Mysckeallahnieausse

Okay. It's time. If I don't blog soon, I might forget how. And, as we all know, the only two serious topics in this life are blogs, and folksongs. ...well... and humongous giant clams... Seriously. They were a threat to America at one time. But for the life of me-- I have no idea what to write about. If you make a suggestion before I post this, I might just take you up on it.
think think think
Well... maybe I'll tell you about the driftwood I meant to write about a while back, but ended up talking about how sweet and loving and good I am instead. That sounds promising. There's more to say about it now, anyway. As of 7:45pm, that is. When the fire on my back patio finally went out. Some serious, some ridiculous, some suspicious. About what I usually write. Okay. I'll DO it! (Too late for YOU! You'll just have to make a suggestion some other time, possibly sailing around for hours until you find a harbor. Inconceivable, you say? I do not think him is what you think him is. And I am NO left handed! It's true. Ask Arlo Guthrie.)

Driftwood. I've never partaken of a fire on the beach. Even though I lived on the beach for seven years (well, two blocks back, where the mortgage was cheaper). Even though my high school senior skip day was spent (by everyone but me and a few other loos-- err... individuals) on the beach with driftwood fires and a couple of unexplained kegs. Even though my dad has always kept on hand a ridiculous amount of perfectly-sized firewood. Just in case. Even though I eventually married an Eagle Scout (famous last words: "Don't worry! I'm an Eagle Scout." As if that somehow means you know how to take on an angry 700 lb black bear and her two cubs-- who are standing between us and our only water supply... in the middle of Bear Island... in Alaska... in dirty underwear and a pair of Army Boots... with a rusty pop can full of change in one hand to use as a rattle. But that is a story for another time.) who really REALLY thought having sex on the beach, by firelight, in the middle of winter--or any other time we happened to be on the beach-- with no blanket under us, and the tide coming in... would be "romantic." (It didn't happen. The word that came to my mind was "riiiiight.") Even though I have often walked by the charred remains of driftwood fires along the beach, smelled the last bit of smoke drifting up from it... and known it was a magical scent. I have never actually experienced a driftwood fire. Until today.

You see, way back when I drove over the mountains and through the snow to the beach... I brought about six inches of sand (intentionally, no less) and a whole bunch of baby bits of driftwood home with me. I spent two weeks drying that wood in front of a heating vent in my living room. (My cat thought I was crazy. She thinks that a lot. That's why she's not allowed to leave the house anymore. She might tell someone about what goes on in here.) I carefully put the sand into the metal container I'd found so nothing would overheat, melt, or burn down. I bought baby charcoal to help the driftwood catch fire. And then I spent 45 minutes in 29* weather getting smoked out as I hunched beside my little tiny pile of three pieces of driftwood and some kleenex (I don't get a newspaper)... as they all turned into a sad pile of smoking coals, and never bothered to flame at all, (except for the kleenex, which obviously has more chemicals in it than I'd realized, at least one of which is a fire retardant... though there was that one time with the kleenex and the flaming pizza box...) even though I hyperventilated because I blew on them there sad smoking coals for 15 of those 45 minutes-- straight.

sigh

The original plan was to have a driftwood fire on my back patio during my Open House. THAT would have been somewhat romantic and all together cool. This was the dry run. But, no. So I went to the store. One of those stores that actually does have a little of everything. Want diapers? They have that. Want depends? They have that, too. Want foot powder? Okay, but it's an off-brand. Want ice cream? Yup. 3 flavors. Found the "outdoors" section. (Right there next to the big "Get Your Fishing License Here-- So you don't get arrested for telling me about the one that got away!" sign.) There in the middle of the "outdoors" section, they had magical non-smoking wood chips that are guaranteed --in two different languages-- to start your fire. That's a quote, by the way. I laughed all the way to the cash register. I never did find a list of ingredients on the package, but I honestly don't want to know, anyway. Because then I might feel guilty for using them. The good news is they actually did light my fire. My fire is LIT!

I actually got to watch (very closely, with a bucket of water at my feet, because this was my patio, after all, and no where near the beach, even though it was technically taking place on six inches of honest-to-god beach sand... and... you know... something might happen...) as three other miniature pieces of driftwood from my collection burst into FLAME and became a real HONEST TO GOSH DRIFTWOOD FIRE for a whole 30 minutes!!! It was definitely a highlight in my life.

So... if you ever wanna light MY fire... wear eau-de-driftwood-smoke behind your knees. Ahem-- ears. I meant ears.

Okay, and for those of you who haven't started laughing yet... The title of this blob is pronounced "miscellaneous." I tried to spell giant with a J. I accidentally put a silent B on the end of "clambs." And I refrained from saying, "Dagm you, Salazar!!" at least twice. Yes. It's a quote from the "Charlie's Angels" movie with Lucy Liu in it. Your Welcome.