Bring Me That Horizon

Welcome to jennyweber dot com


One imagination at a time.

Don't shoot the messenger, babe.


We're not big on logic

but there's no shortage of irony.


I can name fingers and point names.

Oh and ...

I flunked charm school.

So what.

Can't write anything.

~ Jennifer ~

Causing considerable consternation
to many fine folk since 1957

Pepper and me ... Seattle 1962



Belay That!

This blog does not contain and its author will not condone profanity, crude language, or verbal abuse. Commenters, you are welcome to speak your mind but do not cuss or I will delete either the word or your entire comment, depending on my mood. Continued use of bad words or inappropriate sentiments will result in the offending individual being banned, after which they'll be obliged to walk the plank. Thankee for your understanding and compliance.

~Jenny the Pirate~

Hoist The Colors

In The Market, As It Were






Columbia Cemetery

To read my articles, click HERE! And don't forget to subscribe.


Contributor to

American Cemetery

published by Kates-Boylston

A Pistol With One Shot

Ecstatically shooting everything in sight using my beloved Nikon D3100 with AF-S DX Nikkor 18-55mm 1:3.5-5.6G VR kit lens and AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.8 G prime lens.

Also capturing outrageous beauty left and right with my Nikon D7000 blissfully married to my Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D AF prime glass. Don't be jeal!

Dying Is A Day Worth Living For

I am a taphophile

Word. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Great things are happening at

Find A Grave

If you don't believe me, click the pics.


Dying is a wild night

and a new road.

Emily Dickinson



When I am gone

Please remember me

 As a heartfelt laugh,

 As a tenderness.

 Hold fast to the image of me

When my soul was on fire,

The light of love shining

Through my eyes.

Remember me when I was singing

And seemed to know my way.

Remember always

When we were together

And time stood still.

Remember most not what I did,

Or who I was;

Oh please remember me

For what I always desired to be:

A smile on the face of God.

David Robert Brooks


 Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.


Keep To The Code








You Want To Find This
The Promise Of Redemption

Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.

But his delight is in the law of the LORD, and in his law doth he meditate day and night.

And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.

The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.

Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.

For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.

Psalm 1

Freedom is a fragile thing and is never more than one generation away from extinction. It is not ours by inheritance; it must be fought for and defended constantly by each generation, for it comes only once to a people. Those who have known freedom and then lost it, have never known it again.

~ Ronald Reagan

Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Not Without My Effects

My Compass Works Fine

The Courage Of Our Hearts




Daft Like Jack

 "I can name fingers and point names ..."

