Exotic Undies in Isla Mujeres

Last evening another storm hit the area. It was my fault. I had just hung my laundry out to dry. Now I watched it get soaked again, in a matter of seconds. *SIGH*


I finally get some energy reserves built up to do some work and mother nature is doing her comedy routine on me. 
*ROLLS EYES*


I'm an old fashioned southerner, so all my undies are hanging indoors, behind closed curtains to dry. I just can't bring myself to hang them outside for show and tell.  Anyone that drives in the park, can readily see what's hanging on my clothes line.   


All my under garments are nice and dry this morning, even if everything else is dripping wet outside. Now I am ensconced indoors in dry clean undies, and nothing else, waiting for some soaked clothes to dry so I can get dressed. 


I am so confused.  I thought I planned better than this. 


Years back when I worked aboard a yacht in Isla Mujeres, Mexico, the captain was a New Yorker.  One day I was going to town for fresh fruits and vegetables. This took up over half the day usually. First I had to walk to the gate outside the compound, then stand outside waiting for a taxi.  Generally this was an illegal gypsy cab. Once in town, the market was open air. I had to go from stall to stall, picking out my purchases. My Spanish was awful, so it was a lengthy chore while I tortured them with my erratic Spanish.  Also, because Isla means Island, no one was in a hurry at all. I had to bring my backpack and cloth shopping bags with me to load up the foods. It was another hour long trip back to the marina, once I found a ride. Then I had to stand at the gate, ringing a cow bell, waiting for someone to come let me in because they had a key shortage.  


As I was leaving to shop, the captain announced he was doing laundry. It was the first time he had done the laundry for both of us, but I figured it would be OK. The compound had washers and dryers. They weren't coin operated. You gave your money to the marina manager, telling him how many loads you did. He also made a side income, by doing laundry for the yachts. But my captain said he was going to do it himself. 


Just prior to landing in Mexico, I had shopped for new underwear in the Virgin Islands. That is because the last yacht I had worked on, sent our laundry out to a very new laundry lady. She had cranked up the propane industrial dryer to maximum heat, suitable for drying a super thick comforter,  to speed up the drying process on all our clothes etc. The end result was the elastic in all my underwear was shot completely. Nothing was wearable after that ill fated week.  Some of my cotton shorts were shrunk so tiny, I had to go on a severe diet to get back into them. 


I was scheduled to join a new boat in Mexico on a far flung island, so I went shopping in the Virgin Islands because that is where I was at the time.  At the store, all they had in cotton, was all these wild animal prints. So I had stocked up on bras and panties in zebra stripes, tiger stripes, leopard prints,  giraffe patterns and so on. Needless to say, it was wildly colorful underwear that was safely hidden under my  yacht uniforms. 


Well, lo and behold, when I came back from shopping in Isla Mujeres, I was absolutely mortified to discover the captain had instead of using the dryers at the laundry right in the compound, had decided to hang up all our clothes on the lifelines of the boat. He had even strung up extra clothes lines from the shrouds to the mizzen main. On these he had hung my colorful bras and panties for all the marina and lagoon to see. 


I dropped my groceries on the dock, then scrambled aboard to retrieve all my under things. I know I had a beet red face, as the captain kept telling me he didn't think they were dry yet while I was rapidly snatching my underthings off the lines and muttering not-so-kind words his way. Quite a few men, stopped their work, to stare, watch and giggle. 


I am sure the captain KNEW there were only two women in the entire marina, the other 39 residents and 8 workers were all males. On top of that, there was construction going on for the new condos in the marina compound, so there were another two dozen men toiling away at that. Our yacht was practically parked right up front, so no matter where you were in the marina or on land you saw a great view of my seemingly exotic bras and panties. He had hung everything up to show it off at it's best, as if he was opening up a boutique, carefully hanging the matching sets all together nice and neat like, cause he was that kind of person. He was fanatical about doing things ultra neatly. 


For the next few weeks, I was treated to knowing smiles, leers and jeers, wolf whistles, as well as suggestive comments in 4 different languages about my underwear. The captain acted completely clueless to my dismay, claiming in New York, everyone hangs their underwear out the windows to dry, on long lines that crisscross over the streets below. 


He just couldn't understand why I was upset at him. Finally he said "Is this a southern thing?"  It's probably the only time we had some not so friendly conversations in our work together. 


Back to the present...


Last night,  after dark, while I was in bed, on the phone, another storm rolled in, complete with lightning. Then the rains suddenly stopped. I opened up the bedroom window by my bed to let some fresh air inside. Suddenly Harley and I heard Bigfoot in the woods. That familiar crashing, thrashing sound of a giant blazing a new trail. Harley started barking then we heard this loud long c-c-c-c-r-r-r-rashhhhhhhh followed by smaller crackling noises, finishing with a loud thud.


Either Bigfoot just dropped dead or a large tree fell down.


Or both. 


I thought a massive tree was about to land on top of me or Bigfoot might make an entrance, searching my camper for food. So I told my friend if our phone call was cut short with a scream, to call 911 to come dig me out and I gave them my address and directions. Luckily, no such bad thing happened. I will have to venture out today to see if I can find the source of the clatter. 


Last week, at a campground south of me, on the lake, a sudden storm broke out wreaking havoc at the campground. One travel trailer flipped over on it's roof, sending the 7 occupants inside all to the emergency room. How frightening that must have been for them. I understand the campground was so badly damaged, along with loads of camping gear, that it is closed up completely, until they can clean up the mess. 

Above is home sweet home, before the storms hit, before I got the bright idea to do laundry. Now (not shown) I have my cantankerous awning put away.  This morning,  the laundry line in back is covered in soaking wet laundry from yesterday's attempt at cleanliness.

Hartwell Lake is receding, as more water is needed to make surplus power.  The rains haven't been plentiful to keep the lake topped up.  The original lake shore is at the treeline. Look at all the grass that is clinging to the mud. Now if that mud was your front yard, you could bet not a blade of grass would grow for you. 

The grass in this area is so lush, that with a little grooming, it could easily resemble a golf course by the lake. 

 Wild flowers poke out of the mud, offering a beautiful contrast. 

For some reason, not a single weed will grow on this expansive section of red mud left by the lowering levels of the lake. Nature is fickle. Why grass and flowers grow in one patch of mud and not in another, is just another mystery of nature. 

I am appalled at how much garbage is just strewn around the park when I am not looking. This park must have over two dozen garbage cans, yet folks toss their garbage out the car window, or abandon their fishing or picnicking area,  just leaving all their garbage behind. Even though this is a "No Alcohol Allowed" park, I pick up dozens of beer cans on my walks. 


Are beer drinkers exempt from using garbage cans? 


Look at the bucolic scene above. There is a vehicle tire in the woods!  It was not there two days ago. It's about 100 yards from the parking lot at the public picnic shelter. Someone went to all the trouble to bring their unwanted tire down here to the park, then roll it off into the woods. How I wish they had just propped it up next to the garbage can. Why hide it in the woods?  


Another day I found a gas tank for a boat hidden in the forest behind the public restrooms. There is absolutely no way it could have washed up ashore there. We've never had a flood here to reach those heights. 


In my utopia, we would have a hunter's season on litter bugs. You could shoot to kill anyone who tosses their garbage out at nature rather than put it in a garbage can or bin. As for those thoughtful parents that leave their disgusting dirty baby diapers behind where ever they please, I wonder, are we raising a nation of idiots?

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