Business first: both closings, house selling and buying went well. Dinner at Bubba's on the beach and back to condo for well deserved R&R. Day started not so good. Maid house cleaning service was supposed to meet us @ Pawley's house at 6:30. We were there. They weren't. They showed up an hour and ten minutes late after three phone calls questioning their where-abouts.
Behind us now. Garden City, 10th floor, perched above the activities below and there was no shortage of cheap entertainment even from this elevation.
Mom attempted to write her daughter's name in the sand, position the tiny tot in the sand and make a Kodak moment but each time the incoming wave did an Etcha-Sketch on the sandy scribbling. Undaunted she repeated it three more times. The ocean won, no contest.
Crevices and canyons even from 10 stories above are quite prevalent. Gender neutral, a butt crack is a butt crack, and saying no to crack is pointless. These folks are oblivious to flaunting that dark cavity between their right and left cheeks.
Women must have an imbedded memory chip in their brains. Wave hits, each and every one cop a feel on their breasts, repositioning them and then they tug at their bottoms. Ageless, this is a ritual. I wish I had a penny for every breast that I've seen this afternoon being groped by their owners. Apparently there is no beach rules prohibiting fondling. Let me or one of my male buddies clutch a crotch for the sake of oceanic wave repositioning and I bet we would not be viewed the same.
Grampa Cowboy sits poolside smoking a cig, wearing his straw hat, long sleeve blue denim shirt, denim jeans and boots, not exactly beachy attire. Out of place but what can I say, it's his vacation, right?
Ironically a chunky man holds a confederate flag beach board to his breast in the pool and less than five feet away, a mountain of a black man swims undaunted. White man and back man, neither impacted by the rebel markings, enjoy life. That's the way it should be. Enter Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton and it's skewed ugly. These men make their living off of stirring the pot. Let the people decide and stay out of it please.
Mom, bless her heart, covers up the deep hole dug by her kids before departing the beach. She scoops, she kicks and even does it doggy style but eventually the hole is no more. Safety oriented she does it right.
Dog walkers, the canines always eye candy and chick magnets. You learn a lot by watching the owners and their chosen breeds. Dogs are indeed the ultimate chick magnets, no matter what the breed; well that huge Great Dane might deter a few gals but the little fuzzy types are crowd pleasers.
Just too funny, two couples huddled around their beach umbrella, long gone is the sun. It's time to fold the umbrella, there is no protection required from the shadows.
The ocean is sort of angry, laying an ambush, just ten feet out, the bottom drops out, churning and grasping folks. People stumble attempting to exit the watery foe and fall aimlessly into the pit as they enter. Most compensate. Others fumble and stumble, cheap entertainment.
Life guard has called it a day. Those in the water tempt fate and venture deep. Thank goodness there is no riptide.
Surfer girl looks for the perfect wave. Apparently perfection is in the eye of the beholder. I miss the concept, no hang ten waves capture my attention,
Aunt Lillian said the ocean sounds so angry. To us it is pure liquid tranquility. To each his or her own. Soothing and watery therapy, it relaxes those stressed. There is just something about those crashing waves that impact the soul.
With the house sell and move this is just what the doctor ordered. While the beach is packed like a can of sardines, from ten floors up, we are free as a butterfly, claustrophobic free from the zillions of ants below in the July frenzy.
We are debt free with our beach front condo and now we'll be mortgage free with our new home. Life is certainly good at an age when it is time for us to enjoy life to the fullest. It's our right of passage, given the journey we've traveled to get here. We wish only the best and love to those we care for the most; good health and a long lives, neither are promised, but both are to be cherished.
From the Grand Strand we clutch life's utters and milk it, filling our pale the best we can. That's the way it should be, no regrets, no looking back, stumbling forward, keeping it in perspective, grounded and loving it.