Monday, February 27, 2006

Foul Weather Friends

A.S. and I had our first party on Saturday, a big oyster roast on Wadmalaw the driving rain. It didn’t seem to deter anyone, however, and we had quite a jolly crowd clustered under the tents. My sister came out with the Bean, who I toted around like a purse for the rest of the party, which really confused people (My sister and I look a lot alike, but most people know that she’s the one with the child). A.S. had a fine time seeing all of his friends and drinking keg beer and not slaving away in the studio all day long. I love seeing him laugh with his childhood friends, because it makes him so happy. And when he’s happy, he dimples. And when he dimples, I swoon.

Of course, after freezing our patooties off for five hours, we drove our half drowned carcasses back home and shivered under the down comforter with the gas up on high for about two hours. It was heavenly—you know when you sleep so hard, your body feels like it weighs 600 pounds and produces about 200 degrees worth of heat? That must be what a cat feels like 24 hours a day.

About four friends showed up that night for shrimp pasta, which I over-garlicked by about four cloves. But I made this soupy peach and almond-cinnamon-cookie bake for dessert, based on a grand recipe my friend Al sent me last week. I still have a ton of frozen peaches from last summer, and this was a perfect way to cook them up on a frigid, shitty day. I think ginger snaps would have been better, or the amaretti cookies the recipe called for, but they were unavailable. But with brown sugar and cinnamon and almond extract-laced whipped cream, it was quite heavenly, especially served in my happy little ramekins.

Then yesterday, A.S. and I woke up far far far too early (7 a.m.) and headed to the beach in the chill wind and drizzle for some surfing. Or he did. I walked Beulah from the Wash Out down to the pier and back, about three miles. And because of the GD beach renourishment, I’d been walking on the hard pack and all of a sudden was knee deep in a muddy sinkhole, lost both clogs and drenched my wooly socks and trouser hems in sand and salt water. Grrrr. Fortunately, my feet are sort of impervious to cold, so I just walked barefoot all morning, but still, it was 47 degrees, and my irritation with OCRM knew no bounds. Beach renourishment never works, so why in the hell do they need to mess with natural ecosystems and currents just for a couple of snowbird homeowners who shouldn’t have built beyond the dunes in the first place? Snarl.

After A.S. peeled himself out of his wetsuit, we had a scrumptious and extremely large breakfast at the Lost Dog Café and headed home for a midmorning “nap” before I had to send him back to the Upstate and school. God, I detest Clemson, horrible, ghastly place. Only 74 more days until he graduates though, and believe me, we’re both counting.

But we do have his spring break to look forward to. Three days of uninterrupted tranquility on Edisto Island! Hurrah! Crabbing, shrimping, boating, fishing, eating, lounging, playing with our dog. Beulah adores A.S., by the way, and the feeling is mutual. He actually insisted on driving her by to meet his parents on the way back from the beach yesterday! So I suppose I need to call my friend to let her know we’ll be keeping her and to figure out all of her medical needs and so forth. I also need to fork out some dough for dog training, because I do NOT enjoy keeping my trashcan on the counter and short sheeting my own bed so she won’t wallow in it.

One thing about Beulah that I quite enjoy is that she has developed an immediate and passionate dislike of the Sexy Attorney’s cur dog, Daisy (the one who vomited in the back of A.S.’s car on the way to the proposal). She likes Bella, Amanda’s border collie, however Daisy gives the appearance of covert and sly lurking and natural shiftiness, and Beulah cannot abide her. She lit out after her three times on Saturday, and Daisy about peed herself, which made her twice as nervous. You could just see Beulah thinking, “I’m gonna git that varmint if it’s the last thing I do!” And believe me, no dog could look more varminty than Daisy. She has a giant squirrel tail and little beady possumy eyes and tiny foxy feet. Varmint through and through. Although Daisy has turned out far better than I ever expected, I can still kind of relate to Beulah’s line of reasoning. She just looks like a bad dog.

So A.S. and I are a family already, albeit with a pup out of wedlock. I told him he had to marry me and give Beulah a name!

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