March 18 – 24, 2016

As impossible as it feels to leave Tybee Island, there are some inhabitants here we will not miss.  No See-Ums.  Tiny flying nearly invisible stalking insects that bite with the ferocity of a parasitic pirahna.  I looked up No See Ums on Wikipedia and the symptoms caused by their bites are what I’m experiencing and I have the ankles to prove it. For some reason these little bast buggers really like my blood.  They are virtually invisible and once they’ve bitten you they leave a welt 114 times their size that itches like hell. Apparently they arrive in little No See Um herds and picnic on the unsuspecting.  They creep up under clothing (including bras) and nosh on people (that would be me).  AFTER BITE is the only relief but it stinks of ammonia. Keep scratching without it and you’ll have scars.  By the time you feel the aftermath of their surprise attack, it’s too late.  So I’m oily with bug spray and trying hard to keep my shoes from sliding off.

A couple of days ago I turned on the computer to write and there were no icons.  WTF?  Talk about Bad Computer Karma.

Doug knows a ton about computers and he tried to repair the situation; even with him spending an hour on the ‘phone with technical support from LENOVO (IBM), there was no fixing it. The most constructive thing the guy at the other end of the line could offer was,  “Do you have a paper clip?” …. to stick into the reset hole.  Holy Cow.

Back to the store we purchased it from.  There, (long story short and after another hour with Doug on the ‘phone at the counter) we were told to return it and LENOVO (remember that name) would either repair it or replace it.

We bought a Toshiba.

No more Lenovo products.  Even the sales guy at the store informed us that, in his experience, one in twelve is a dud.  We got a lemon.  This was not a cheap laptop lemon.  But it cost us a lot of money and a lot of headaches and trips into the city and now we’re still waiting for news on what is happening with the computer.

I love this Toshiba.

The best bbq (reputedly) in the area is WILEY’S so we rewarded our patience and stopped by for a pound of takeout plain pulled pork.  This is Wiley and his main chef sitting at the bar in the restaurant:

March 13 – 18, 2016

There is a Wildlife Refuge on the way onto Tybee that I had to investigate because they have, yeh, alligators.  Alligators totally creep me out but I wanted to see their chilly, smirking faces up close.  Not too close.  But just close enough that I could watch them from behind a very tall very electrified fence at a very safe distance. And not smell their very rancid breath.  For a small fee, Doug and I were able to stroll through a beautiful building and park with snakes, wolves, salamanders, birds, a cougar, fox and ‘gators. They are like slithering conniving convicts, these prehistoric creatures, crawling with shortened front limbs, empowered by monstrous muscular hind legs and a tail that steers the body with so much power and speed it is mind-boggling.

Yeh, I am so fascinated by them and so afraid of them at the same time.  In Florida, I saw them offered on the menu.  Ugh.  For the rest of my life I will eat a plant-based diet before I will eat anything remotely associated with a smelly-mouthed alligator.

So.  I looked out the door of the RV on St. Paddy’s Day and there was a guy dressed up like a leprechaun in STRETCHY SPANDEX GREEN SHORTS, suspenders and hat, waiting at the trolley stop. OMG.  And a 20-ish woman in a regrettable outfit of tutu and lime leotards.  Double OMG.  I had to shut the door and go back inside, then re-emerge to ask Doug, sitting at the picnic table, “What the Heck is going on?” or something like that, (I am editing for the younger viewers).  Nothing much phases Doug, he was just taking it all in, eyes glazed over his first morning coffee.

The trolley service ran back and forth all day and it became evident that the idea of attending the HUGE St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Savannah is A) Dress up and party and B) Party.  Everybody was in a jovial mood and when we watched the hours long parade on tv, the crowd was uber enthusiastic and engaging in paying homage to St. Patrick.  Or kegs.  Not a fan of crowds and drunk people, I was happy to view it from the couch.  Savannah puts on a great parade and there were no major incidents, according to the news.  We are so thankful we were able to attend the Tybee Parade as many of the floats and bands in it were also participants in the Savannah Parade. Without the humongous crowds.

