I almost, nearly but not quite, marched the 248 steps (the equivalent of 12 stories) up Cape Hatteras Lighthouse today. In the end, the threat of humanity packed inside a dim and sticky-hot capsule of concrete and steel canceled out any real considerations. Sir Curt and the boys (not to be confused with the pop band that must surely go by that very hip name) did it in my stead. Here's what they saw.
Somebody who didn't die of humanityclaustrophobia on the way up the stairs took this photo of my boys. I chose the one that makes them all look their best most dashing selves. Curt says he looks like Tony Soprano. I'm sorta seein' it. I could be a mob wife if I put my mind to it. hehehe
This is the reason I wouldn't venture on this venture. Excepting if they'd allow only me to do it. No others. Just me. Just my breath. Just my body. Just my space. No others may intrude within this tunnel of light.

It's a very famous tunnel of light, as it goes. Did you know that in the 1930s the lighthouse turned off its glow? The beach was eroding so quickly that they thought the entire structure was ready to topple into the sea, so they built an ugly steel structure that resembles an electric power line tower and propped a light atop that. Then, lo and behold, by the 1950s, the beach had restored itself and the famous Cape Hatteras Lighthouse was useful again! So it was relit, but -- DRAT -- the famous Fresno lenses had suffered a pillage of souvenir hunters' 20-year reign. You see, the lighthouse was actually not locked up while on the dark side. Not locked up! Can you believe that?! They did not lock the door - literally, the Park Ranger told me. There must be pieces of the 1930s lighthouse all over the country.
Sir Curt snapped this shot today on his ascent. We neither of us know if this is the old latitude/longitude or the new one. No matter. They moved the dang thing 2900 feet in 1999 to get it away from the encroaching seas. Fascinating piece of history this tower is. I know. I paid $21.00 for the DVD recounting its tale. I should watch this every day for the rest of summer to commit it to memory.

Casa de OBX

This is a mishmash of stuff in no order other than how Blogger uploaded my photos.

Today was our first rainy day at Hatteras Island in three years of vacationing here. It started last night with a little lightning storm followed by a downpour, then tapered off to sporadic sprinkles this morning and afternoon. The overcast skies held the temp down to around 80 which was refreshing after the 106 we endured on the way down here Saturday.


Here is Sir Richert feeling all high and mighty as he psyches himself into grilling fresh tuna. As it turns out, he did it perfectly - seared on the outside, meaty and rare on the in. And thanks to Vicki at Harbor House Seafood for the best seafood every single night we are here. We never eat out when we're on vacation because Vicki's seafood is fresh from her husband and son's morning catch, and she tells us how to fix it. We'd rather pay her for the food and advice than a restaurant for overpriced service. (Even a dingdang corndog costs 6 bucks on this island! But gas is cheaper than in Connecticut. Go figure.)

Sir Richert has mastered steamed shrimp, and he knows how to make tuna salad with fresh basil the Harbor House Seafood way. Plus also, he's pretty good at heating up Vicki's hushpuppies.



We decided to spend the rainy afternoon shopping for souvenirs. This year I got it D-O-W-N. One stop at Life Is Good, which yielded a big fat ZERO. (Thanks, Dave Ramsey, for making me feel like $35 for pajama bottoms is excessive.) I opted for a few sparkly starfish since I never seem to stumble on those at the beach. The boys chose kites.



Camden's required a bit of surgery shortly after crashing.



They did battle it out for a bit and only got tangled once. I saved the day by untangling them because that's my forte.



This morning we headed out to the point for shells. Low tide was at 10, so we figured it might be a good time to find some. And we did. I was choosy, though, and didn't bring home all I found. These were my picks.



Benjy and Daddy flying their kites. Yes, all three of my boys have kites.



Rushing home for dinner. These boys aren't running for tuna, though. They're running for corndogs and chicken nuggets - freezer-to-oven-to-table. Nothing but the best for our offspring.



