Ahhhh, Earl.  Your name rolls off the tip of my tongue like a salt and vinegar cricket.  You are something I really don’t want but apparently just might taste.

Here in Hampton Roads we are watching Hurricane Earl with great interest.  Will it hit us?  Will it not?  And even worse… THE BEACH HOUSE.  My mother’s house in the Outer Banks.  The one with picnic tables, benches and chairs simply waiting to become flying missiles careening towards the glass windows and doors of the living room and kitchen.

Should my mother go down and secure things?  I have to work so I can’t go down with her.  How would she move the heavy furniture?  These are the things we’ve been talking about today.

So far the storm is predicted to remain offshore, bringing us only strong winds, riptides and some potential flooding.  But the Outer Banks might get more of a direct hit.  Tomorrow I’m filling up my gas tank and getting much needed pet food.  All the prescriptions are filled and there is a sufficient amount of food in the house.  I haven’t gone the “bottled water route” yet, but time and the weather just may change that.

In 2003 we weathered Hurricane Isabel with gusts up to 83 mph.  One gust was strong enough to push me into my mother’s porch window, breaking it with my back.  If this storm stays 100 to 150 miles out to sea, we should be perfectly fine.  Isabel nicked from 25 miles away, which is significantly closer than the predicted path.

So stay tuned, my friends.  In a few days you may see pictures of a washed out Outer Banks.  I pray this won’t happen.  You may not hear from me simply because the power is down due to moderate winds.    If that is the case, you can find me on Twitter!  Or everything might be perfectly wonderful, with my house and the beach house completely intact.  Let’s go for the latter, shall we?

Update September 1 a.m.: As of this morning, better news!  However, my mother’s Outer Banks house will get some good winds. Cross your fingers that this is the correct forecast and that Earl will stay out to sea!  The kids will NOT be happy with this prediction, considering it means school is in session!

What I’m impressed with the most other than his giant Hobbit-looking foot is the super cool bruise that began to develop just a few days ago.

We have watched it spread from his toes to his ankle, marveling at the absolute straightness of the whole thing.  You can actually see where his foot turned completely sideways!

I’m happy to say he is going to live, but I think becoming a member of the Riverdance crew is out of the question.  Unless they like Hobbits.

I sat and stared at them.  I flipped over the box and read the back:

Drumstick?  Flank?  Wings?  Would I ever?  Could I ever?

This summer has been my Summer of Daring.  Swimming with jellyfish, paddling with biting crab larvae and going down the speed slide at 44.  So why not eat a cricket?

I bundled up two and carefully brought them home.

Anthony Bourdain eats bugs.  Andrew Zimmern eats bugs.  I knew my oldest son would eat bugs.  But could I actually eat bugs?  Could I take a cricket, put it in my mouth and CHEW?

Watch and see.

Eating crickets might not be the most impressive thing one can do.  But that wasn’t the point.  The point is that I challenged myself to do something completely out of my comfort zone.  I took a normal, boring day and turned it in to a challenge.  A challenge that I rose to, met and exceeded.  Yes, it was only a cricket.  But to me, it was a mountain.  A mountain that proved to have an amazing view from the peak.

The drive last night to Corolla was a long one.  My tire light came on, dinner took 45 minutes and I had to stop and get gas.  But at 10:00 we were finally pulling in to the driveway of the beach house.

With our usual excitement, we opened the doors and took in the distinct smell of the salty ocean air. My 17 year old carried the cooler upstairs while I opened the back of the car.  Within two minutes of our arrival, my daughter and her friend raced to me yelling, “David broke his ankle!  Come quick!”

I looked around the car and saw my son on the ground.  That kid is tough.  Silent with a bit of sarcastic laughter.  I could tell it was bad.

Think back to your childhood.  Remember grabbing the rails of the stairway and flipping your body up and over about 6 sets of stairs?  David has always done this successfully.  Until last night.  When he failed.

I couldn’t get him up and he certainly couldn’t walk.  There is always that moment before you call 911 when you say to yourself, “Do I really need to do that?  Is it necessary?”  I deemed it necessary because it was either that or make the poor kid sleep in the sand writhing in pain.  I would call that a no brainer.

Fifteen minutes later the amazing Currituck Rescue Squad arrives, including a man that could have been a rival for Hulk Hogan.  My GREAT thanks to this amazing EMS team.  THANK YOU!