For the past few days Doug and I have  been hanging around the island, walking and enjoying the people we meet. We are also getting geared up for the next leg of the journey.  We’ll miss the social atmosphere here, the continual revolving cast of characters.

Late one afternoon we were out walking Zuma and a little boy (about 7 or 8 years old) ran out to greet the dog.  He had motor mouth and was verbally tripping up with excitement that he could hug Zuma and she appreciated his advances.  His young Mom was sitting by her campfire and rolling her eyes as he suddenly spurted: “I threw up once.  It was awful.  My Aunt threw up a few times.  She had too many shots” (!)  Doug and I could hardly hold back the giggles.  His poor Mom called him back to their campsite, the little guy draped himself around Zuma in a genuine farewell departure and we carried on.

The weather has been HOT, 84 degrees most days, good for the bones, good for the soul.  Only early morning walks or evening strolls are possible as Zuma cannot handle excessive heat.

One day we went out for a fun lunch in Tybee with David and Margaret; they are parked “next door” and they showed me their lovely Airstream Camper.  It is very nice.

Martina and Kay (pronounced Ki) are preparing to leave and venture on with their travels.  They will be stopping in Asheville, North Carolina, as will we when we depart Tybee next week.  They stopped by on the morning of the 17th, with a lovely book of memories for us to sign. I unearthed a journal in my suitcase and told Martina I want to copy her idea, so I began having people sign my book too, as we prepare to leave here.

Sadly, several River’s End staff members are also moving on to other positions.  In most Parks, people are able to work for their site rental; they’re “Park Hosts” and the people who work in that position here at River’s End are FANTASTIC.  They are the heart and soul of the place.  When Doug is away, I know I’m safe as they come by daily and either wave or visit, stop with their little dogs, add a special moment to my day.  They bend over backwards to be helpful, courteous and caring.  Their wives also stop by with little dogs; Zuma adores their visits, as do I.

It is almost impossible to leave, but it’s time.

March 18, 2016.

Doug headed back to Maine today.  He can work from here most of the time but he has to go to the office for a few days and attend The Maine Boat Builder’s Show in Portland over the weekend.  Then, on Monday he will go to Toronto to attend a Memorial Service for his cousin who passed away unexpectedly last month.  David was in his early 60s.  It’s been a rough year for Doug, he has lost three friends suddenly in the past few months and now his cousin David. These losses really make us think about not delaying joy.  I’m so glad Doug is going to be with Zuma and I more on this trip, he really enjoys this journey.

March 12, 2016

After the fantastic parade on Tybee, Doug and I decided to go for a walk to Huck-a-Poos for a pizza and a cocktail. We were delighted to walk in on this very busy night and find a table for two right by the door!  The service is great there and we were quickly greeted and served.

AND THEN …. there was a burly man seated close to our table with a group; he was clearly intoxicated, as in, he was swaying when he stood.  Bad energy.  Without warning, he suddenly began methodically pounding his fist SERIOUSLY on the table.  This is not what it’s like at Huck-A-Poos.  He kept pounding and pounding, attracting more and more attention.  I’d never seen anything like it. Doug couldn’t hear all that was going on because he was close to the outside door and there was the usual fun stuff going on outside. But I heard it.  I kept Doug updated with a play-by-play.  I saw the fists this guy was making, his face was getting more and more red. He was MAD. He was having a 50-something-year-old tantrum! The burly man was upset because his pizza wasn’t being served fast enough. Yikes.

The pizza arrived at his table and he dug in, (all but eating with his feet) and then some of his female friends entered and joined him and they were LOUD. I mean LOUD.  Across from us a nice quiet family had just departed and a quiet group of casual college kids settled politely into the seats.  The drunk guy at the table beside them got louder and louder and more obnoxious as his group ordered a round of shots.  Then they became even louder.  Wait, I thought, this isn’t how it goes here.  This a FUN place.

