about it. We can drive two miles north and hike a quarter-mile over the dunes to the beach and not see another human all day. We realize this isn't everyone's cup of tea.
The second ballot in our packet was a much more urgent one about closing beach access to vehicles. One of the things people can still do here, if they have four-wheel-drive and nerves of steel, is drive on the beach. The feds, however, have really restricted access in 2008, because of the turtle nesting areas, which have expanded, and the birds. Limiting the number of areas in which people can drive has the locals screaming, particularly since the feds are threatening to close the Hatteras beaches to ALL vehicular access.
We are the wrong people to ask about driving rights, because we have never driven on the beach. Towing is expensive, and we don't know what we're doing. The latter will, in 90 percent of the cases, lead to the former. Fishermen, though, like to drive up to their spot. Carrying water and a chair across the dunes is not a problem. Carrying four ocean-worthy fishing poles, a cooler, chairs, and a tackle box, takes a lot more effort. So we see their point.
But the turtles and the birds matter to us more than people lumbering along the tide line in Ford Expeditions. Besides, the Oregon Inlet fishing area will stay open, as will the one south of Buxton. The survey asked if we'd still come to the beach if we couldn't drive on it, and I think about the turtle nests and the sweet little plovers, whose speckled eggs lie in the sand itself. Heck yeah, we'd still come.
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