Judy P's Tickle Trunk

….or a lot of words about very little.

I am sitting here with my shirt on backwards. I would switch it around but I am sitting in the back window of the camper and it would require too much effort to move out of eyeshot to rearrange. I am about two weeks behind chronologically in my postings but am jumping ahead to real-time to rant. About  sand dollars. I’d put up a picture of one but I don’t have one!! I don’t have any pictures of dollars  either. So here’s a picture of some sand.

You see, there seems to be some kind of Bermuda Triangle-like area in the dinette area of the camper where things go in and never come out. Last week it was the size 0 green knitting needle which I last saw on the seat moving towards the edge. It never hit the floor and it never reappeared. More recently it was a sand dollar. Now I don’t know, perhaps there is no such thing as Bermuda Triangles or black holes. Perhaps, if you believe in such things, there is an angel up there in heaven having a good laugh at my expense, or more likely, testing me to see how much torment I can handle. Is it you Dad? Cause if it is, by Jove, I’ll be getting you back when I get up there. Darned sand dollars. I recently bought a post card for my mother (Sorry Mom, this will ruin the surprise if you haven’t received it yet) that had a picture of a sand dollar and a little bit of lore about the symbolism of the patterns and holes on the shell. Hey, that’s pretty cool, I thought, one of those would make a great topper for my little tree. And thus the sand dollar quest began. I made a beeline for the beach and walked a mile. Nothing. I wished really hard that I would find one. Nothing. I tried actively not wishing to find one. Nothing. Then there it was, a lovely grey one, about three inches in diameter. With excitement I reached down to pick it up but, like wet plaster, it crumbled in my fingers. Sheesh. Then just at the tail end of the walk where I was turning to return to the campsite, there it was. Small tree-top size and all, a beautiful sand dollar. Intact and solid. I smiled in appreciation and took it under my wing. I was so very careful I even managed to remember that it was in my shoe before I put my foot in. I sat it on the table in the camper where I admired it from time to time, and imagined just how I could attach a little red bow and a string to fasten it. Later, when I went to stow it with my other beach treasure it was mysteriously gone. Did I stow it for safe-keeping? Not that I could recall. It was nowhere. I turned the trailer upside down and shook it to no avail. My precious sand dollar had disappeared into thin air. I decided it was gone because I wanted it too much. Later I was just dropping off to sleep and recalled putting it into the empty muffin package and thus was able to settle in a deep sleep (in which I dreamed about dusty puzzle pieces and an ICU and in which I asked a fellow “Do you miss your aneurysm?” – I digress). I got up cheerily yesterday morning and checked the muffin  package. What!! It wasn’t a sand dollar, it was a sand dollar size cookie I put in there. Sigh. I’ve really got to let this go!! We packed up the camper to move to our next destination and I walked across the road to say good-bye to our neighbours. There on the end of their picnic table was a row of drying sand dollars, freshly harvested from Hunting Island beach. Seven in total, all perfect. Grrrr. We emptied our holding tanks and left for out next destination, driving past the SandDollar Motel. Somewhere there is a sand dollar and a size 0 knitting needle having a good time without me. And that was ten dollars I lost yesterday. One sand dollar and the nine dollars in my pocket, which, when I went to buy ice cream at the campground store to cheer myself up, was also gone missing. Sigh. I started a list in my notebook; Lost Items of the Day. Later, when we arrived, I put my hand in my pocket and there was the money. Except it was three dollars not nine. And no sandy ones amongst it. So tell me, am I getting the old-timer’s disease? I have given up on the sand dollars now and have decided a star fish would make a better tree topper anyhow. Now please excuse me while I straighten up my shirt and go look for one.

© Judy Parsons 2014