THEN it got so loud it was really annoying.  The women who came in were obnoxiously vocal and the table of 4 sets of college couples were clearly being infringed upon.  Plus, Doug and I couldn’t hear ourselves speak.

Slowly, one of the young men stood up and serenely approached the noisy table and asked them to quiet down.  I expected a scene but the drunk guy wasn’t up to much on a physical level.  The young guy was very calm and polite.  One of the women snarled at him, “This is MY bar” and the rest of the table of six or eight just watched. Doug couldn’t hear any of it but I could as I was closer.  And I wanted to leave.  The waiter came over and, even though he was a guy about my size (the burly guy being twice our size), he attempted to diffuse the situation with soothing and rational talk. The burly guy and the mouthy woman began acting up and mouthing back at the waiter.  The college guy stepped up to the plate and requested “cut them off” and the waiter complied.  The waiter was excellent.  Nobody should be exposed to this unruly behavior.  The waiter told the burly guy he was going to call the police as there was some sort of dispute over the bill; he called the manager into the action and they were all ousted.

I filled Doug in after it all went down and we packed up our pizza and thanked the college guy and the waiter for their actions.  They were both excellent.  The college guy said:  “I saw you two sitting there having a nice quiet evening and felt so badly for you, plus, that guy and those women were yelling so loud I lost hearing in one ear!”  Doug couldn’t hear or see all that was happening or I’m sure he would have said something.

Then we scooted off down the dark sandy path to the RV Park.  Zuma needed a night walk and, as we were strolling, we saw the drunk burly guy stumbling through the campground with his wife in tow.  OMG.  I was so glad Doug was here.  Obviously, the burly guy was NOT from Tybee.  He’s gone now.  People like him are the reason why I don’t go to bars BUT I love the fun ambience at Huck-A-Poos so much I won’t hold it against them and we’ll go back.  The staff there is well trained and they don’t put up with such bad behavior.  Like all places on Tybee, it’s a community and people look out for each other.  I feel safe here.

March 14, 2016.

All week the island and Savannah have been buzzing with energy as they prepare for St. Patrick’s Day.  Savannah has a huge celebration with 300,000 people generally flooding the city.  30,000 of them are expected to attend the parade.  It’s crazy.  Police security in the city and here on Tybee has been upped with “all hands on deck” in the city and law enforcement coming in from area forces. Personally, we’ll watch it on tv.  Waaay too many people and waaay too much green beer for us!

In Forsythe Park the fountain’s water is turned green.

Tybee’s parade was far more calm, a family affair, with people lining the streets and sitting on the edges of the sidewalk to take it all in.  Doug and I walked into the town to see how Tybee honors St. Patrick.  They do a great job!

Doug and I admitted we were apparently seriously unprepared for the event. Clearly, we missed “Parade 101:  How to Get Down and Get it Right to watch a Parade”.  These people appeared to be professional parade-goers. They had lawn chairs, rugs to sit on, coolers, even small tables set up with gorgeous piles and plates of picnic food and drinks.  It was so much fun watch.  We loved it even though we ended up picking grass spurs (like small burrs) out of our butts all the way home from sitting on the grass and curb.

This is the River’s End float, representing the campground we are staying at:

It was a great parade, with some excellent floats and marching bands, other bands and even a lively group of “Junkaroo” musicians from Nassau.  And there was a nice, easy, home-town pride.  Video clips coming next week, apologies ya’ll for the delay.

clip of Junkaroos

keystone Kops clip

March 11, 2016.

