By Georgia Osten
Just when it’s all quiet and you think you’re all alone, something goes bump, screeches and lurches out of control. Well, there I was, all alone at a very stately, lovely house on the intracoastal, decorating for a much anticipated baby shower. This is the shower that was to originally occur in August, but due to one of the little tykes deciding to go ahead and come into the world a month in advance, the shower was postponed until October. Our other concern was that the other expecting Mommy might go ahead and deliver earlier than her November due date. It’s all good.

Back to my decorating story…I had the back of the jeep loaded with goodies – platters, buntinies (tiny bundt cakes), chicken salad for sandwiches, cheese and crackers, wine glasses, bottles of wine, cokes, water – you name it – it was all in the back of the jeep. Thank goodness for the elevator! Cranky as it is, at least I wouldn’t have to haul all this stuff up and down stairs. As it would happen, the elevator was already downstairs, so I loaded it with enough stuff to allow me to ride along as well.

Got upstairs, opened the elevator door and unloaded things into the kitchen, bathrooms, wherever necessary. Back down the elevator for another load and back up again only to realize that the elevator door was locked. Oh my goodness! My first impulse was to push and shove on the door. I looked around me in the elevator for something to pry the door open. I had left the keys and my cell phone on the island in the kitchen. I could yell for help, but who would have been able to hear me? I hadn’t even unlocked the front door, not that I was expecting anyone anyway. I had a meltdown – literally – sweating buckets in that little closed in space.

I decided to take the elevator back downstairs thinking someone would be able to hear me better. Guess what? The downstairs door didn’t have a lock on it, I was free! I found the key and unlocked the house, sent the elevator upstairs by itself and unlocked the elevator door. How did I get out the first time and the second time, the door was locked? I had the rest of the evening to get familiar with the place and make peace with my friends in the house. I made sure that wherever I went, I took the keys and my cell phone with me – just in case –
I hate to tell the owner, I hate to have this story spilled. But, who knows, the house may sell quicker if folks know there’s a S-P-I-R-I-T already living there. ‘Tis the Season.
[10-10-2016]

GO’s Sand Bucket is only one beach bum’s journal of life at the beach, probably something each of you can relate to. Please feel free to email me with your thoughts, visions and/or feelings of just exactly what the beach means to you.