Benjy found a pet crab today. He played with him, talked to him, danced with him I think.



I'm thinking I need sea oats at my house.



I could use an ocean, too.

Fresh tomatoes from the produce stand down on Highway 12 are yummy on fried baloney sandwhiches (with white bread, of course).



Camden convinced me to follow him out about 30 feet into the ocean to the sandbar. Once there, I could easily stand and wait for the waves to take me away. I could not find any shells out here, though.



Fiona all dressed up for the beach ~ yes, my husband has named his truck.



Waters were crystal clear today ~ we could see baby fish every now and again!



Back "home" on the deck, sitting a spell while finishing Scarlett. If I had to sum up this book, the sequel to Gone With The Wind, I'd say Scarlett grows up.

We endured this...

to get to this.

We traveled for 8 hours yesterday from the Land of High Taxes to the grand Commonwealth of Virginia, stopping in a little town that claims to be near the Mason Dixon Line. The sign also said it was the beginning of The South. Having lived among the Blues for nearly 2 years and the Grays for most of 40, I'll buy that.

Let me tell you about our experience in the Hampton Inn last night. We've never spent a sleepless night in a Hampton Inn, being all ga-ga over their bedding, their bathroom vanities, the free breakfast and travel points Curt earns. But last night, we were sleepless. I was downright mad as a hornet. I swear, a circus of acrobats was staying on the floor above us. The stomp stomp stomping went on for half the night. I read read read for part of that half and tried to sleep sleep sleep for the other. When I finally did drift off, I had mad dreams thanks to Scarlett and her adventures in Ireland. She was pregnant last night, then (spoiler alert) she had a baby girl. I found myself thinking I was preggars. Um, no. Ach. So, by the time I woke this morning at 7:30, I was still exhausted, what with having childbirth by knife and all.

Thank goodness Scarlett has recovered from that experience.

So, we hit the road today, heading through the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnels, and got stuck in traffic for a good 90 minutes at least. By the time we arrived at OBX, we were ready to eat our elbows. Last year we came here over Roanoke Island and didn't sit for even a minute. You can bet what Rhett's - um, Curt's - looking for on Google Maps tonight.

At any rate, we arrived. We. ARRIVED.

And check this out - some wild people dug a huge hole in the sand today. They took the treasure, apparently, but the boys didn't notice. They took turns diving into the hole and climbing out, all Army style. They're so awesome.

But mostly, they body surfed. Camden was just so amazing, the way he took care of Benjy, keeping him nearby, playing with him, actually having a blast with his sometimes-pesty younger brother.



Fearless is what they are. That makes me nervous. But I'm glad they're living. LIVING, not sitting and watching the life. That's for me. Well, I live in my books, but I do enjoy watching life. Life is good like that.

Pidjun wants to to go to beach, meet seagull girls, flock together.

Complete randomness today, which is fitting seeing as how my blog here is called {at random}.

First, I am wide awake here at 6:44 a.m. Have been since around 4:00. But I didn't give in and rise till 6. I might be up, but you can't make me shine.

We leave for Hatteras Island tomorrow. At 6:00. In the morning. You wait, I'll be a zombie tomorrow. Why can't we be leaving today when I'm UP already??? I have a boat load of stuff to do before we leave: pack, clean carpets upstairs (thank you Emmalemmalimabean), make the bed in the guest room for Curt's ma and pa who are house and dog and kitty sitting for us, make the guest room pretty and bed and breakfasty, get my hairs cut (all of them, not just one), give two entrance tests at school, go to our home fellowship group tonight, and I know I'm forgetting something. Oh yeah, I must work in a nap.

And do laundry.



Here's my tribute to Hatteras Island - the PERFECT conch shell I found last year on The Point.

Pidjun's tummy empty. Pidjun needs cookies.

Did you hear the great news?
Mo Willems newest Pigeon book comes out in the spring!!!