It’s been an interesting week!  With Doug in Maine and really sunny days I’ve been a bit slow about blogging.  I work at the picnic table but unless it’s evening as I cant seen the screen very well, plus I’ve discovered “the night life”.  One evening Zuma and I were out for walk and heard music; every Wednesday evening their is a music night and people bring their guitars and sing around an open fire.  I was invited last week but missed it so I stopped by.  My plan was to stay for a song or two (since Zuma had not yet planted her evening deposit), but the three guys were so good I wanted to stay longer.  After the first ten minutes I noticed, to my horror, Zuma was beginning her “cowboy walk” right on the edge of the group who had given us such a warm welcome.  I grabbed a poop bag and everybody said, “no problem” and helped me dispose of the evidence in a nearby garbage can.  Every party has a Party Pooper, Zuma, and that is why we invited YOU!

Zuma loved the music and all the attention from the friendly group and we stayed for 3 1/2 hours (with no further contributions from Zuma, thankfully).  It was fabulous.  One of the guys Kay) is visiting from Germany with his wife Martina; he is a professional musician.

The other two guys (Frankie and Brad) are 23 and very talented as well.  There was a retired NYC police officer and people from all walks of life, it was a hilarious evening with lots of funny stories after the music ended.

The next day I met Jim, his wife Debbie and her sister Patti; all originally from New Jersey with the best accents ever.

They invited Zuma and I go to a local roadhouse a short walk from here; we had a great time.  Apparently Zuma likes parties.  Kids , women, waitresses and grown men were hugging her, she thoroughly enjoyed herself.  The music was a bit loud but Zuma didn’t care.  For the next few days, her new friends would call out when walking around the island or zipping by on their golf carts:  “Hi Zuma!”  She rolls her head back and wiggles and I swear she smiles at me.  Nobody recognizes me if I’m not with her.

The bar/restaurant/roadhouse is called Huck-A-Poos and it’s a friendly place frequented by the locals.  Good karma.  A really fun night out.

When Doug arrived on Friday afternoon, he met Jim, Debbie and Patti and they all hit it off so, we all went to Huck-A-Poos in the evening!  Zuma, The Party Animal came along.  Again, she loved every minute of it with Doug, whom she velcroed herself to after his week-long absence.

Great pizza and nachos and the decor is great, old posters, old memorabilia and funky antique signs and license plates cover the walls, with empty spaces filled in with crinkled dollar bills stapled haphazardly to the wooden walls; the ceiling is covered with old album covers from the 60s through 90s.

We learned that in November, 2006, fire and smoke nearly totally destroyed the building.  The much-loved owner was devastated at the loss which was accidental. The entire Island was devastated to lose such a cool watering hole.  Patti heard that the town got together, donated construction materials and time and helped rebuild and redecorate it, similar to how it was.
Like I said, good karma.

We had a really fun time with the Jim, Patti and Debbie on Friday night. Afterwards, they dropped off some of Debbie’s famous spaghetti and meatballs (with sausage, yum).  Doug had brought lobster from Maine and he whipped up a lobster roll for Jim.  They had to leave the next day but we all agreed we will meet again.

And to top it all off, I was proudly christened a “Jersey Girl”!

March 5th, 2016

I’ve been a  bit of a sloth about blogging because A} I’ve never done this before and B} this new computer has been a drag.  Not to mention I was sick with food poisoning which set off my IBS and knocked me flat for days.  BUT!  I’m Baaaack!  When Doug comes for a week every other week we like to get out and about and explore the area, walk, take in new sights and try new things.
So …. they (whoever “they” are) say a picture is worth a thousand words so here is a blog of photos of just a few of the GREAT people we have met through Zuma.

The lovely Nun is so special. Talk about Good Karma.  This sweet woman was besotted with the dog and Zuma instantly adored her. And their outfits match.

There are the sweet little girls who weigh a fraction of what Z weighs:

Lovely families:

Cool college guys:

Oh, I hope this girl finds a Dane in her future.

February 27, 2016

Doug has to leave in a couple of days to go back to Maine so we decided to go on a day trip today.  After thumbing through some touristy guides, I found Darien, GA, listed as an unspoiled shrimp fishing town with a nice seafood restaurant.  Kelly had told me about this place and highly recommended it so we started out for a seaside excursion.