I have to tell on myself here.  He began to ask David questions and for the first three I answered for my son.  I know I know, but my kid was hurt and I had to call 911 for heaven’s sake!  I finally “got it” and let David answer so they could keep his mind off the pain and gage his physical and mental state.  Nobody’s perfect!

They splinted his foot and helped me get him in the back seat, elevating his leg on a lowered seat in front.  Just down by Mile Post 14, they said.  The emergency room.  Do you know where it is?

I had already been driving for two hours.  I had been up since 5 a.m. and had worked a full day.  But off we went.  Every turn, every bump I heard quiet mumbles through gritted teeth.  David did that too!  But we finally arrived near midnight.  I got him a wheelchair and the process began.

One hundred and fifty dollars later, we pulled in once again to the beach house driveway.  Only this time we unpacked with an air splint, crutches and Percocet.  And a whole lot of swollen foot.

My son had dislocated his ankle, tearing a ligament to top it all off.   The ER staff explained this is often more painful than a broken bone in the ankle.  On Monday, the poor kid will be hobbling along the corridors with his crutches on his first day of school.  And this weekend?  He didn’t even get to try out his new birthday flippers for body boarding.  Dang.

Today I have a new one.  I was walking through my backyard and came across this, well, thing.   I picked it up and was stunned at the skull looking back at me.  What the heck WAS this object?  It was round, chalky looking and in my mind, had a skull happily nested into the bottom.

Why is there a skull THING in my backyard?!  And where did it COME FROM!  Could it be a seed sprung forth from the death tree?  Or perhaps an old pirate coin handcrafted out of ground bone and sea water?

And then, being the smart cookie that I am (cough cough), I figured it out.

My half broken swing set, compliments of a fierce Nor’ Easter and a very large tree, is still somewhat standing.  Look carefully and you will see just where “Mr. Skull Head Pirate Money” goes.

Here is a Skull Head Thingy in the place it belongs:

Here is where my Skull Head Thingy obviously flew out from.  Just how long will it take before the whole swing set collapses with someone on it?  (If it’s a “you should know better than to swing on that broken thing” teenager, I hope I get a video of THAT!):

Funny how the thing sticking out looks like a pirate canon.

Now, on a side-note… if you want to see a picture of me in a bathing suit AND enter to win $100, visit Agoosa NOW!

So, the skull circle thingy.  What do YOU see in it?!

In celebration of my oldest son’s birthday, we went to Ocean Breeze Water Park for a fun day of water slides and stairs.  Up the stairs, down the slide.  Up the stairs, down the slide.  My nine year old was tied to my hip.  Do you know just how many times a nine year old can fly up a hill of stairs?  Proudly, I matched her every step.

My middle son was true to form, messing with anyone’s mind he could mess with.  Today he went to the Dip ‘N Dots counter and said, “Can I have some nachos, please?”  “We don’t have any nachos.  We just sell icecream.”  “Oh!  OK then give me the chips.”  “But we just have ice cream….”  My son put his head on the counter and feigned a weepy cry.  Then he walked away.

Later I looked across the park to see him practically cornering the ape mascot.  He had passed the ape an inner tube and was motioning for him to go on a slide with him.  The ape shook his head “no” and shrugged.  My son then pointed to the picture of this same ape going down a water slide.  Again, the ape shrugged.  The poor person inside that suit.  You just can’t win with my middle kid.  I find great joy in his absolute uniqueness.

Now for my big story.  I did it.  I DID IT!  On a whim I said to my son, “Take me on the speed slide!”  “OK LET’S GO!”  Up I climbed to the two very high speed slides.  Instructions soon came.  “Put your hands behind your head.  Keep on your back and cross your legs.”  Oh jeez.  I was about to go down a water slide that required safety instructions.

Before I could back out I threw myself at the tube, watched my son let go on the other side and then I let her rip.  My daughter said I screamed.  Maybe I blacked out during that part.  All I remember is the feeling of fear, free falling and then more fear that somehow I would not stop.

But I stopped.  I got up, looked back up the slide and grinned.  Grinned BIG.  After all, I was the only female over 24 that went down that slide today.  And I was CERTAINLY the only 44 year old mother of three that went down the slide in at least the last week.  I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT!  I even have marks on my back to prove it.  They obviously didn’t worry about smoothness when they attached the pieces together.

