Thursday, July 22, 2010

I (heart) the Gold Coast

Perhaps there should be an essay contest for "Why I (heart) the Gold Coast."

But I might win. Since I already have the privilege of living here, it wouldn't be fair to others.

Nearly every day, I walk the dogs down the road. As regular readers of this blog will note, interesting things happen on the road. There's the time Sue got chased by Spanky while he had a dead squirrel in his mouth. Or the giant glass pickle jar we found (which is still there). That and many dead things make every walk an adventure.

Today, I am happy to report, was no exception. The first mile was uneventful. It was about 80 degrees and it was just starting to get uncomfortable. Before I turned around to head home, a neighbor came out carrying a plastic grocery store bag filled with "something." The possibilities were dazzling my mind. It was sweet corn - that treasure trove of Ohio goodness. Fresh picked. Today.

He set it on the ground, thinking I'd be walking a bit further. I thanked him profusely and then his giant dog, resembling a very cute furry keg, ambled over to sniff Foster and Tilly. Fortunately, Foster did not start a fight. I had not yet retrieved the bag of corn, and if there was a dog fight, the offer may have been rescinded. I learned the dog's name was "Teddy" (or Ted-D). I worried Teddy was going to pee on the bag of corn. He didn't. Foster did (but only a little).

Maybe it was the McDonald's mocha frappe I had earlier (I had a coupon for a free one - woohoo!), or maybe the two hashbrowns I bought to go with it so I didn't look like a mooch, but that bag of corn suddenly weighed a hundred pounds. I switched to the other hand, the one with the leashes in it. It didn't help.

About that time, I got to another neighbor's driveway, in which a sport utility's engine was running, with a young girl screaming at the young man who had come out of the house. Lots of f-bombs dropping, left and right. And of course, there's me, ambling by with my dogs and dozen ears of free sweet corn. It was hard to look nonchalant. It was also hard to hear every word, which I wanted to hear! From what I gathered, she didn't want to be his friend any more. Ever. Or something like that.

With relief, I passed the house. Only a half mile more to mine. Ugh. Not too much later, the sport ute and driver went zipping by, still yelling, with the young man in the passenger side.

It's entirely possible that this was a sweaty mirage, imagined by the high humidity. Gotta go - I have corn to boil.


  1. Hmmm... corn to boil... Is that code??!?

  2. Sherman-less MHC 90 gradJuly 22, 2010 at 8:34 PM

    Perhaps the dogs need "saddle bags."