And We'll Sing It All The Time
  • Dream With Me
    Dream With Me
    by Jackie Evancho
  • Danny Wright Healer of Hearts
    Danny Wright Healer of Hearts
    by Danny Wright
  • Dreams
    by Neil Diamond
  • Standing Ovation: The Greatest Songs From The Stage
    Standing Ovation: The Greatest Songs From The Stage
    Syco Music UK
  • A State of Wonder: The Complete Goldberg Variations (1955 & 1981)
    A State of Wonder: The Complete Goldberg Variations (1955 & 1981)
  • Bach - The Complete Brandenburg Concertos / Pearlman, Boston Baroque
    Bach - The Complete Brandenburg Concertos / Pearlman, Boston Baroque
    by Johann Sebastian Bach, Martin Pearlman, Boston Baroque, Christopher Krueger, Marc Schachman, Daniel Stepner, Friedemann Immer
  • Lead With Your Heart
    Lead With Your Heart
    by The Tenors, The Canadian Tenors
  • A Musical Affair (Amazon Exclusive Version)
    A Musical Affair (Amazon Exclusive Version)
    by Il Divo
  • Rachmaninoff plays Rachmaninoff
    Rachmaninoff plays Rachmaninoff
  • Perfect Murder, Perfect Town : The Uncensored Story of the JonBenet Murder and the Grand Jury's Search for the Final Truth
    Perfect Murder, Perfect Town : The Uncensored Story of the JonBenet Murder and the Grand Jury's Search for the Final Truth
    by Lawrence Schiller
  • The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy
    The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy
    by James Trefil, Joseph F. Kett, E. D. Hirsch
  • The Gorgeous Nothings: Emily Dickinson's Envelope Poems
    The Gorgeous Nothings: Emily Dickinson's Envelope Poems
    by Emily Dickinson
  • Till I End My Song: A Gathering of Last Poems
    Till I End My Song: A Gathering of Last Poems
    by Harold Bloom
  • On Writing Well, 30th Anniversary Edition: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction
    On Writing Well, 30th Anniversary Edition: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction
    by William Zinsser
  • Green Hell: How Environmentalists Plan to Control Your Life and What You Can Do to Stop Them
    Green Hell: How Environmentalists Plan to Control Your Life and What You Can Do to Stop Them
    by Steven Milloy
  • The Amateur
    The Amateur
    by Edward Klein
  • The Closer
    The Closer
    by Mariano Rivera
  • Forbidden Grief: The Unspoken Pain of Abortion
    Forbidden Grief: The Unspoken Pain of Abortion
    by Theresa Burke with David C. Reardon
  • Where Are They Buried (Revised and Updated): How Did They Die? Fitting Ends and Final Resting Places of the Famous, Infamous, and Noteworthy
    Where Are They Buried (Revised and Updated): How Did They Die? Fitting Ends and Final Resting Places of the Famous, Infamous, and Noteworthy
    by Tod Benoit
  • Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter's Dictionary
    Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter's Dictionary
    by Frederick Buechner
  • Ameritopia: The Unmaking of America
    Ameritopia: The Unmaking of America
    by Mark R. Levin
  • Righteous Indignation: Excuse Me While I Save the World!
    Righteous Indignation: Excuse Me While I Save the World!
    by Andrew Breitbart
  • 11 Principles of a Reagan Conservative
    11 Principles of a Reagan Conservative
    by Paul Kengor
  • Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training
    Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training
    by Tom Jokinen
  • Talking Heads: The Vent Haven Portraits
    Talking Heads: The Vent Haven Portraits
    by Matthew Rolston
  • Mortuary Confidential: Undertakers Spill the Dirt
    Mortuary Confidential: Undertakers Spill the Dirt
    by Todd Harra, Ken McKenzie
  • Fierce Patriot: The Tangled Lives of William Tecumseh Sherman
    Fierce Patriot: The Tangled Lives of William Tecumseh Sherman
    by Robert L. O'Connell
  • Good Dog, Carl : A Classic Board Book
    Good Dog, Carl : A Classic Board Book
    by Alexandra Day
  • Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation
    Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation
    by Lynne Truss
  • The American Way of Death Revisited
    The American Way of Death Revisited
    by Jessica Mitford
  • In Six Days : Why Fifty Scientists Choose to Believe in Creation
    In Six Days : Why Fifty Scientists Choose to Believe in Creation
    Master Books
  • Architects of Ruin: How big government liberals wrecked the global economy---and how they will do it again if no one stops them