I found a video on Youtube of the slide:

So what does this have to do with something biting me?    At the water park?   You won’t guess it in a million years.  We walked to the car still in our bathing suits.  Got in.  Put it in drive.  Scratch.  Hmmm.  Scratch scratch.  Uhhhh….  Then my son scratches.  Scratch.  Mom?  But I was too busy to answer.  I had something biting me like crazy somewhere somewhat private.

OK, OK.  It was my bikini line.  Both legs.  And I started to form red bumps and welts.  As did my son.  Not on HIS bikini line.  On his ankles.  By then I was ready to cut my legs off.  The burn.  The sting.  The unbelievably long drive home.  I raced into the shower and literally dragged a razor across the fiery skin.  After all, maybe I COULD cut off my legs.

CHIGGERS.

Who else would park their car in a patch of chiggers but ME.

And who else would step in them and carry them in to the car but ME.

Fortunately my son was spared the worse.  But me?  I quickly began to search the internet for C-H-I-G-G-E-R-S.  The overwhelming home cure?  Listerine.  But I didn’t have Listerine.  I had Scope.  So I poured Scope all over my bikini line.  A small bit strayed.  We will not be talking about that.  But we CAN talk about how my bikini line became immediately fresh and minty.

Scope, Benadryl Spray, Cortisone Cream and Calamine Lotion later, I am not digging in to my skin with a knife.  And about 15 minutes ago I took a Benadryl and swallowed it with… well, a bit of Cosmo.

Tonight I will dream.  I will dream of my son dancing with an ape around a dish of nachos.  I will dream about climbing endless stairs.  I will dream about flying down the speed slide into a pool of chiggers.  And I will smile.  Because no other 44 year old woman slid down that slide today.  Especially in to a pool of chiggers.

Finish that sentence.  If you know me and you know my luck, I would assume your answer is POOP.  And you are correct.  But the story has a twist…

For the last two months, no matter what tennies I have on, my feet seem to be an irresistable magnet to poop.  Of course there is plenty of that in my own back yard.  But my feet often drift to the outside.  To the untouched.  To the Poop of Unknown Origin.

The first I remember was in my neighbor’s yard.  He has two dogs, so it was a no brainer that my feet would magically gravitate to the closest pile available.  The one in the high grass that was obviously waiting in stealth mode for me to casually walk by.

It called to my shoes.  It taunted them.  It cast a spell on them until they could do no less than stomp right in the middle of the waiting bounty.  “Oh MANNNNN!”

I made my way back doing the Poop Shoe Twist.  You know the one.  Take a step in the grass and twist.  Another step and twist.  Forget what the neighbors think.  Just hold your head high and step twist step twist.  “Why yes, I DO have dog poop on my shoe.  How could you tell?”

That pair went on my front steps, waiting to dry for easy removal.

Then came the second pair.  Just a week later I was pulling out of my driveway on my way to work.  Oops!  Forgot something!  I left the van on the side of the street, just in front of my neighbor’s house.  I got my lunch and flew back to the car.  Slam the door, put it in drive and… sniff?  Sniffff?  “OH NOOOOOOO!”

Yes, my shoes once again fell victim to some Poop of Unknown Origin.  I apparently stepped in a pile, flew into the car and put my foot on the brake as I manipulated the car into drive.  It was on my shoe, on the floor board, the carpet and… did you know that brake pedals have deep DEEP ridges in them?

A second pair of shoes was placed on the front steps.

And finally, pair number three.  My brand new stinking expensive Sketchers Shape Ups.  I never EVER buy anything for myself.  EVER.  But I had been pricing these babies out for months and months.  I received a significant check for writing and decided that I deserved a pair for my daily power walks. They would help my heel spurs and my posture.  AND I had found them for $50 off!

So there I am, walking my poor arthritic dog.  My dog who can’t squat to do her business anymore.  I had my new Sketchers on.  I actually thought to myself, “Ha ha!  I am so smart!  I am walking on the sidewalk instead of the grass so I won’t mess up my new Sketchers!”

That was when my dog chose to go potty.  BIG potty.  It dropped and I stepped.  The other dropped and the other shoe stepped.  Why would I expect anything less.