On the way we drove through Savannah so Doug suggested we walk Zuma at Forsythe Park and a then stop for coffee and tea at his new fave coffee shop.

The Azaleas are starting to peak now, the daffodils are in full bloom as are the Camellias.  It’s Spring here.  But the locals still call it Winter.

February 19, 2016

Kelly cracks me up.  Ever since I found out that Sandra Bullock and some other celebrities have homes here, Kelly launched into Super Sleuth mode.

Kelly located Sandy’s home and she’s our neighbor!  Who knewwww?!  Doug says now to find John Mellencamp’s getaway home on Tybee!  Miley Cyrus has a place here, too, but we don’t care.

I have been struggling with this computer.  On the 9th I spent the day inside trying to write, but the computer kept acting up.  I called Google for support.  They wanted money.  We already paid for the Super Duper Protection Program, so NO.  They told me my computer has “malicious viruses”.  It feels like a scam.

The constantly revolving cast of campers keeps life interesting.  An elderly couple parked near us last week and the man was very friendly.  As it turned out, he is a professional Santa Claus “and I take it very seriously”, he added.  He lost his dear dog one Christmas Eve (oh, the irony) and his neighbor offered him a small, fuzzy bundle of puppy. He accepted the little furball and they quickly bonded.  His name?  St. Nick.  Nick for short.  “I wanted to call him Bubba but my daughter insisted on St. Nick”, he told us.  Nick and Zuma met and liked each other (Zuma likes everyone, man or beast) until Nick tried to hump Zuma’s head.  Having never experienced such sexual boldness, Zuma looked quizzically at me and I swear she rolled her eyes at me as she swiftly walked away from Nick.  She’s just not that kinduv girl, Santa.  And Nick may want to rethink his Christmas list.

Shortly after midnight on Monday the 15th I woke up with baby aliens gurgling inside me.  Instinct told me that was not a good sign.  Food Poisoning.  Needless to say, the week was pretty much a total “write-off” with no stamina and no computer.  Plus it was rainy and windy a few days and Zuma doesn’t like that kind of weather.  I’ve been too weak to do much of anything but am on the mend now, thankfully.  I know it was triggered by lobster bisque from a large chain grocery store.  I should have known better. Never again.

Doug arrived this afternoon and pulled the laptop together.
In the meantime, I mustered up some courage (in my lucid moments) to contact the people I thought were Zuma’s breeders. When I called I delicately questioned the date they had a litter in April, 2012 and it was Zumas birthdate (according the the veterinary vaccination records that came with her).  It was a challenge to ask her if they had traded an unnamed 8 week old puppy for a lawnmower but I inquired anyway.  She immediately burst into tears “That was my husband, I didn’t want him to do that”.  I knew then my hunch had been right.  I just didn’t know where to begin.  For the rest of the conversation, as I explained that the totally neglected dog had been rescued by a kindly neighbor from the lawnmower people, she sobbed.  I struggled to avoid thinking about her husband getting a skillet across the head when he got home that night.

The breeder thanked me profusely when I assured her Zuma is safe and well and much-loved.  She listed off the names of Zuma’s parents and there is no worrisome medical history in the families she comes from.  Phew.  Interestingly enough, both her parents are now retired and her mother is a therapy dog.  I could tell this woman really loves her dogs.

I felt horrible disclosing the torrid truth, but we both had to know the real story, about how a good Samaritan neighbor intervened when she saw the 5 1/2 month old puppy in a crate too small to stand up in or turn around and paid the owners $200.00 for her, threatening to call the authorities if they didn’t comply.  About how the dog was standing in 6 inches of feces and urine and rarely let out, except for occasionally being tied with a 3′ leash.  When I met her, I cried.  Her feet and skin were rotting.  Her coat was horrible and she was THIN.  About the fact the lawnmower dealers were feeding the puppy cat food.   And that her worm burden was so huge my veterinarian said she felt sorry for me when she looked at the egg count.  The puppy was severely overloaded with parasites, fleas, worms, yuk.  The poor puppy.