    Architects of Ruin: How big government liberals wrecked the global economy---and how they will do it again if no one stops them
    by Peter Schweizer
  • Grave Influence: 21 Radicals and Their Worldviews That Rule America From the Grave
    Grave Influence: 21 Radicals and Their Worldviews That Rule America From the Grave
    by Brannon Howse
  • The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade
    The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade
    by Thomas Lynch
Easy On The Goods
  • Waiting for
    Waiting for "Superman"
    starring Geoffrey Canada, Michelle Rhee
  • The Catered Affair (Remastered)
    The Catered Affair (Remastered)
    starring Bette Davis, Ernest Borgnine, Debbie Reynolds, Barry Fitzgerald, Rod Taylor
  • Bernie
    starring Jack Black, Shirley MacLaine, Matthew McConaughey
  • Remember the Night
    Remember the Night
    starring Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, Beulah Bondi, Elizabeth Patterson, Sterling Holloway
  • The Ox-Bow Incident
    The Ox-Bow Incident
    starring Henry Fonda, Dana Andrews, Mary Beth Hughes, Anthony Quinn, William Eythe
  • The Bad Seed
    The Bad Seed
    starring Nancy Kelly, Patty McCormack, Henry Jones, Eileen Heckart, Evelyn Varden
  • Knuckleball!
    starring R.A. Dickey, Charles Hough, Phil Niekro, Tim Wakefield
  • Dodsworth
    starring Walter Huston, Ruth Chatterton, Paul Lukas, Mary Astor, Kathryn Marlowe
  • Act of Valor
    Act of Valor
    starring Alex Veadov, Roselyn Sanchez, Nestor Serrano
  • Deep Water
    Deep Water
    starring Tilda Swinton, Donald Crowhurst, Jean Badin, Clare Crowhurst, Simon Crowhurst
  • Sunset Boulevard
    Sunset Boulevard
    starring William Holden, Gloria Swanson, Erich Von Stroheim, Nancy Olson, Fred Clark
  • Penny Serenade
    Penny Serenade
    starring Cary Grant, Irene Dunne, Edgar Buchanan, Beulah Bondi
  • Double Indemnity
    Double Indemnity
    starring Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson, Porter Hall, Jean Heather
  • Ayn Rand and the Prophecy of Atlas Shrugged
    Ayn Rand and the Prophecy of Atlas Shrugged
    starring Gary Anthony Williams
  • Fat Sick & Nearly Dead
    Fat Sick & Nearly Dead
    Passion River
  • It Happened One Night (Remastered Black & White)
    It Happened One Night (Remastered Black & White)
    starring Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert
  • Stella Dallas
    Stella Dallas
    starring Barbara Stanwyck, John Boles, Anne Shirley, Barbara O'Neil, Alan Hale
  • The Iron Lady
    The Iron Lady
    starring Meryl Streep, Jim Broadbent, Harry Lloyd, Anthony Head, Alexandra Roach
  • Wallace & Gromit: The Complete Collection (4 Disc Set)
    Wallace & Gromit: The Complete Collection (4 Disc Set)
    starring Peter Sallis, Anne Reid, Sally Lindsay, Melissa Collier, Sarah Laborde
  • The Red Balloon (Released by Janus Films, in association with the Criterion Collection)
    The Red Balloon (Released by Janus Films, in association with the Criterion Collection)
    starring Red Balloon
  • Stalag 17 (Special Collector's Edition)
    Stalag 17 (Special Collector's Edition)
    starring William Holden, Don Taylor, Otto Preminger, Robert Strauss, Harvey Lembeck
  • The Major and the Minor (Universal Cinema Classics)
    The Major and the Minor (Universal Cinema Classics)
    starring Ginger Rogers, Ray Milland
  • My Dog Skip
    My Dog Skip
    starring Frankie Muniz, Diane Lane, Luke Wilson, Kevin Bacon
  • Sabrina
    starring Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, William Holden, Walter Hampden, John Williams
  • The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer
    The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer
    starring Cary Grant, Myrna Loy, Shirley Temple, Rudy Vallee, Ray Collins
  • Pirates of the Caribbean - The Curse of the Black Pearl (Two-Disc Collector's Edition)
    Pirates of the Caribbean - The Curse of the Black Pearl (Two-Disc Collector's Edition)
    starring Johnny Depp, Geoffrey Rush, Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightley, Jack Davenport
  • Now, Voyager (Keepcase)
    Now, Voyager (Keepcase)
    starring Bette Davis, Paul Henreid, Claude Rains, Gladys Cooper, John Loder
  • The Trip To Bountiful
    The Trip To Bountiful
  • Hold Back the Dawn [DVD] Charles Boyer; Olivia de Havilland; Paulette Goddard
    Hold Back the Dawn [DVD] Charles Boyer; Olivia de Havilland; Paulette Goddard
That Dog Is Never Going To Move


