MindSpinner

“Nice site and fine colors,” says a spam comment caught in moderation. Wonder which color suits so well, the black or the white?

I’m cheating blog-wise today, adapting an email for a blog post to atone for my blog slothfulness of late. Midweek inspiration was thwarted because my MacBook Pro was misbehaving. The trackpad button couldn’t muster a respectable click, as if it were stuck down. The cursor consequently highlighted things, moved them, opened them, and replaced the last three words I’d written with the next letter I typed, over and over. Writing anything was a struggle at best, and I gave up entirely when a spontaneous shutdown ate a one-paragraph post. Diagnostics indicated no problem with the hard drive, but I noted that when I pushed up on the battery beneath the trackpad, the cursor changed. Googling trackpads and batteries identified the source of the problem. It turns out that Macbook Pro batteries produced during a certain time period have sometimes begun to swell - that’s right, swell, and when they swell, they muck around with the functionality of the trackpad and cause shutdowns, etc. I ran my finger over the bottom of the battery. Sure enough, there was a bulge. Fortunately, there’s an Apple recall/battery exchange program, and my new battery is on the way. In the meantime, I can use the laptop with the AC adapter and no battery installed.

Last night I photographed two boys’ basketball games, a project that always turns out to be fun. (I’ll catch the girls in a couple of weeks.) I like watching a high school basketball game. I know the kids; the gym is small so everybody is close to the action (sometimes the photographer is very close indeed, and a player who leaps out of bounds may find himself headed through the cafeteria doors into the salad bar on one end of the gym or making an emergency leap onto the stage at the other); the game seems more sporting somehow when the players aren’t seven feet tall.

Yesterday I finally figured out how to get a hand-operated grain mill screwed down onto the rock-hard maple butcher block top of a small kitchen cart. (I mastered drilling holes with my cordless drill. Huzzah, huzzah.) Last night I used the mill to grind flour from wheat. I find that I have made not only an investment in a grain mill, but an investment in a nifty piece of exercise equipment designed to ensure that I will never have flabby arms. That explains the price, right? So today I’ve milled a bit of wheat into flour, and I have bread dough rising.

Outside the sky is gray, and rain pelts the roof and the windows. Winter rain always makes me think of beaches by way of an antidote. This is called beach fantasy therapy, and it proves an excellent way to fritter away an hour on a Sunday morning. I google pictures of beaches. I consider decorating with a travel poster or two. I contemplate snagging beachy screensavers. I note that prepping for a possible pandemic has indeed netted me everything I need to go back to that little campground on Ocracoke island and pitch a tent between the dunes under the Milky Way. I could bike around the island and undertake photographic expeditions. Then I think of Kiawah Island and its 30 miles of trails and 10 miles of beach. No campgrounds there, though. Wonder if the resort lets day visitors loose on their trails. Likely not.

Still, what would it hurt to plan an expedition? An Amazon search turns up a likely resource: The Best in Tent Camping: The Carolinas: A Guide for Car Campers Who Hate RV’s, Concrete Slabs, and Loud Portable Stereos. A lone reviewer writes,

Johnny Molloy had a dream assignment; to explore the campgrounds of North and South Carolina with his tent, vehicle and laptop. He came back with 55 campgrounds and created “a guide for car campers who hate RVs, concrete slabs, and loud portable stereos.” The author writes with such enthusiasm and asks, “Have you ever been to the Outer Banks in fall, with a cool breeze and ward golden light spilling onto its sands?” He briefly discusses the area’s history. Each campground is rated for beauty, noise, privacy, security, spaciousness, and cleanliness. He also talks about the active outdoor possibilities such as hiking, biking, canoeing or fishing in or close to the campground.

I perk up. This is the travel writer for me. I even have a solar charger for the laptop and the camera. Possibilities are unlimited, and I am empowered. Never mind the cost of gas, the logistics and expense of pet care, the problem of what to do with a spare teenager or two, mosquitoes zinging around in my tent, and the possibility of rain. This is a fantasy, and in a winter’s morning beach fantasy, gas doesn’t cost money; one or more teenagers come over from their dad’s house twice a day to feed the pets and never forget to lock the door when they leave; there are no mosquitoes; my back never aches from sleeping on the ground; rain falls only when I’m hot come mid-afternoon (for fifteen minutes, max), and the tent never leaks. No doubt the campground has WI-FI, too.

I’d fantasize about the Kiawah Island vacation instead, but my fantasies always require a pinch of verisimilitude, and the camping scenario falls into the realm of “I might be able to pull this off sometime.” Even over-reaching can be negotiated - I’ll take a pad for my sleeping bag and a bottle of Aleve just in case; I can stop in somewhere for Internet access; a little rain never hurt anybody and who says it’s going to rain anyway; surely I can depend on Dark-Haired Daughter for pet care - if I pay her $10/day. (She doesn’t like dogs much.)

Anyway, happy Sunday to all from a sunny little dune on Ocracoke Island. It’s sun up, and I’m off to take pictures on the beach. No doubt the morning light will be exquisite, and I’ll find an interesting shell. I’ll be off on the bike later, hoping to sight a few of the island ponies. (OK, in real life, I’m cleaning up in the kitchen, but that’s beside the point.)

Here’s to conjuring beaches in winter .