The Good Samaritan woman didn’t need another dog, she lived in a townhouse with her husband, six children and a Newfoundland.   But she sure as heck wasn’t leaving the dog there.  The people who had the puppy were moving and they took the money and left her with no emotion, I was told.

The Rescuer bathed the puppy and fed her properly and did her best to control a serious flea problem.  But with this Wild Child and all the other household occupants, she knew quickly that it was too much.  She made a poster and took a copy to several places hoping to find the puppy a loving home; she delivered one poster to the grooming salon where our daughter was working at the time. Emma immediately called me as I’d been looking for a rescue Dane for two years.  The rest is history!

I admit, I was a bit shaky having this flung at me with no lead-up, but I had done a lot of “homework” and I knew this would be the breed for me.  We’ve always had Shepherd mixes and one Lab so we are used to large breeds …. but Great Danes are a different dog altogether.

I wanted a dog I didn’t have to bend over to pet, one who would go with me when I ride my horse on the farm.  A friend of mine had one, he was fabulous.  His name was Zazu and he was adored by all for his genuine, gentle personality.  Once I met him, I was hooked.

Emma and a mutual friend drove me to the grocery store that sunny September afternoon and we met the rescuer in the parking lot to meet the puppy.  I met her and then had to seriously think about this huge commitment.  But I couldn’t put that sweet, struggling dog out of my mind.

We went back again after five days.  I knew it was the ight thing, take this dog on and it would all work out.  Eventually.  She was WILD at the end of a leash with newfound freedom.  She was all legs.  She looked like a dog crossed with a giant spider.  I had to think about it very, very seriously.  This was a huge commitment.

Emma and our friend took me to a local restaurant and we went over the pros and cons as they fed me two Bloody Marys and the next thing I knew Emma was driving us all home with a crazed Great Dane puppy bouncing around in the back seat.

Emma was a Champ.  She took the puppy right to the grooming salon where she worked at the time (Yankee Groomer in Rockport, Maine, thank you, Liz) and bathed her.  She came home smelling much more fresh and full of herself.  She knew she was HOME.  She bonded immediately with Emma and I.  When Doug arrived home from work, she growled at him.  Protecting us, I guess?  She quickly warmed up to him.  She was just so desperate to find security and her low rumblings were a sign of her insecurity, I think.

She was a sad sack of a dog.  Malnourished and over exuberant about any attention bestowed upon her.  She was pooping spaghetti from a roundworm overburden.  Emma had taken care of the flea population and we had put her on Heartworm/flea medications immediately.  Never again did she have a problem with parasites.

Now we had yet another orphan for the farm and our family.  It’s difficult to choose a name you want to call.  But I knew exactly what her name would be.  I wanted it to start with Z, in honor of Zazu who inspired me to find a Dane.  I chose the name Zuma.
It means peace in Hebrew.  I’m not religious in any way, shape or form and I’m not Jewish, but this darling dog needed a good karma name; my research showed me that Gwen Steffani named her sone Zuma.  If it’s good enough for Gwen, it’s good enough for us.

February 7, continued ….

Doug and Zuma and I went into Savannah today and trekked around Forsythe Park and then browsed the shops on River Street. Suddenly I saw this poster:

It surprised me to see this poster as I have one of these porcelain dolls; I purchased her from a Maine diver/artist who unearthed her ghostly little self offshore a while ago and placed her in the middle of a framed, stained glass shrine of sorts.  She appealed to me at the time and I’ve often wondered why the artist/diver named her Frozen Charlotte.  So I wandered into the shop and asked the shop-keeper about the history of the minuscule maiden.  After a very informative visit, I purchased this:

I didn’t want to take Zuma into her shop with all the antiques and breakable items, but she insisted and lavished cookies to Zuma who  thought she was at Grandma’s house.  With Zuma’s four foot tail swathe, this is not a safe place for an uber happy Great Dane. But the woman didn’t even flinch (I did all the flinching).

