When I’m BLONDE, I can sit and stare into space and
totally ignore people who are getting on my nerves or boring me almost
to tears, and then when they notice I’m not listening. I can just say:
"Oh, !’m sorry, I was having a "Blonde Moment"
When I‘m BLONDE, I’m easier to find in a crowd,
unless there’s a bunch of other blondes around. One Halloween I wore a
black Priscilla Presley looking wig as part of my costume, and I noticed
that my husband was going around the room talking to all the blondes.
When I asked him what he thought he was doing, he said he was only
looking for me and had forgotten that I was not a blonde that night.
And, I was just blonde enough to believe him!
When I’m BLONDE, one of my friends has no trouble
remembering who I am. She calls me "The Blonde Thing." And because she
has enough to be concerned with in her busy life, I don’t want to add
any stress to it by changing my hair color and making her have to change
my name to something like ‘The Brunette with Absolutely No Gray Hairs
Thing." That could ruin a good friendship.
When I’m BLONDE, I can have more fun. It’s a law that
blondes have more fun; so I get away with all sorts of things, like
singing this Karaoke stuff without a clue that people are covering their
ears ‘till I’m done or going for boat rides at night in thunder storms
and not giving a thought to being struck by lightning. Plus, I know it’s
time to have my hair done again when I realize I’m not having as much
fun as I should, so that makes scheduling easier for me.
And what is really fun is when I do something
absolutely outstandingly intelligent like answer some question that
nobody else can answer or get every single Jeopardy question right and I
can say, "Hey, ya’ll, I’m not nearly as BLONDE as I look!"
So, see, being BLONDE by choice is based on an
informed intelligent decision on my part and takes a tot of work and
determination. And remember: If you start to use your computer, and you
see "white out" all over the screen, you’ll know a blonde has been there
before you.
The Art Of Clamming
Truth be told, there is more than one way to "catch"
a clam. Most people, if familiar with the concept at all, envision
oneself on the sea shore with shovel in hand digging for clams in the
sand. True, that is one way - however, there is a less traditional way
that is a lot more exciting! Clamming was a sort of hide and seek sport
for those of us growing up during Tybee Times in the 20th Century. Who
could gather the best and the most was the object of the game.
We would begin the adventure clad only in our bathing
suits and Keds. Shoes, though only a temporary requirement, were
necessary during the start of summer. Walking the creeks at dead low
tide, we would soon learn the lay of the land. A thorough study would be
made of the location of every oyster bed, each tree that had slipped
into the creek as a result of last year’s erosion, sunken boats, as well
as busted crab nets, bottles and debris that needed to be removed.
Performing a "creek sweep" , all trash was plucked from the water, and
the whereabouts of any perilous traps committed to memory. Our business
complete, all shoes were promptly discarded. A ceremonial action
equivalent to the checkered flag - LET THE GAMES BEGIN!
Clams can be found in sandy bottom or muddy creeks.
However, they seem to prefer the mud! Climbing (or sliding) down into
the creek approximately an hour or so prior to dead low tide, along with
a half bushel basket and a sturdy piece of Styrofoam would signify the
start of the hunt. The Styrofoam was used to float our clam filled
baskets along side while we searched for more. Ah yes, the "Art of
Clamming". I’ll never forget that first sensation when your foot hits
something that feels like a rock - then slowly and gently sliding your
toe along the rounded outer surface...
(((( CAREFUL ! ! ! )))), if it moves
it’s probably a crab! You must react quickly or you’ll be furiously
slinging a blue crab with his vice grip of a claw clamped to your big
toe! If it is hard, doesn’t move, and is too sharp - an oyster shell may
abruptly cut the game short since you and your dripping
shark bait of a big toe will be making a dash for stitches! So,
eliminating the pitfalls, very carefully when coming upon that hard rock
like surface, you must quickly determine that it is round, and you can
feel the sharp (but not too sharp) edge where the top and bottom
shells come together. That round sharp edge where the crustacean
literally "clams up" is the big clue... "Clams Ahoy"!
The first clam of the season is usually a real
monster! When you pull that big sucker up a great feeling of
satisfaction wells up inside, as if you’ve caught the biggest fish of
the day! Sorry, the tiny "cherry stones" are the best! Those
little morsels are the sweetest and most tender, just perfect for
steaming. The monsters have to be ground up and made into chowder or
fritters. Steam those guys and you’ll be chewing on one clam for hours -
hmmm, perhaps an idea for a new fad diet!
No worry, where there is one there are many! Clams
live in beds, so we would simply continue digging down and all around
until we gathered them all. Sometimes it seemed as though we had found a
whole village; or at least an entire catholic family of
clams! We would continue this practice, splashing and bobbing our way
down the creek while floating our heavily clam laden baskets along side
until the tide came in and we could no longer touch the creek bottom. At
the days end, the clams would be counted and the winners declared. First
Prize was awarded for the most cherry stones gathered, followed by the
biggest overall count! Sunburned, satisfied and exhausted, we would turn
over the entire bounty to be added to the catch of the day. Crabs, fish,
shrimp, and clams - all fresh caught made a feast fit for a King!
Grandparents, moms, dads, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins,
friends and neighbors all joined in - the more the merrier! Tybee Times
in the 20th Century, Yes, indeed, those were the days!
Feel free to contact Debbie at the Atlantic Beacon
Gallery on Tybee, or comments may be emailed to:
tybeeartist@aol.com
