Let me clarify one thing up front: We are not paddling our canoes through alligator-infested waters around here (although that nearly happened in some neighborhoods when Hurricane Debby blew through). We have cars, and paved streets and highways, and lawns, and shopping centers.

But when I arrived here from the big city just over four years ago, I was curious as to why all of the houses in our lovely neighborhood were lacking basements. And I was told it was because this entire region is built on a swamp.

Of course, I immediately had a mental image of a heavy rain (much like the aforesaid Debby) coming along and sucking our house up out of the ground with a big, resounding “Thwoop!”

It hasn’t happened so far, but I’m still thinking about investing in an inflatable raft.

And there actually was an alligator pond on the far end of the neighborhood when I arrived here; but I understand some of the homeowners were a little nervous about their small children and dogs possibly becoming ‘gator chow, so they — the ‘gators, not the kids and dogs — were relocated to a legitimate swamp or a preserve that doesn’t allow humans, I’m not sure which. Apparently there are people around here who do that for a living — moving large reptiles and such — which is a good thing for the rest of us.

It’s been a particularly hot summer down here in the marshland, as it has in most of the world this year. And with our normally high humidity, and an excess of rain, we’ve not missed the ‘gators because we’ve had other critters coming out of their hiding places to keep us company. Like snakes — and yes, some of them are venomous — and spiders the size of Alaskan king crabs, and those good old Southern ‘possums that probably wouldn’t hurt you if you didn’t bother them but they just look mean. So as you can imagine, I stay indoors . . . a lot . . . well, okay, most of the time.

Now, that’s not as bad as it may sound, because our air-conditioning works really well, and I get to sleep as late as I want to, and hang around in my pajamas when I’m feeling particularly lazy. But most of the time, I do have things to keep me busy.

Let’s see now . . . Last week I had my regular doctor’s appointment, and this coming week I’ll be back at the dentist’s office, both of which are “in town.” Which means wearing something decent, putting a dab of makeup on my face, and actually venturing outdoors. And I’m scheduled to get my annual flu shot, a Covid booster, and an RSV vaccine, all at once, at my pharmacy on Saturday. So I should be down and out for a good 36–48 hours after that. And there goes the weekend.

I did get caught up on my laundry this week, and I got rid of that old cheese that had grown some penicillin in the fridge since I last checked it. I also straightened out my sock drawer, and re-arranged the books in one of my bookcases — not in alphabetical order, but by genre. That, I have to say, was extremely satisfying.

But mostly, I write. It’s one of the things I always wanted to do but never managed to find time for before I retired — that, and read my entire set of the World’s Great Books, which, I can tell you right now, ain’t ever gonna happen.

Writing, though, has become my greatest joy. Whatever comes to mind, I put down “on paper” — actually on screen, but I’m a little old-fashioned about some things, and I still talk about “dialing” a phone and “defrosting” the refrigerator. I have a very small audience of readers, and I’ve just about given up hope of ever having anything published. But the joy is in the creation, so I keep tapping away at my little keyboard, and sometimes what I write even makes me smile.

Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote a wonderful book called Notes From Underground about 200 years ago. Do you suppose someone will be reading my Notes From the Swamp in the 23rd Century?

I like to think so . . . it keeps me motivated.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/6/24