A Dock, A Dylan, A Dearth of Trick Or Treat

Since last Monday's monster storm, we've been
wondering how our family beach house, out on
the North Fork of New York's Long Island, fared.

On Sunday, my sister and her husband managed to snag a full tank

of gas, and headed out.  She sent me a couple of phone pictures.

Our dock stretches out into an inlet off Peconic Bay,

and at the end there are steps down to a floating dock.

Well, there used to be steps.

What happened was, the tides and winds came through,

raised the floating dock up to or above the level of the

stationary dock, twisted it, and tore off the steps.

Otherwise, except for water in the crawl space, and signs that there

had been water in the garage, and lots and lots of

flotsam and jetsam on the lawn . . . all's well.

Even the power was back on.  Lucky, and grateful.

****************************

After several years of having geriatric dogs in our house, 

it's a bit of a surprise to have a young, energetic pup.

At 3 years old, Dylan's got a lot of goofy in him.

Sometimes his plans don't quite pan out.

A little pictorial:

 "What do you mean - the back of the sofa
is not a good place to nap?"

 "See?  I'm hanging on . . . just fine."

 "Well, so maybe there is a little slippage."

 "Uh-oh.  I see what you mean."

Dylan is giving us a lot of laughs, and is well on his way to
walking nicely on lead, and to having acceptable house manners.
Fifth day with no belly band!

He naturally tests his limits, but he is a quick study,
and - like most dogs and husbands - he is lucky he is cute.
And what's even cuter?
Dylan, and a husband!

It's hard to get good pictures of Dylan.  He is so dark,
and moves so fast that often pictures of him turn out blurry!

Well, even though this is New Jersey's official
"Halloween," I have not seen hide nor hair of any
Trick or Treaters.  Sad.  Now, whatever will we do
with all those 3 Musketeers Fun Bars?  -- Cass

The Ghosts of Halloween

It's Halloween, and it just got dark.

I have lit all the lights in the first floor rooms. The house, inside and out, looks lit and welcoming and all ready to welcome witches and goblins and Indiana Joneses for Trick or Treat.

Tally so far is ... 2: the neighbor kids from the house behind us, whose grandparents used to live in this house. No one else has ventured either up from the street in front or down from the cul-de-sac and driveway behind to beg for candy.

This makes me sad. In our former house, in a close-built neighborhood, with quiet level streets and no moving vehicles except those of other parents, the streets were alive between 4 and 9:30 with kids. It looked like a Peanuts special when you looked from our porch, with little costumed beggars swarming over grass and piles of crunchy leaves and the remains of spent annuals.

I loved it. I loved Halloween. I loved bringing cupcakes and juice to the school, watching the parade in the parking lot, hosting a Halloween party for my Girl Scouts.

I loved making costumes for my two daughters, usually in a mad last minute rush. I loved decorating the house with spider webs and flying bats and a scarecrow on the lawn swing, pumpkins and hay and Indian corn ... even a big goofy-looking plastic skull with giant googly eyes and a motion sensor that triggered "I SEE you" in a lugubrious tone when people approached the front door.

Now I've got a couple of tasteful pumpkins, a few copper colored mums, and a bittersweet wreath -- pretty, but restrained. Now I have two bowls of candy -- one at each door -- and no little takers. Now I've got a great old house, perfect for Halloween parties, and my girls are elsewhere -- one of them 3000 miles away.

I miss a real Halloween! I wish someone would knock at the door, some little extortionist, threatening me with dastardly deeds if I don't pony up the Twix and Kit-Kats.

Oh well. Howard will be home soon, and I did buy two bags of his favorite candy -- 3 Musketeers Bars.

I will make him beg.

Happy Halloween!