Columbia's Finest Chihuahua

Simple. Easy To Remember.

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One Word, Luv: Curiosity


SkyWatch Friday : Stealth

I have permission to publish these photos.


Andrew has been manning the boom of a KC-135 Stratotanker cruising around the South Pacific fulfilling its role of filling-station-in-the-sky.

Recently the day's sortie involved refueling the Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit, a/k/a the Stealth Bomber.

Darling son told me he nearly hyperventilated when he saw the B-2 coming towards the rear of the KC-135, where he waited to complete the transaction.

A bit closer. Click for an extra thrill.

As is true of most Americans, military aviation holds a keen fascination for Senior Airman Andrew, TANG, USAF, newly-minted Boom Operator.

None of the tradition, the patriotism, the exceptionalism, the sheer romance of his difficult but rewarding job, is lost on him.

Every such emotion was heightened when the mysterious, esoteric, faintly spooky Stealth was thirty feet from his nose, both aircraft hurtling through the air at approximately six hundred miles per hour.

But he had a job to do, and he did it. Expertly, I might add.

Photos courtesy of the boomer, who conveyed them to his anxious Blue Star mother via text.

And that is all for now.

God Bless America


Happy Friday ~ Happy Weekend ~ Happy Skywatching


Wordless Wednesday


Wherein one thing leads to another

Yesterday was a normal day at church.

Except, our Congressman was there, accompanied by his lovely wife.

Am I the only one who, upon hearing the name "Joe Wilson," immediately thinks: "You lie!"?

Well, he's a good guy. One who I feel should not have apologized for having uttered those two words.

One who -- distinctly unlike our president, who does in fact lie -- values the truth.

Why were Joe and Roxanne Wilson, Presbyterians, hanging out with the Baptists?

Because they'd been invited to be with us two weeks ago on a special day, but were unable to attend due to being in New Jersey for a wedding.

And when he had no choice but to decline our pastor's invitation for the 10th, Joe Wilson promised he'd worship with us on the 24th instead.

Audrey leaned over to me and said, "If he's looking for a baby to kiss, I just happen to have one."

So in due course when we'd gone to the church nursery to retrieve a sleepy Dagny, I carried her to the lobby and press-ganged our Congressman into holding her.

"My daughter wants you to bless her baby!" I said.

It was sort of a little pun because we were in church.

Which I shouldn't have to explain but I find increasingly, folks have either never developed a sense of humor or have permanently misplaced the one they had.


At any rate, Joe Wilson, being himself a papaw, lit up and gladly took Dagny in his arms, where she nestled contentedly, gripping the politician's left thumb.

He wasn't in a hurry to let her go either, insisting I take at least a dozen photos where both of their faces were visible.

So then Audrey and I met and chatted with Mrs. Wilson, a kind and gracious lady.

I learned that Roxanne Wilson had a brother, Tim Dusenbury, a Marine who died in 1979 while in the service of our country.

He had been a member of The Citadel Class of 1974, and as such was a classmate of TG, who also graduated that year.

Captain Timothy Allen Dusenbury was twenty-seven years old at the time of his death, and in addition to being an American hero and a devoted son and brother, he was a loving husband and father.

Congressman Wilson commenced to show TG -- who was rocking his vintage Tabasco tie, the one he knows is my personal favorite -- some pictures on his phone, of the late Captain Dusenbury's now-grown sons.

Upon meeting Dusenbury's younger son a few years ago, TG remarked that it felt odd knowing that he remembered the young man's father so well, whereas the son had no memories of his own.

After Sunday lunch I did a bit of research and found that Captain Dusenbury is interred at Mount Hope Cemetery in Florence, South Carolina -- beside his father, Major Julian Delano Dusenbury, also a war hero who was wounded at Okinawa and died at the young age of fifty-four.

Mount Hope is the cemetery where several years ago I lost -- and would not leave until I found -- my right-hand diamond ring.

As soon as temperatures cool down here in South Carolina I plan to tool over to Florence and pay my respects at the graves of the Dusenburys.

Yes I will put flowers and I imagine my TG will go too, maybe even shed a tear at the grave of his classmate.

While there I will also visit the resting place of Melvin Purvis, agent of a then-nascent Federal Bureau of Investigation, who in 1934 masterminded the assassination of John Dillinger, a/k/a Public Enemy Number One, outside the Biograph Theater in Chicago.

The short and ill-advised life of which quasi-lovable Depression-era villain was so rivetingly portrayed by our own Johnny Depp.

Christian Bale played Melvin Purvis. Not bad; not bad at all. Just saying.

If you haven't seen the film Public Enemies (2009), it's worth it if only to marvel at Darling Johnny singing Git Along Little Dogies. #PauseRewind

Oh and the only scene JD and CB have together? The one where CB (affecting a southern drawl) asks JD (also affecting a southern drawl, just kill me now) what keeps him awake at night, and Johnny laconically replies "Coffee ..."? Well.

