Catching you up on the Connecticut captivity

I've long since made it home but there are memories that remain...plaguing my mind like nursery rhyme lyrics that won't go away.

"London Bridge is falling down,
falling down,
falling down,
London Bridge is falling down..."

"What do you mean that you haven't gone out today," Savannah said, glaring at me as she returned from work, "You can't spend all your time cooped up in my little apartment."

Uh...yes, I can. Didn't you read my recent blog dissecting the intricate plots of that hit television action/drama Baywatch? I have been spending my unintentional time in Connecticut VERY productively, thank you very much.

Unwilling to listen to how I was currently using the show to build a 4th grade ELA lesson teaching exposition, rising action, and dénouement, Savannah hurried me out the door for a walk. "I'm not a basset hound," I growled, tugging away from her firm grip of my elbow. "Where would you like to go," she asked, "and don't say Back upstairs." I frowned at her. "Let's find the pedestrian access to the bridge," I said, heading AWAY from our usual (hilly) route to the park. Savannah was startled. "You know that the bridge is over a mile long," she shared. I nodded. And it's flat, I thought. 

We discovered the pedestrian path where it dipped into the forest undergrowth and passed beneath the bridge trusses. "This feels safe," I commented, kicking cute little liqueur bottles out of my way, "Is that a crack pipe?" 

"That was a straw," Savannah sighed resignedly. 

But I did catch her glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder as we walked. I peered into the dense forest foliage. "I feel like we should have a plan," I told my daughter. "If there is just one prowler, I think we can take him..." 

"Did you just use the word prowler," Savannah clarified, "This isn't mid-1800s Victorian England." 

"I was trying to use unalarming lingo," I responded flatly, "But I'll have you know, Jack the Ripper was in his prime during the mid-1800s Victorian England era. Anyhoo...if there is more than one assailant...there, happy?...you make a run for it." 

"I think that I would have a better chance of fighting off bandits than you," Savannah argued. 

"I know that! I'm sacrificing myself, fool," I snapped, waving at my outfit, "I'm not getting anywhere with my stretched-out sandals and skorts that keep riding up." I tugged the fabric over my flaming thighs.

During our argument over who should be the first one to die, we finally emerged onto the longest bridge in Connecticut. "Nice," I remarked, shouting at Savannah over the eleven lanes of speeding traffic roaring by. 

"It IS nice," she shouted back. 

I rolled my eyes as loudly as I could. "You rode your bike over the Peace Bridge, Savannah...MUCH more significant. Plus the only danger was deportment or getting hit by a truck." I paused to pick up a sea shell while I discreetly re-adjusted my skorts. 

"Look!" I exclaimed, waving to a passing motorist who had honked at me. "Do you think a sea gull dropped it?" I peered out over the water as the sun began its slow descent. 

"I'm surprised you picked it up," Savannah said as we hurried back to Rapist Row before dark. 

"Why," I asked, wondering if dirt could mimic the soothing properties of baby powder. 

"With your extensive background in recognizing drug paraphernalia," she explained, "I thought you'd identify the shell as a pipe bowl."