Life's Lessons

  A #fotoflash entry for Donna McNicol's challenge

I firmly believe that everyone does dumb, stupid, dangerous shit when they are in their early twenties. My niece is certainly no exception.

She had left our family vacation rental at the beach in the early evening and gone to a beach party bonfire.

She had not returned.

Fearing the worse, I took my trusty drone with me and trudged down to the beach to look for her.

I found the bonfire ashes and a case of empty beer cans only. Sighing, I put the drone in the air.

With me watching the drone's camera remotely on my iPad, I scanned the beach and surrounding sand dunes. No luck.

Going farther afield, I scanned a nearby seawall walkway.  THERE SHE IS!

I zoomed in and could see she still had her bathing suit on and that she was breathing and had her hands over her eyes to shield the sun.

Perhaps it was time for one of life's lessons.

I brought the drone back and picked up a bag of popcorn that was laying slightly hidden in the trash by the old bonfire.  Hmmm.  Popcorn is light in weight.

I had jury rigged a bomb drop contraption to my drone so I could drop small water balloons on my buddies. Perfect. I attached the bag of popcorn to the drone. Flew it back over my niece and let the popcorn drop.  Bullseye!

Waking up with a bad hangover and a hundred hungry sea gulls dive bombing you should teach a good life's lesson.

She struggled into the house an hour later. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was covered in sea gull bird poop.

"I will never drink again!"

I smiled. Been there; done that. I didn't stop doing stupid shit until I hit my thirties. Unfortunately, I would bet she won't either.

Hello, American Cowboy

A #fotoflash entry for Donna McNicol's challenge

As an admitted Francophile, I try to spend at least a couple weeks in France each year. I love the country, the food, the wine, the people and the culture. This year my destination was Nice,

I have dressed western since I was a kid and had horses and ponies. I just feel comfortable in jeans, a western snap shirt, a cowboy hat and boots.  It's not the attire that one sees in France often. (Although an amazing number of guys do wear cowboy boots.)

I was exploring Old Town in Nice and happened upon a narrow alley and decided to investigate.  As I was slowly meandering up the alley and taking a couple of photos of the unique buildings, someone softly said, "Hello, American cowboy. Are you lost?"

Standing in a doorway was a pretty, local girl who appeared to be in her twenties. Since the French typically speak two or three languages, I wasn't surprised by the comment in English.

"No, I'm not lost. I am just exploring Old Town and found this alley intriguing."

"It is special to me," she said, "since it is our home. I live with my grandmother here in the old family apartment."

I smiled and said, "Please give my regards to your grandmother. She has a very nice granddaughter."

"You are most kind, Mr. Cowboy. She is not well and I am her -- how do you say it? -- caregiver. Would you do me a big favor and come in and say hello to her. She is a big fan of western movies and it would mean a lot to her."

I wasn't sure if this was just a robbery setup, but the girl seemed sincere. "Okay. My name is Carson. What's your name?"

Claudine. I was named after Claudine Longet." she replied. She turned and went into the ground floor apartment. I followed. It was a small, neat apartment.She said to her grandmother in French, "Mama, this is an American cowboy, Mr. Carson, he came to say hello."

Mama looked me over from head to toe. In a cross, rapid-fire burst of French, she said, "Claudine, don't you dare to even think about dating an American cowboy!"  

I started laughing. They both looked confused. In perfect French, I said, "Claudine, you never thought to ask me if I spoke French."