Just ... a bit of all right, if you catch my drift.

Related non-trivial trivia: Melvin Purvis captured more public enemies than any other FBI agent in history. His record has never been broken, not even by Hotch with assistance from the entire Behavioral Analysis Unit. Haha.

When I return to Florence and Mount Hope -- where, naturally, I'll take lots of pictures for you -- I promise to leave my jewelry at home.

With that, I do believe I've connected enough dots for one day.

I hope I have not bored you.


Happy Monday ~ Happy New Week


Sign Me Up : Jesus Saves

Yes He does.

Ridgeway, South Carolina ~ Near Ruff Chapel


Happy Friday ~ Happy Weekend

Wordless Wednesday


Please don't you be my neighbor

TG and I are okay neighbors.

We're all but invisible. We don't do anything obnoxious. We take decent care of our yard without being all uptight about it.

Our place is neat and clean.

And we mind our own business.

But it seems as though in this life, no good deed will go unpunished.

I wrote about my next-door neighbors (if you're standing in front of my house, look to your right and that's them, currently and inexplicably flying a banty-rooster flag), code name The Bothertons, once.

They've lived beside us for two years, having replaced the utterly lovable Suzanne and Jim, whose neighborliness I still miss.

It's time to work the Bothertons over again. Actually it's well and truly past time, but that's about to be both remedied and explained.

If you thrill to misanthropic maunderings of the subdivision kind, do keep reading.

Should you have a sensitivity to snark-casm directed at one's fellow man (and wife), do click out before there's a reaction.

Trust me; if you go with what's behind door number two, you will not be missed.

Still on board?

Let's weigh anchor.

In June of 2013 I walked outside early one morning -- like, the birdies were still doing scale-runs in warmup -- and in the dawn's early light my eyes beheld something that gave considerable pause.

As in, I stood for several seconds -- perhaps entire minutes -- with a slack jaw, staring.

Where was I staring? Over in the direction of the aforementioned neighbors' property.

Specifically, where it adjoins our property, the two suburban tracts bisected only by a standard-issue -- and completely necessary for my sanity -- privacy fence.

And why was Jenny the Pirate doing that? Staring, that is?

Because where only thin air and the glorious view of millions of leaves and branches (our neighbors' lot is larger than ours, and heavily wooded) had been a few days previous, there now stood the beginnings of a large-ish -- and most unwelcome -- building.

We'd been out of town for a few days, attending the funeral of my aunt.

Construction had begun in our absence. The walls were already up; if one thing led to another in a predictable way, the roof would be next.

The whole thing was wedged so tightly between two trees, it was unclear to me how it had even been possible to fit it in there.

And so close to my fence, I could have put my fingers between the boards and touched it. Inches.

The boorish nabes might as well have gone ahead and put their construction project in my back yard.

Irate, I went inside and woke TG to ask him if he'd seen the monstrosity.

He hadn't; it had been dark when we returned home from Atlanta the night before.

But TG revealed that Mr. Botherton had told him he would be "putting" a "small shed" beside the fence.

He'd even shown TG exactly where it would be.

However, Botherton had neglected to add, imply, indicate, or even allude to the fact that said shed would be basically the size, not of any normal shed, but of a one-car garage or even a small house.

After TG got up, he came outside to see the Bothertons' in-progress "shed."

As I recall, my beloved turned a whiter shade of pale. He didn't like the shed any more than I. But more importantly, he knew it would be awhile before he stopped hearing about it.

From me, that is.

Jenny charms the birds right out of the trees, has such a pleasant outlook, plays so beautifully with others.

Said no one ever.

Several days later, the shed was finished. And if possible, it was even bigger and unsightlier than I had imagined it would be.

Still fuming, I emailed the president of our HOA.

I hasten to add that I do not live in a hoity-toity type of neighborhood where a few people with nothing better to do police everyone else, reporting homeowners if a rose bush gets too tall or if a non-pedigreed dog tinkles on their mailbox.

The HOA to which I refer is basically toothless and I, a non-dues paying member, was fully aware. But I felt contacting its president was my first line of defense.

You know: channels.

And fine gentleman that he is, the prez was sympathetic -- said he totally felt my pain -- to my plight but powerless to do anything about it.