But before I tackle all those aforementioned things (or fall asleep), I need to tell you about something. Shoes. Mrs. Tabb over at First Grade Awesomeness, and it is packed with awesomeness, has written another of her fabulous units for primary youngins. This one is about SHOES!


Now, I confess, I'm not a shoe freak. I put on my flip flops and I'm set. I shop on the clearance rack and get lucky sometimes. Shoes are something I have to endure, except in karate, where my toes are free to curl and stretch at will. But, I digress.

Shoes ARE the bomb to KIDS! Especially in my school where we wear uniforms and although we have shoe rules, we can take a few liberties there, and kids do. So, this unit is gonna knock their socks off! Best of all, Mrs. Tabb is giving away the unit to folks who blog about it! Ohhh, I want this unit! I want my kids to come in and point to their feet and twinkle their eyes and flash those toothy-gapped smiles. I want to celebrate our shoes!!!

Pidjun needs a new pair of shews.

You should have seen this thing when I picked it up for 2 bucks last week. It literally was an ugly duckling. Did I take a before pic? No. It was that ugly.

It's official. Curt and I are brand spankin' new white belts at the karate school where Camden and Benjy have been working out. We go from the top down, we like to say. Curt's white. Camden's white. I'm white. And we even dance white. Benjy's yellow. He outranks us, and he's not the least bit humble about it.



Here we are with our favorite taekwondo teachers, the Dresklers. We miss their American Taekwondo Association, their easy-going-ness, their ma'ams and sirs and Bob and weapons. We miss that their ATA was in the same town as Chick Fil A, and that if we wanted, we could slur it all together to say Chick Fil A T A.




Camden became a black belt the very week we moved to Connecticut, where there is no Chick Fil A T A.

That was a special night when Black Belt Curt (dang, I wish his name was Bart) got to hug his own son, Black Belt Camden.




Benjy became a camo belt that week. His own brother congratulated him.



I became a red belt, one dingdang belt to go to black. It's an entire year from red to black, but it's quicker than going from white to red, which I had just done.

So we've started from scratch with a new martial art. The Dresklers aren't there, and we do miss them. I wonder if martial arts are like boy friends. The first one and all that.... We don't kick as much in karate, but we do kick. We punch a mean streak, though, and we still yell and carry on. We do push-ups. Well, they do push-ups. I do wimp-ups. And, one day, when we're not so brand new, we'll spar. And that's when I'm gonna pull this out of my arsenal and knock them all on their Yankee bottoms.

This is one of my favorite pictures snapped of our last trip to Hatteras Island. It's what I think of every time I picture myself back there. Time seems to stop for 7 days every summer on the Outer Banks, and we're blessed to spend those 168 hours. Yes, we're blessed.

So, we'll be there a week from today in our rented home for the week, traipsing back and forth from our door to the beach whenever we want. In the daylight. Last year Curt and I took a stroll at dusk, and found ourselves walking the Atlantic in the dark, completely unsure of which steps over the dunes were ours. Oh, exhilarating, yes, but slightly unnerving, too. They don't put streetlights on the beach, ya know. On account of the turtles and all. I love turtles.



Camden wiped out so many times riding the waves last year that he would up with swimmer's ear and a trip to the island doc. Sounds like a voodoo kinda thing, but they did take our insurance and extract a nasty bit of wax from his ear canal before loading it with antibiotic drops. He had to spend a majority of the week out of the water. It killed me as much as him, I do believe.

Don't you just love our set-up here? This is what we do when we don't traipse to the beach near the house. This is four-wheelin' it, people. We load up the truck, drive to the Point, and make our shelter like everybody else there. We've perfected our beach layout over the years since Jack and Lois introduced us to this amazing paradise. Cheers to Jack and Lois.


So, in a week, we get to pass this marvel of architecture every time we hit the Highway 12. We look for this, that's how lame we are being Connecticutians and all. It's actually one of a very few Futuro houses left in the US. Yes, we're proud to have passed it on Highway 12.