Three pairs of shoes were then taking refuge on my front steps.

Yesterday was the final straw.  Just before leaving for work I sat by my dog and gave her a morning batch of arthritis pills.  Rather than shove them down her throat, I hide them in everything from peanut butter to square cheese or deli meat.

That morning I had chosen individually wrapped square cheese.  She rejected it.  I forgot about it and used something else.  When I subsequently walked to the front door I realized my steps seemed a bit, well, cheesy.

There is no more room on my front steps.

Did I swim THIS weekend in the ocean?  Let’s see.  Crab larvae?  Check.  54 degree water?  Check.  Outer Banks jelly fish?  Check.

But GUESS WHAT.  I went in ANYWAY for a few minutes.  {angels singing!}

Saturday afternoon the jellyfish cleared out to about 10 a wave rather than 100.  The crab larvae were minimal and the water warmed to 60+.  I looked at my mom and said, “I’m goin’ in!”

A few small stings later I came out drenched with sea water paired with a huge grin on my face.  (While I scratched my hind parts to get a stray crab larvae or two.)   The tide immediately changed at that point and the water became rip tide city, so those few minutes were all I got.

We will go out this morning before lunch, so I’m crossing my fingers.  But yesterday I came, I swam, I conquered – if only for a few tiny moments!

Outer Banks Jelly Fish from shootmenowblog on Vimeo.

And guess what else?  I played Corn Hole for the first time.  On the beach.  In my bathing suit.  I didn’t win but I got a Corn in One.  What does that make me?

The hair is standing up on my arms.  Not because I have a German background, either.  Well, partly I guess.  But mostly because I have taken my first GHOSTLY PICTURE.  FOR REAL!

This week I was able to ride shotgun to a distant city that is home to battlefields, historical buildings and plenty of American history.  Our destination?  A building constructed in 1940 by a good old country doctor.

Doc Brown treated everyone from babies to the elderly.  This building found him doing everything from stitching up cuts to birthing babies.  Yes…. laboring mothers often knocked on the back door that led to a special room used specifically for births.  Imagine the history of this old clinic.

The beloved physician retired, closing up a practice he ran as a young man to old.  Today the employees in the downstairs offices say Doc Brown still walks the halls checking on his patients.  In the morning papers have been found crumpled that were previously straight.  Sounds have been heard and images caught in the corner of the eye.

One of the ladies I spoke with told me she occasionally stays late and hears his steps down the hall.  She checks and finds no one, leaving her to call out, “Hi Doc Brown!”

While exploring the bottom floor I walked by a room and stopped short.  I “felt” something.  Just a feeling that called me to it.  I stood in the doorway and stared.  Then I walked in and stood.  I sensed there was “something to that room” but didn’t feel anything negative.

Loving history, old places and fascinating stories, I took a picture with my phone to send to my son.  Looking at the image, I immediately froze.

When I took this picture there was no sun coming through the window.  And after I took the picture there was no sun coming through the window.  The “rays of light” were NOT THERE WHEN I TOOK THE PICTURE, BEFORE I TOOK THE PICTURE OR AFTER I TOOK THE PICTURE.

If these are rays of light that were simply undetectable to me in the room, then why are they radiating from the top of the room to the bottom?  And the chair… look at the chair.  My daughter says there is a man sitting there but I just see another ray of light.  There were no lights on in the room either.  What do you think?!

So much beach and so little swimming.  First it was the ice cold water.  Then the crabs.  And this week?  Jelly Fish.  I am talking watch where you step or you will be zapped kind of jelly fish.

This weekend I played tip toe through the jellies on the beach.  The one time I ventured in to the water I played Dodge the Jelly Fish.  Fortunately I won.  THIS TIME.

I considered catching one and wrestling it to the ground for the sake of the blog.  Considered would be the key word here.

Perhaps there is a contest in this?  Guess when Katherine will actually get to SWIM in the Outer Banks water.  I can see the headlines now.  “Remember, hurricane season is just around the corner!  The wind is blowing from land and the crabs are sneaking peeks at her jiggly parts.  What will keep Katherine from swimming today?!”  The suspense is killing me.  I hope it will last…

And speaking of contest.  Do you hear that money jingling?  Could that potentially be YOUR money?  Then be sure to visit my other blog Agoosa for a contest you do not want to miss!