However. Wanting to help, he gave me a number to call, and a name to go with it.

His advice was that I start by determining whether our neighbor had obtained a building permit.

That was tantamount to throwing medium-rare steak at a starving carnivore. Digits trembling, I eagerly placed the call.

It was wonderful. The person to whom I spoke confirmed -- almost immediately, inspiring a frisson of hope -- that neither Botherton had bothered to get a permit to build so much as a birdhouse.

And the official promised that, within a few hours, someone from their office would be out to investigate. You know: We're from the Government and we're here to help.

Which indeed happened. But the news wasn't good. For me anyway. Well, for either of us, as it turned out.

Because although it was being built on a concrete slab, the shed didn't feature enough square footage to require a permit. Also relevant was the fact that Botherton insisted he would not be running electricity to his new eyesore.

"It's just for storage of some stuff that won't fit in the house," he promised the authorities.

That's funny because several times since then I've heard him operating power tools in there. Begging the question, does Mrs. Botherton know he's sawing her extra furniture in half?

But wait.

The official visit yielded an interesting -- if basically useless -- tidbit of information.

Botherton had built his shed too close to our fence.

By exactly two inches.

And he was facing both being fined for having done that, and with being obliged to appease us in some way, in order to obtain an easement.

I let TG go over there and hammer it out, because TG's middle name is Diplomacy.

Whereas mine is ... never mind.

You won't believe! The shed was built; it was on a slab and there were pilings anchoring it into the ground. Portable it most assuredly was not.

So this was Botherton's solution: remove the siding from the back. Making the shed two inches smaller.

Of course it's the back that we have to look at every time we glance out of the window or step onto our deck to visit our pool.

I think Botherton knew that nobody expected him to rip the siding off the back of his new shed.

The only other solution? We magnanimous Webers would need to sign a waiver giving him permission to use the two inches of dirt and air that technically were not his to use. 

 Short of an act of piracy -- or lobbing hand grenades over the fence -- I think it's fair to say I was out of options.

But wait.

Ahead of the day when a notary (summoned and paid by Botherton) came to secure our signatures on said waiver, I spent five or ten minutes preparing a document of my own.

It was a statement asserting that I was signing the waiver under protest. Meaning, I didn't want to but I was in effect being given no other choice.

In it, I correctly identified the shed as wholly unnecessary (next to the fence; they have lots of land and could have put it somewhere else) and an "aesthetic nuisance."

Which it is.

And I pointed out that its existence in that spot devalues my property.

Which it does.

Anyway, later some sort of baked offering appeared on our kitchen counter -- Mrs. Botherton had handed it off to TG in the yard, I think -- along with a note from our neighbors, explaining ad nauseam how long and hard they'd looked for a shed that struck just the right note of both attractiveness and functionality, and whining about how much it had cost.

Tacky, tacky, tacky. Don't talk about what things cost.

The language was stiff; clearly they were offended deeply by my calling their two-windowed baby an aesthetic nuisance.

But as a sop -- because they know putting that shed there was a bonehead move -- they invited us to "decorate" the back of their shed any way we wanted.


I'm considering taking bids from local artists to paint a larger-than-life depiction of Captain Jack Sparrow back there.

But do you know what the Bothertons didn't do, have never done to this very day?

They've never seen -- because they've never asked to, because they don't care -- what their shed looks like from our point of view. From our side of the fence.

They were spared the exclamations of morbid fascination when family members first caught sight of the beige blight of vinyl siding looming incongruently over our pool area.

Now? Today -- well, this summer?

The Bothertons have seen fit to erect a veritable forest of umbrellas and shelters in their back yard.

I'm serious. If you look over there (which I'm glad to say, you must make a concerted effort to do), it's one umbrella, shaded swing, and portable pavilion after another.

At least nine of them. I think that qualifies as a welter.

Like a poolside obstacle course that you don't go over, but under.

But the kicker? A red canvas shelter-type thing has been placed right next to the fence over by our pool pump.

And in that spot they're building something else.

The project was started but looks to have been suspended. There's a ladder, and lumber sticking up.

Maybe I'll change the Bothertons' code name to The Beavertons. Or, Mr. and Mrs. Botherton Beavers.

