Blessed silence … at least until seven freaking o’clock in the morning again. I shouldn’t complain, I’m up anyway, but honestly the banging and pounding and buzzing would drive a saint to drink.
A lot of the shoreline along the river got washed away during the storm surge. I lost almost a foot of shore just on my protected little section. Well the environmentalists were having hissy fits. The new flow was disturbing things in the Cockroach Bay preserve. Something just had to be done right there and then or millions and millions of dollars was going to wash out into the Gulf and umpty bumpty fancy schmantzy homes were going to lose property values (lowering the taxes they’d have to pay) and on and on.
So out comes the dirt and rocks one dump truck at a time and every time a truck hits a pot hole – BAM! – and every time they dump their load – BANG! KABLAM! – and then the constant grinding of the back hoes and this big fat machine that mash everything flat. This goes on from seven in the morning until at least seven in the evening as they try and address the eroding shoreline fast enough for the green freaks and the rich environmentalist.
I guess anything to distract from the real problems we are all facing. But it is also true that the squeaky wheel gets the oil because they are rehabbing the shore line. But to do so they used government privilege to use my private road to travel down. Of course before they could do that they had to fix my road so do you hear me complaining?
It’s also quiet because I finally convinced Cal to stop treating me like a baby and go with his buddies and do some more crabbing. I asked him how likely a bunch of maniac river pirates were to pick my particular part of the shore with the way the county and state have the place under lock and key. Even I had to get a special pass to use my own blasted road.
They also need Cal’s boat because one of the guys has a brother that has some lobster traps and he’s willing to share if they help him guard his haul until he can get it to market. Mmmmm … lobster. Haven’t had it since …
Sigh. I haven’t had it since Daniel and I were on our honeymoon over in Daytona. We only had three days and the only time we left the motel was to eat … and even that was usually brought back to the room. I swear we got so many smart remarks about coming back with less of a tan than we left with.
OK, enough of that. Back to the present. Had a chance to ply my old wares today. (snicker, that sounds dirty, wish Dorrie was here to share the joke) Actually one of the granddaughters of the carneceria owners is getting married tonight – probably saying her vows in front of the priest as I write this – and I overheard how she was having a difficult time getting her grandmother’s mantilla and veil to stay properly. It just sort of grew from there. I did the bride’s hair and then the mother’s and grandmother’s then the father of the bride needed a good cut and so on and so forth. I spent all morning and most of the afternoon and had a really fun time talking with people and hearing all the local gossip. It was a while before I realized that people were putting money or other things in a hat the grandfather had sat on the table beside me.
“No Senor, no es necesario para, esto es un regalo para la novia.”
He just shrugged and said, “La mitad de los hombres no estaban en la fiesta de bodas. Hacerles pagar lo que pueden. Les hace sentirse como un hombre.”
I suppose it is hard to argue with that kind of logic. I hadn’t known that not all those men were in the wedding but were customers. And I also can’t argue that it feels good to pay your tab rather than take charity. It was something the men wanted to do with whatever they had to offer. Most of it was change like I would get in the tip jar back at the salón but there were a few little trinkets and stuff that looked like it had been found on the beach as well. Spanish men have a machismo that can’t be ignored. Of course most men are like that in my experience, some are just more obvious about it than others. Daniel didn’t have a drop of Spanish in him but his machismo could compete with …
This is ridiculous. I swear I’ve got a one track mind tonight.
Anyway, the owners also insisted that I accept some corn and wheat flour in payment for what I had done for the wedding party. The grandmother winked and told me that they still got off cheaper than had they paid a salon and that she was much happier with her granddaughter’s makeup; she looked like a young woman getting married and not one going out to a club to go dancing with a bunch of hombres.
Everyone was in a good mood because for now there are construction jobs to be had. It made up for the poor harvest and ruined fields which meant no harvest jobs until they could be replanted.
But from Dorrie’s side of things I’ve heard a lot of talk that the planters aren’t going to replant; they are taking their insurance money and digging in, trying to force the government to back off the ridiculous federal licenses. That is a dangerous game, not only for the business owners but for the customers they serve.