This is the information the shop-keeper gave to me about Frozen Charlotte:

Firstly, she told me that the doll originated from a story about Charlotte, a young girl who was being courted by “Charlie”; she was on her way to a Ball one cold Wintry night and refused to wear a shawl or a blanket in the sleigh because she didn’t want to wrinkle her beautiful gown.  Sadly, Charlotte froze along the way.  Soon thereafter, Charlie died of a broken heart.  This, apparently happened in Connecticut.  Iiii know.  I checked it out on Wiki, it’s a fact, ya’ll.

The note that accompanied the necklace reads:

“This beautiful pendant was created from a broken antique Frozen Charlotte Doll that was dug in Historic Savannah, GA, among artifacts dating back to the 1850s.  Frozen Charlotte is a name used to describe a specific form of china doll made from ca. 1850 – ca. 1920.  The Frozen Charlotte Doll is made in the form of a standing, naked figure molded all in one piece.  The dolls may also be found described as pillar dolls or bathing babies.  The dolls ranged in size from under an inch to over 18 inches.  Smaller sizes were very popular for doll’s houses.  Occasionally versions are seen with a glazed china front and an unglazed stoneware back.  This enabled the doll to float in a bath  …. The smallest dolls were often used in punches and teas at balls and parties, to cool drinks. Afterwards they were given as party favors.  Sometimes they were baked into Christmas puddings. Then, the Ballad of “Frozen Charlotte” would be recited”.

I located the lyrics to the song on line:

Young Charlotte (Kenneth Peacock)

(Frozen Charlotte)

####…. Said to be based on a true event recorded in an original poem by Maine humorist and editor Seba Smith [1792-1868] and set to music by William Lorenzo Carter. [Laws G17] Native American Balladry (G Malcolm Laws, 1950/1964) ….####

This variant was collected in 1958

Are you shedding a tear?  Yeh, me too.

Sometimes several tiny dolls are found at one dig site, it was a good party but these were trinkets and frequently discarded, though few remain.  The male versions are called Frozen Charlies.

I like to imagine my new little Charlotte experienced an exciting Plantation Ball and accidentally ended up being thrown away to be found a century later and come to me.   I really appreciate her. Although many may consider her story sad, I find it heartwarming to think that she and Charlie are remembered and immortalized forever.

So, next time you’re out in the cold, remember to bundle up, ya’ll.

When I think of the man in the tent, I will always remember him as Frozen Charlie.

I wear Charlotte everywhere now.  She really likes touring around.
And it’s warm here.

February 7, 2016

Okay.  So now I’ve met and befriended the bloke in the tent.
Iiii know.  Watch for the Forensic Files show about me being murdered.  Zuma likes him.  He’s “on the road”, a traveler.  He says he’s moving on to KY or TN as he is down to his last ten bucks and can’t afford to stay here ($30.00 a night for a tent site).

I put together a bag of food for him – a “tuck box” we call it in England: buns, cheese, tea, fruit and a big bar of chocolate.  He’s hit upon hard times and really is a good soul.  If Kelly and I disappear, I totally misjudged his character.  He was appreciative of the food and gave me a hug.  I feel good that I helped him. He is leaving today.

When I look at Zuma lounging in front of the heater these rainy nights and the feral cats hunkering under buildings, I think how fortunate they are and I feel badly that a human being has to suffer.

There are many transients in Savannah; at Forsythe Park we’ve seen a huge food kitchen set up on Saturday mornings and on Sunday mornings, coffee and donuts.  Doug and I were even invited in for snacks.  “Do we look homeless?” Doug asked me.  When I went to the car and checked out my hair-do, after battling the wind on our walk, I had to wonder.