For beavers, more than any other creature, change their landscape.

But unlike the activities of our neighbors, it's usually for the better.

This has been my opinion, and at least partly satirical. Thank you for reading.

When we move to the (neighborless) country, I shall inform you immediately.

And that is all for now.


Happy Tuesday


SkyWatch Friday: My view for breakfast

If you've been paying attention you know I'm opposed to air travel.

As in, I won't do it.

The last time I flew was in 2007 when Andrew graduated from BMT in San Antonio.

And that's how I plan to leave it. In fact if I get my way I'll never fly again.

Without a generous serving of valium.

Unless Johnny Depp sends that private jet to pick me up.

Seriously. If Johnny texts Dearest Jennifer, my Gulfstream G550 is idling on the tarmac at Columbia Metropolitan airport, pack yer pirate duds and make haste ... well then.

Wheels up in thirty.

Until then, no. Just no.

So I would have a kid with all kinds of ants in his pants to get airborne at least five times a week.

This past Tuesday he was part of an aircrew that took off for Hawaii en route to Guam for a 21-day deployment.

At eight thirty that evening I received this text from my little tumbleweed:

Just landed in Hawaii

So I wanted to know where in Hawaii he was. On the big island?

No, we are on Honolulu, we passed the big island coming in

(Actually he was in Honolulu, on Oahu. But still.)

Here is the island coming in, you can see diamond head volcano

Indeed, right there it is.

I wanted to know if he was staying on base. That would be Hickam AFB.

Nope we are at Outrigger Resort Waikiki ;-) DBJ

J is for Jealous, DB is for Don't Be, and despite the fact that she who won't fly doesn't stand a chance of making it from South Carolina to the South Pacific, I was. Sort of.

I texted was he serious?

Yup base billeting is all full


Haha yes I'm serious

So I Googled Outrigger Resort Waikiki and was duly impressed and I texted my son that it sure looked luxurious.

Haha thanks for paying your taxes

Oh, well, you know. You're welcome. Although last time I checked, I hadn't any choice.

But I'm glad to pay taxes for American heroes to stay in a nice place for one night if base billeting is full.

And I told him so.

Haha yea I know, we sure are lucky, all of the passengers from our base that flew out here with us are all on base in billeting, they are so mad. Haha

Later Andrew texted the picture at the top of this post.

View from my room

And a few minutes later, this photo:

You know: the Hawaiian-resort-balcony-in-my-flight-suit selfie.

I texted back: You hot dog, don't fall. And: You look tired.

It was a long day not gonna lie.

So I said I hoped he slept like a little bitty baby that night.

But there was lots of day left in his Polynesian paradise and my guess is, the boy didn't sleep for many more hours.

Wednesday afternoon (South Carolina time) he texted this photo:

My view for breakfast

A few hours later he embarked on the four-thousand-mile flight to Guam, during which he crossed the International Date Line.

There's a fourteen-hour time difference between Guam and South Carolina.

So when my phone went ding at four oh seven Thursday morning, I was sound asleep.

Made it to Guam, completely exhausted

It had been an eleven-hour trip, on top of the nine-hour flight he'd endured the day before.

I came awake enough to reply that I hoped he'd be able to get some rest.

Then I went back to sleep and had lurid dreams of a scary Guam-like place.

I waited until late Thursday afternoon local time to text him again, when it was about seven thirty Friday morning in Guam.

He had awakened several hours before that, Jet Lag sitting on the bed beside him poking sticks in Andrew's eyes and laughing its mean old head off.

Aloha Boomer!

I wanted to know if he was flying that day (I hoped not).

No I don't fly until Monday, have a couple briefings to go to today

I texted: You're in tomorrow ... so weird.

I know it's really weird, lost a day but I will get it back on the way home with two days in Hawaii ;)

At which time his breakfast view will likely not be of Waikiki Beach.

But that's okay because it'll still be paradise.

He hopes to pay his respects at Pearl Harbor on the return trip.

I'm grateful that my son is serving his country and enjoying his life.

And if in the sky is where he wants to be, I'm glad he gets the opportunity.

As for me, I won't miss an opportunity to stay on the ground. But I'll be looking up.


Happy Friday ~ Happy Weekend


Wordless Wednesday