Don’t cry for me

It’s the last day of my beach vacation…

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…and Florida is crying.

I’ll miss you too, St. Teresa Beach. I’ve loved every minute.

Except the stingray. Hate you, you hateful critter.

Not so quiet

My bucolic beach vacation received a jolt yesterday when I got up close and personal with a stingray.

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I was walking in kneedeep water, so I  didn’t see my attacker coming. But once I felt the stab, I did get a hand on him to pull him away.

It bled a bit, but hurt a lot. For three or four hours, it was pretty darn intense. Then it calmed down.

And so did I.

For future reference, should you be so unlucky, don’t pee on the wound. And don’t rush to the doctor  (although painkillers will be tempting).

Just make sure no barb remains, soak it in hot water, apply antibiotic ointment and leave it uncovered to heal. Elevating it seems to help, too.

And be grateful for friends and family who quickly gather round to help.

Beach and quiet

Things have been quiet around The Egg the past couple of days. That’s because of the view.

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We’re on vacation this week, so forgive me if my posts are a bit more sporadic.

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We may lose track of time now and then…

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Sweet dress

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Going nowhere

See this sign?

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It wasn’t on the elevator at my hotel this morning when I got on… when I and another guest got stuck on our way to breakfast.

Luckily, the phone in the elevator worked and the repairman was able to fix the elevator in less than five minutes.

I am proud to report that I remained calm and cheerful during the crisis. The man on the elevator with me, however, was in a huge panic. When the doors finally opened, he ran out and told his friend in the hallway that we had been trapped 15 minutes.

(It was really more like three.)

Being neighborly

Thank you, Jim.

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When I asked for directions outside the Summit train station this afternoon,  you could have simply pointed to the street and gone on your way.

But you smiled and asked where I was headed and, in typical small-town fashion, offered to give me a ride to my hotel because of the intense heat.

I could have put up my big-city blinders and refused, but I could tell — you were just being nice. So I got a ride and a fun, impromptu tour of Summit.

After a delayed, packed train ride, it was an unexpected pleasure.

Thanks again for taking the time.

Fly away

I used to think, incorrectly,  that the common housefly lives less than a week.

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Thanks to the Google machine, I have since learned that a fly can live 15+ days in the wild, and 30 days in optimal conditions.

What are optimal conditions?

The temps available in your home. Or, I should say, my home.

I have had a fly buzzing around my apartment for almost a week. He only reveals himself once or twice a day.

I haven’t been able to swat him, and I haven’t been able to get him to go out the door.

And really, why would he?

He’s got it made here.