CHAPTER FORTY ONE: CAN YOU GO HOME AGAIN?

CHAPTER FORTY ONE: CAN YOU GO HOME AGAIN?

On the eve of our flight back to California, I feel more than a little trepidation.  What’s the transition from boat person to land lubber? I know the first few days I’ll be gripping the shower floor with my toes, still feeling a gentle rocking back and forth. But getting used to being on solid earth is the least of my concerns. And how solid is the earth in northern California anyway? Ever hear of Loma Prieta? No, it’s not the potential for earthquakes that gives me pause. It’s something much more personal. Will my dog, Zorro, recognize me? Will he be happy to see me? Even if there is an initial show of recognition and joy, will he later show resentment for my “abandoning” him?  Alan says that resentment is a human reaction, and fortunately dogs don’t harbor resentment. But they do know how to make you feel very guilty, I’m sure of that. Actually, I’m equally concerned that he is so happy living with Ruby and her family, he will be indifferent to my arrival. Or maybe he will intuit that this is just a visit and he will protect himself from a second “abandonment” by not getting too close. That’s way too anthropomorphic, even for a very smart dog like Zorro. Let’s keep it simple – I will be overjoyed to see Zorro, and he in turn will be happy to see me, so long as my presence involves long hikes and a few treats.

For the past few days the weather in Charleston has been rainy, windy and cold. That’s what is also predicted for Salinas from Friday through Monday of next week. So it’s time to turn on the internal sunshine. The Admiral suggested we race to a tanning salon today, so that our neighbors can see how brown we were during the summer months. We’re fading, it’s true, but that will make my dermatologist happy.  And if I never have to do another M.O.H.S. surgery again, it will make me very happy.

But, hey, you ask, what happened to your plan to enjoy the culture and cuisine of Charleston? We are doing that in fits and spurts. We’re docked at the Harborage at Ashley Marina. They have a courtesy van that takes you into Charleston. I also have a bike that gets me there. So far, I’ve ridden my bike into Charleston twice, once to mail bill payments at the main post office downtown and once to pick up a timer at CVS Pharmacy. Between the first and second time I bought a bike helmet and a rear view mirror. This is not a bike friendly city. That is an understatement. When I can get away with riding on the sidewalks, I do that, so that big trucks don’t rush by with just an inch or two between me and them. Worrying about getting knocked off your bike detracts seriously from enjoying the sights Charleston has to offer. Bike lanes – what a concept! In this otherwise progressive city, the bikers apparently are not organized to get the amenities that bikers need to survive in a big city.

After my first bike ride downtown, I also rented a car for the weekend. Call me a coward, but I’m still a wobbly bike rider at best, and I don’t want to end up as just another trophy on the grill of a Lincoln Town Car or Cadillac Seville – more than likely on a humongous SUV’s grill. Have you ever noticed that there appears to be a natural dislike for bikers by drivers of SUVs? And the bigger the SUV, the greater the dislike? I don’t know why. An SUV could crush me at any time. Maybe that’s why they don’t like bikers – they know they could crush us, but they realize that crushing bikers is frowned upon in genteel society. And they have to fight with their inner beast every time they see a biker in “their” lane – I only bike where there are lots of witnesses. I think the inner beast would win out on an isolated country rode, so I’m not tempting fate on that one.

When we had the car this weekend, I drove early Saturday to the Farmer’s Market at King and Calhoun. The vegetable stands were so photogenic. In fact, there were photographers everywhere taking pictures of the miniature eggplants and other exotic farm fresh veggies. They had CORN! This was the mixed white and yellow kernel sweet corn, and it was delicious. I met a woman who makes waffles on a stick. All organic, some weird kind of flour. You can cover your waffle with powdered sugar, chocolate or maple syrup. Naturally I chose powdered sugar, so that I could walk around the open air market with white granules all over my face and on my sweatshirt. There was only one sweet grass basket vendor, as compared with dozens of them at the city market every day. The day was perfect – warm and sunny (of course, I had a car). We’re enjoying the fresh broccoli tonight in a shrimp stir fry made by the Admiral. And I’m munching on a crisp cucumber, as I write.

Other car adventures included finding vegetable flavored Crunchmaster crackers at Harris Teeter and buying all but one bag; making two or three trips to WalMart, which is miles away from here; shopping for a specific tool at Lowe’s (Note to self: Do not ask for help at Lowe’s, makes the Admiral look bad); checking out yoga salons in the downtown area; running into a Publix for old times’ sake; and dining on the water at the Chesapeake Crab House. I ordered too much to eat, because I had forgotten how filling the heavenly hush puppies were and I ordered fried green tomatoes as an appetizer. When the stuffed shrimp came, they were the only thing that was stuffed at the table. The fried green tomatoes were cooked to perfection. They were little, very green tomatoes, fried in a light batter and still juicy and flavorful. I’m sure the bacon wrapped shrimp, stuffed with crab meat, would have been wonderful on any other occasion, but most of the dish went back to Slow Motion with us, where the Admiral did me the huge favor of eating my leftovers. The Admiral does not tolerate wasting food. If we bought it or ordered it, by God we will eat it. That’s why there is still a container of some brand of Greek yogurt in the fridge from 4 or 5 months ago. I bought it; I’m supposed to eat it. We’ll see.

On the literary side, I’ve been reading Nelson De Mille spy-action-mystery stories: Plum Island, Lion’s Game, Lion. I finished 4 or 5 Lisa Scottoline mysteries. She endorsed one of De Mille’s books with a back page quote. I finally finished Lacuna by Kingsolver and really enjoyed The Impeachment of Lincoln by Carter. The Admiral and I do our New York Times crossword puzzles, Wednesday through Sunday, going back to 2006. Wednesday’s puzzle is always an ego builder, but the ego gets torn down with every Friday or Saturday puzzle. If you want to feel really great, just do the Monday and Tuesday puzzles, but after a while they just won’t be challenging enough for you. I keep remembering Conroy’s South of Broad novel, which Kalah recommended. This morning, as the tide had risen so high it flooded the dock on the way to the parking lot and flooded several cars in the lot, I thought about Conroy’s depiction of the wrath of Hugo, when it struck Charleston with all its might. I have noticed that whenever it rains in Charleston, the streets flood. Charleston is either at sea level or below sea level, so the storm drains don’t stand a chance.

When we get back from Salinas, I will kickstart my cultural tour of Charleston, starting with the city market and going back to my favorite restaurant, Slightly North of Broad (that’s right, SNOB). But for now, I’m facing the eternal question: Can you go home again? I sure hope so, and I want so much to hold my puppy close again. We’ll be back in Charleston at the end of next week, so stay tuned. In the meantime, HAPPY THANKSGIVING! I’m thankful for everyone who reads this Blog and especially for the readers who actually give me positive feedback. I’m also very, very thankful that Barack Obama was re-elected and my right to privacy is safe, I think, for another 4 years.