I sure do hope Camden can splash in the surf this year. Ride the waves. Dive for conch shells. Did you know that a couple of years ago, the conch shells were there for the taking? I could feel them with my feet in the 4-5-foot ocean, then Camden would dive to retrieve. He's always been a good retriever.

Which reminds me, if we ever get another Lab mutt dog, we're gonna name it OB. Short for Outer Banks. Jack and Lois always loved our Lab, Ellie.



RIP Ellie, Eleanor of the Sea.

Not only did Camden and I get our eyes dilated to the size of Jupiter's moons, but he also got glasses today! They're a gorgeous blue wire that matches his amazing, piercing eyes. Here he is with his pupils fixed and not dilated. Isn't he just the handsomest thing? Well, of course, I'm not talking about the hair. The hair is hopeless. But I still love him.



It's been such a lovely day here, almost fall-like with low humidity (and still, that hair???). I almost went to school this morning to give an entrance test to a new first grader, but she was a no-show. The boys were delighted. Truthfully, it was nice to stay home.



So, we were driving back from the eye doctor, all wide-eyed and dilated, when the sun visor fell off my van! Just fell plumb into my lap, I tell you! Shocking! Of course it happened on this drive when my pupils allowed the maximum UV rays into my eyeballs and my dingdang sunglasses weren't shady enough. I made it home, said a prayer, and disappeared into my darkened room to recover. Naturally, I fell asleep. I had dreams. Dreams of Jupiter.

We're in the midst of a home fellowship with some other folks from our church (called "small groups" in some circles) on Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. We're learning how to "live like no one else so that later we can live like no one else." And basically, it's working. (Yeah, we did this when we lived near Pittsburgh at our church there, and we loved it then. Curt is leading this group now, so we like to think we're graduates. Our budget says otherwise.)

The idea is to budget, drop debt, save, and then be able to spend and give. This is great on paper. It works beautifully. A little harder when Target is your nearest neighbor. Nevertheless, we're pressing on. One thing I've learned is that if I spend cash only, I spend less. Significantly less. It hurts to pay with cash. I didn't realize how much I loved my little green friends, horded them in my wallet, all organized smallest to largest which isn't very large and front-to-back the way greenbacks should be. I don't want to part with these guys. And did you ever notice how they're all guys?



So, we're on budget lockdown here at Casa de Emmalemmalimabean.

obligatory picture of Emmalemmalimebean

Which means I am very choosey about what I can buy for my 2nd grade classroom.

Drat.

I love to buy stuff for my 2nd grade classroom. I really can only afford the 1-cent deals from Staples, but I have to pay $3.94 a gallon for gas to drive to the nearest store to get them, so they're not really such a big deal now, huh?

$3.94 - $.01

Not even extreme couponing can touch this. Of course, however, I have to drive to the same town where Staples is located to pick up Camden's glasses - yes, he's blind as a bat like the rest of us here at Casa de Emma-who-has-cataracts-lemmalimabean - tomorrow. So perhaps the cost differential isn't so bad. You didn't know I knew such terms, huh?



Finally, because this book was a freebie, borrowed from a friend who has a house at a beach, a real live beach that is here in tax-rich Connecticut, complete with sunshiney rocky shores and a splendid view of a nuclear power plant off-shore, I am convinced I am a Southern Lady and I must practice my Southern charms. So I deferred to this sequel to Margaret Mitchell's original GWTW. I am deep into it. I am breathing the South. I am living the life, hearing the words, feeling the humidity, seeing the Spanish moss drape over trees that have never known such beauty. I am wishing Rhett and Scarlett would just give up their stubbornness and be happy already!

I am not ready to fight the Civil War again, however. Scarlett herself is tired of the war. I am, too. Having grown up with a Rebel flag in the back seat of a good portion of my high school senior class, not that I was in the back seat of said portion, I can see that the South as it was will never be again. I for one will not miss hoop skirts and chaperones to Target. I, however, could use a carriage to take me to the bank so that I can exchange my gold for cash to buy something nice for myself.