Mystical Wonder

This morning, a knock at the cottage door awoke us. Andrea is, and always has been, better at rousing from sleep so she sprung from bed, looked out the window and exclaimed, “Someone’s at our door! There’s a car in our driveway!”

I tried to ignore all of it - begging Georgie to stop barking and hug me instead. Andrea strode back into the room, “It was and Mark and Savannah - they were proselytizing. I didn’t even have my glasses on! And I was wearing my mouth guard!

I dragged myself out of bed and we got ready to go to an estate sale. The estate sale was at an old farm house and what was left inside was reminiscent of a scrapbook that was missing pages to fill in the gaps of the life of the former occupant, Miles Courson.  Miles, it turned out, had peacefully passed away back in January. In May, a celebration of life had been held on the property for Miles, who bought the house and land in 1989 and began restoring it by hand. We didn’t buy anything - but it was interesting.

Driving back toward the cottage, Andrea spotted a new metaphysical shop called Mystical Wonder. It was their opening and the wife greeted people to the shop and explaining her husband’s car upholstery business was in the back. As we left, she offered us a hot dog that had likely continued to bake under the hot sun. We politely declined, and, out of earshot Andrea said, “I don’t need a mystical wonder coming out of my butt.”

So instead, we drove to the donut shop where we were the last customers of the day which meant the woman gave us a box of free donuts. That was a nice surprise and we need 6 donut eating people to come over and help us with these.

We came home and saw our neighbor who asked, “Did you watch fireworks last night?”

I told her we had laid low. “We were home too. On July 1st, I’d made up my mind that I’d stay home - I wasn’t sure which country would bomb us on July 4th.” I laughed a wry laugh and murmured something in agreement.

This afternoon, Harry went in the river. “Harry smells like an oyster.” Andrea proclaimed - and, as much as we enjoy eating oysters, smelling like an oyster is not a compliment.

The humidity has subsided to a bearable 48% so we’re outside with the dogs. As much as I complain about the Virginia humidity, my recent trip to Reno reminded me how miserable my nasal passages get in the dry west. I hope Harry airs out a bit.