Eleanor Tatum

Rudy and I live on Lake Shore Drive on my lake-swamp; my Lake Wheatley. The shore of my oval shaped marvel has a swamp side, a state park forest-swamp side, and a limestone bluff. Now do you understand my bluff?

When walking my constitutional,  I usually turn left to continue on the bluff, other times to the right, toward my swamps and her alligators. The bluff road, again forgetful readers, LSD, has a rhythm or non-rhyming rhyme. First, I pass six cottages then three churches. Even these religious homes have an ABA beat: church camp, Methodist Church, church camp.  I pass six more cottages before my hopefully famous Gray Lace Cottage; a three story magnificent vessel seemingly ready for Nathaniel Horn Blower, except  for the relaxing wrap around porch.

After that there’s six more lake-worthy estate agent-dream homes before one of my favorite cottages appears. This one is a narrow Cape Cod style with homesickness-causing gray shingles and a delightful tin roof.

Walking constitutionally onward, I pass a really large, humungous-what-were-you-thinking-Mr.-Builder-cottage followed by six (seeing a pattern here?) more delightful , lake homes; lovingly called, you guessed it, cottages.

All of the above mentioned are on my left.

The North Carolina Department of Transportation wisely turned LSD away from the my lake and posted a six (again?) foot arrow pointing left, because Lake Wheatley is…. well dear reader, on the right.

So, as part of my constitutional I soundly tap the sign, smile in my accomplishment (a Fit Bit 4000 steps), turn myself around and shake it all about back to Rudy to wish him a Happy Father’s Day.

Enough!