I had thought this photograph was the cause of my malaise.
When I saw it, in the container of mementos I'd forgotten about, my first thought had been:
"Well, I still have the rocking chair."
Then I sat in that very chair and rocked myself some comfort as I looked through the photos in the envelope labeled "our furniture".
Those had been taken in Panama, in our apartment in Coco Solo, back in 1978, and shared with Mama.
The dog was Toffee, a mixed breed that someone else had owned while she was still a puppy, then they had bequeathed her to me.
Had they PCS'ed out of there?
Had they been Navy, too, or were they Army?
I can't recall... but Toffee's mascara-smudged eyes I'll never forget.
When Keith (my first husband) and I left Panama, Toffee came, too.
She had a quarantine in Miami before she eventually came to Savannah.
There, she waited for me to come from Oregon and the house of Keith's parents.
She loved being in Pensacola!
Such a new place for her, and no poisonous frogs to threaten her!
Then came October, with its cooler temperatures, something she'd not known before.
We'd go for our walks and she'd run out in front of me, racing pell-mell back with a huge grin as if to say, "Look at me! I'm not even panting!!"
It was marvelous to have her in my life!
And then she was gone.
We'd had one of our usual two-hour walks in the autumnal air, with her racing happily the whole time, bouncing with excitement!
I had no warning that she would die of a heart attack during the night.
When I woke, there she was, dead and already stiff.
Totally broke my heart.
And I sat in my rocking chair today, reliving that great loss.
She was the last dog I ever had.
I barely managed to pull myself together to head out to Asbury.
This was the first evening of the Wednesday Night Suppers and I didn't want to miss it...
plus, I really needed a break from the house and my thoughts.
Pam and Walt were there and an empty seat awaited me by Walt.
Right place, right time.
i thank You, God.
The Prokops were there at that table, too, which was good.
I took advantage of a lull in the talk to speak with Pat about
the Sargasso Sea effect on the last five hurricanes.
To my surprise, the retired meteorologist had not even given that consideration.
I don't think he was following what I was asking.
I wanted to know what might be changing the angle at which the hurricanes have been coming off the African coast, and he only looked at the El Nino effect...
which was a separate thing altogether.
I think Walt understood what I was asking, but he seemed to be the only one.
He and I talked at length about Waycross (he had a brother there) and Kissimmee (he, too, knew it before it was overrun by tourists, long before Disney World existed).
So, we spoke of my summers at Laura S. Walker State Park, and, later, my travels down to Daytona and the Kissimmee and the Kennedy Space Center.
Marvelous adventures!
I was very nearly right as rain after that.
I was certainly fully sated with the Sloppy Joe and coleslaw dinner.
Still, when we were run off by the kitchen crew, I didn't go right home.
I took a drive, one that eventually led me to the north beach at Tybee.
I'd told Christina on Saturday that I wanted to go to the beach on Monday, and I'd intended to, but, instead, I went to Walgreens for a Pfizer COVID booster and a flu shot.
Then the bfe and I went to Longhorn for dinner and a deep chat about corporate monsters, with me assuring him that the beast had nothing personal against him.
I know most of the professors think the university is a breed apart, a more rarified space in which to work... but that is certainly not true.
Having had the luxury of time and distance has only assured me that the reason Georgia Southern and Armstrong were merged was because GaSoU was more efficient at extracting free money from its alumni.
How so?
Alumni like winning sports teams, especially if that sport is football, and alumni like research proposals that attract federal grants.
Corporate monster that GaSoU is, it doesn't matter if incoming free money is sourced by the quarterback's skill or a researcher's drive, the end result is the same.
The corporate monster feeds on money.
Professors with no grant money get more classes to teach, but that isn't punishment.
It's a push by the corporate monster to move more students along the path to becoming money-donating alumni.
Folks look at the cost of tuition and such, but that's just offsetting the investment the corporate monster has in staff and faculty salaries, as well as the usual utility and maintenance costs in operating buildings on site.
The important goal is for the corporate monster to get free money, donated money, grant money, to push into its every-grasping claws.
Nothing personal.
Seriously.
He left in better spirits, so that was the point of our special meeting.
Oh, yes, off on a tangent to explain why I did not go to Tybee on Monday.
So, when I began my post-WNS drive, I headed out Victory instead of staying on Skidaway.
Late evening was setting in, with most of the traffic coming to town, so that all made for a quiet drive past the marshes and oleanders and Fort Pulaski...
very nice.
When I arrived, I pulled into a spot right beside the boardwalk to my favorite section of the beach, this nearly deserted stretch far from the pier.
Right place, right time.
There was a brisk breeze coming off the ocean, one with a gentle bite of winter in it.
I stayed on the boardwalk, enjoying the smell of the salt air, the soft sound of the waves rolling in, the sight of the darkening sky...
very nice.
Then I drove home, singing along with the radio, as I had on the way there...
very nice, too.
Just exactly what I needed.
