Geocaching. Silly name. Excellent sport! Last month held an extended visit by Shane’s best friend from England, Aaron. With Aaron, came geocaching. A treasure-hunting game played outdoors with the assistance of a GPS- one of those nifty devices in which one types in a set of coordinates only to be presented with its precise location complete with directions- where the treasure consists of a cache, or geocache. A typical cache is a smallish waterproof (!) container holding a logbook (for logging visitors’ “I was here”‘s) and a variety of trinkets and toys for perusal and trade. Yay! Located all over the flippin’ world, they are! Shall establish a few of my own at some point, the possibilities are endless in way of creative themes! Oh, yes, and one must do well to camouflage said caches, whether to be nestled into the crevice of a lamp post positioned on the most busy of city sidewalks or precariously perched in a meandering bramble found cliffside with sharp rocks looming far below, just be sure that the “muggles,” non-geocachers, see nothing out of the ordinary. For, once reaching the GPSed location, the fun lies in actually finding the bugger, not always so easy!
So, what was our personal spin on it? Geocaching, without a GPS, and in the dark to boot! A website was checked, and a list printed of nearby potential caches with their general location and sets of clues for attempting to pinpoint their whereabouts. Off we went, spending a great deal of time roaming a local parking lot and the shrubbery therein to no avail, followed by a roadside scavenge turning up an old milk carton, and little else. Our next stop proved more fruitful and after a few shenanigans in getting both vehicles in cahoots- same time, same place- we pulled in, Aaron leaping out and heading straight away to the area he felt fit the given clue best, and- voila! A small dark container he produced! Spilled its contents out on the hood of Bean’s car to have a look-see. Promptly, Bean asks, “You want that monkey pencil sharpener?” Sure did! Luckily, I come equipped with a bounty of oddities at near all times. Perused the glove box and trunk areas finally settling on a trinket to trade- a miniature carved “welcome” sign that greeted all passengers upon opening the glove box- and then collected my new bit of knackery to add to the monkey madness back home. Look! No, not the green monkey yo-yo. The yellow monkey sharpener!
In other current affairs, fell down the other day. Lost my balance. Toppled right over. Was squatting down umpire-style perusing the goods on a lower rack at a store, and- whoops! Down, I went! Ever seen one of those little grey, rollie-pollie-potato-pill bugs roll up? Yep, that was me. Guess what, who, I bumped into? A woman. She happened to be piercing ears. Young teenage girl ears. Just imagine the disaster that coulda been! And, I got the giggles. Horribly inappropriate! For shame. Apologized profusely amongst all the giggling, and thankfully, all were thoroughly understanding and way tolerant of my blunder, even dragging me back up to my feet at some point.
Fridge oddity: we appear to have a flash-freezing fridge, as this singular egg may attest (credit to Shane’s lovely hand modeling). A dozen eggs all in a row and this little guy, third from the left, frozen solid. The others, not a one, not even partially. Wackadoo!
Taking this opportunity to declare my thorough enjoyment of Flickr, that website dedicated to the managing and showcasing of many, many a photo and video (schmideo). Love it so! Click on a photo that catches your eye, click on another, then another, leaving comments all the while, and in a matter of minutes, you’ve deposited, heaped, a ton of applause and appreciation on all kinds, individuals lifted outta the public mass. Tremendously gratifying, I tell you! Always exit feeling a tad like St. Nick with a sack filled with praise versus presents for the doling.
Years spent puttering around in my preferred vehicle of choice, a Volkswagen Beetle
On a particularly sunny afternoon recently, my dad and I were racing down the road fast approaching an intersection when he turned to me and said, “Deborah, you’re a good driver, excellent. You have great confidence and navigate so efficiently at times, but you drive too fast. You need to slow down!” I grinned and turned to ask, “Do you know what I just heard you say?” He laughed and said, “You’re a good driver?” “Yes!” laughing as well. “Have waited years to hear that from you, you know.” Truth is, I really could stand to slow down, as I tend to drive as though I were endowed at times. And well, at that. Years spent puttering around in my preferred vehicle of choice, a Volkswagen Beetle, kept my tendency for speed in check, but with time and a VW no longer mine, the speedometer reading has edged ever higher. All the same, I’m an excellent driver …
Finally located the runaway potato that apparently leapt from the grocery bag out into the dark recesses of the car seat undercarriage to lurk and fester causing great befuddlement on my part come dinner-doing one night. A lone spud, it made its return, rolling back out a week, or so, later. Naughty potato, who knew you could lose such a thing?!
Am hugely curious about the purpose of this here cowbell. It hangs from the ceiling of the local meat department located in a nearby grocery store. My dad’s thoughts are that it marks the height at which all carts exiting the double doors to the carnivorous caverns beyond must glide under, and if in fact rang, the meat be too high, look out below, pigs may fly! I’ve meant to enquire of it each and every time I’ve passed through, but as of yet, not a soul has been about for the asking. So now, I’ve grown fond of the idea that that bell serves a greater purpose, something along the lines of a reminder of sorts to all horses, “Be glad you’re not a cow!” But, look out, the craft aisle containing Elmer’s lies just ahead … ♦