Forget those dust bunnies!

Hope A. Smith
Published: July 11, 2008

As we bask in the glory that is summer, I can sense the dust bunnies beneath my bed, rolling across the floor like tumbleweeds across a ghost town in the old West.

I can hear the rooms in my house scream, “Where are we going? And why are we in this handbasket?!”

Ah, yes, the familiar backseat my domestic chores take in the summer months. Don’t get me wrong — my house isn’t so bad it would be condemned, but Martha Stewart would have a field day. Too bad I can’t throw a painter’s tarp over everything and claim that I’m painting. Or could I?

My husband and I had a friend years ago who invited us to his parents’ house while they were out of town, as we were going to grill some burgers.

As we walked into their house, I saw that there was “stuff” all over the place — in bags, boxes, etc.

I asked him, “Dude, are your parents moving?” to which he replied, “No, why do you ask?” Whoops. No matter how tempted, that will not be the case in my house. We do at least keep up with it enough so it’s not a pigsty, although, considering both dogs are shedding like crazy, my floor looks like it needs a shave instead of a vacuum.

Yes, ladies, those hot months when we must shave up past our kneecaps (sorry, guys, it’s a reality for some) are here. Time to purchase a bathing suit that covers the most “acreage” while still allowing ample color —aka a tan.

If Hefty made a bathing suit, I may be tempted to purchase one, providing it has the most coverage. That’s me — just give me a reasonable amount of coverage, and I’m happy. Just because they make a certain bikini in my size does not mean I should wear it. And, of course, wherever you go this summer, there’s bound to be someone in a Speedo who shouldn’t be wearing it either. I’m not even sure they look good on the guys who should be wearing them!

It’s always a blast when we get to Lake Anna and climb aboard the “Quahog” — our Boston Whaler Rage that we’ve named in honor of my hubby’s Rhode Island roots (and our love of “Family Guy”).

Considering these economic times, we generally pack our lunches and beverages of choice. We always have some friends join us, and at least one day a weekend is relegated to our daughter’s godparents and their son. We’ve rented a wet slip at Hunter’s Landing, and the folks at the store there are some of the nicest you’ll meet at Lake Anna.

The lake was created in 1972 to serve as a water coolant for Virginia Power’s nuclear plant. Yes, it is a “naturally heated” lake. Right now, the water temperature, depending where on the 13,000 acres you are, is around 83 degrees. The fact that it cools a nuclear power plant is somewhat daunting; however, the water is considered the “second cleanest in the commonwealth of Virginia.” I’m wondering what the first cleanest is.

It is a little odd, when you’re having a great time swimming and fishing, to see the nuclear towers in the distance. But the water is tested so stringently, we don’t see a need to worry.

There is an area on the lake we call “the sandbar.” It’s a shallow area, about three feet at the lowest, where, on any given weekend, you can see from 20 to 50 boats anchored.

People bring volleyball nets, track-ball games and a variety of other fun stuff to have a great time.

We have met some of the nicest people in the past three years we’ve been going there. We all share our food, drink and laughter, and we’ve made lifelong friendships.

Some of the people live on the lake, and others drive from Manassas, Fredericksburg and other points north, south, east and west just to have a day on the lake.

Lake season does not stop after Labor Day. We surrender when the temperatures force us to. Until then, domesticity takes a back seat, once again.

Hope A. Smith is an
independent columnist and
resident of Orange County. Her column appears on Friday. E-mail