Saturday, July 11, 2009

Saturday, Caturday... Oak Island, Charleston, and more

... if you've spent any time looking at LOL Cats, you'll recognize the Caturday thing.

I spent most of the day yesterday being wretchedly sick with some sort of gastronomic atrocity. I think chicken fries, no matter how much I love them, are the enemy. Both times I've eaten them recently I've had stomach problems. Yesterday's episode wasn't typical nausea; oh no, it was screaming hot seething pain in the guts Viet Nam disemboweling-with-a-bayonet agony. That having been said (vividly, I might add) it waxed and waned until I fell asleep about three and woke up to the "thing" having vacated the premises. Thank God. I'd sooner have been in labor again. (Scratch that.)

I find myself longing for the ocean more and more. Remembering rising in the morning and walking out onto the walkway to see what the sea was up to, going out after dinner to throw leftover bread to the gulls and to watch the sun set and little Ghost crabs race down to the brings an almost physical pain to know I will never do those things from 720 Caswell Beach Road ever again. It's like some sort of cosmic punch in the stomach. Seems to be a common theme today, eh? I am grieving, as surely as I would if a person had died. This year marks four since Daddy sold the house and I last visited it as a 'resident'. I went back one summer after 'Long View's' transformation into 'Birds of a Feather' (psshyeah...) and found it distasteful. Painting the gorgeous knotty pine exposed beam ceilings white, and the paneled walls ice cream Key West colors. Turning a closet into a bathroom? I stood on the front porch and peered down to the driveway where I fell and fractured my skull that last day: January 15, 2005. It wasn't my house anymore. Still, I kissed the wall in the den before I left and said I still loved her. And I do.

The picture above is of my son when he was a little kid, washing the sand off of his feet on our walkway. Our, what was our walkway.

So, in a few weeks we are going to go down to Charleston SC to visit and vacation. Tripp's mom is from there, and of course Folly Beach is nearby to give me an ocean fix. It is just never the same. It's like never being able to eat real chocolate again. Substitutes pale in comparison.

Today I'd like to go out and do a little cemetery photography. Especially at Cross Creek downtown, I don't like to go alone. The neighborhood is a little too dicey around there for a woman alone who is distracted by her hobby; forsooth, holding a very expensive camera in her hands. What a tasty little Saturday robbery that would be!

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