Gulf Shores, Alabama, on Bon Secour Bay – We had an “anomalous cold front” come through last night, so the weather-guessers say. In mid-October, they report 17 tornados and a bunch of wind damage in the Southeast. That’s definitely anomalous.

Here we had no excitement other than five billion acorns blowing on our roof half the night.

We’re about five miles west of downtown Gulf Shores on Bon Secour Bay; I can see Mobile Bay channel markers in the distance and we’re watching tows on the ICW. I guess because of those years on Apalachee Bay 100 miles to the east I feel right at home.

Which brings us to our topic. When a front  comes through the wind blows. The title of this post is aptly descriptive. I’ve learned another descriptive phrase from somewhere or other that doesn’t really make any sense, but it’s “Blowin’ like seven barrels of whale shit!”

It does succintly get the point across.

Well, not quite, but we’re into our second week at Camp Parking Lot, and we’re learning a bit about our capabilities. I think The Barge will outlast this more than we will. Most ships will.

Propane lasts two weeks, black tank lasts two weeks, grey tank lasts until someone decides the lawn needs watering, and fresh tank lasts four to five days.

It started sucking air so Mom decided that we’d fill it via bucket. As in I tote the bucket and Mom holds the funnel. It worked fine; four buckets equals  one-quarter tank plus at least a half-gallon down Mom’s armpit for having such a half-assed idea. But I must admit it did work. And then we were too lazy or inebriated to actually take hot showers.

Something happened today; a bunch of plastic containers were moved out of the shop. Recon showed that they were labeled “Allison” and “ATL” so I reasoned that the truck that came to pick them up might leave a present for us. We’ll see tomorrow.

This sojourn has been striking  in its lack of conflict. In any normal couple there would’ve been huge arguments, blame and complaining; we’ve only had a moment of frustration. In a past life I was stuck at the dock with a busted rudder for several months so I’m familiar with impatiently waiting. Mom and I are in tune; if we’re not on fire there’s no excitement. But we’d like to get fixed and move on.

Please!