101 degrees Fahrenheit was the reading on the thermometer as we traveled South to Avon Beach. At journey's end our upstairs enclave felt heavenly. A half-story compromise, the bedroom had its high points, where you could walk upright, and its low points, where you voluntarily crushed your own skull against beams tapering down to allow the addition.
Sea Oats Fringe The Dunes In An Evening Sky
Too fagged out to do the beach that first afternoon, we rested hoping to see a little TV. Thankfully, we both lived through the hard times when TV's had no hand-held changers; because this little TV had no changer, requiring one hand always be on the set.
Given that out of 500 channels, there may be 2 worth watching, the hand on the set did some heavy duty. I decided on the "Mentalist" marathon on A&E to the disappointment of Husband, an "American Pickers" and "Weather Channel" man. In an effort to keep me happy, he went to sleep. He knows the way to my heart is him asleep. Win, win because he loves sleeping.
We recovered our spirits and took ourselves across the road to dinner for the "Early Bird Senior" Special. It was fried shrimp, fried french fries, and coleslaw in a paper cup. Everything was evidently fried the day before and left in the grease. The coleslaw was all white and limp. To the early bird goes the worm, and a worm would have tasted better. They must be thinking: old people. What can we do to make your happiness complete? How about a shove downstairs? Help, you've fallen and can't get up?
You're welcome.
After that dinner, we wrapped ourselves around a tree trunk (python style) to crush the fried food and aide indigestion. More "Mentalist" and sleep for Husband.
That first night, Husband got up 3 times, bumped his head 3 times, and cursed vehemently 3 times on his way to the bathroom. The next night we switched beds, and I didn't (get up, bump, and curse).
Our Path to Avon Beach
Day 2 we walk the beach to Avon Pier, collapse under the boardwalk and converse with a dog tied there. The dog panted and complained about being tied in the heat with no fresh water anywhere. We told him things would get better and at least he didn't have to walk the beach back home. Back in front of our house, we sit in beach chairs and let the surf wet our bottoms, the sand soothe our feet. This day we did not venture into the surf, which was wild with energy.
From This Perspective, It Looks Calm...It Isn't.
On Day 3, number one daughter was in the water, so I ventured in, was smacked down at ankle depth, and remained rolling laterally in nature's violent agitator until a hand pulled me up by my suit, which I made sure was still covering all my lady parts after such a furious discharge of energy. Struggling to my feet was all the exercise I needed for the day as I remarked, "Boy, that was scintillating!"
Our last evening, we took the family to dinner for seafood. On the way out there was a torrential downpour of rain. Back in our half-story boudoir, we dried out, watched the lightening in the night sky, and went to sleep to the pulsing sound of the surf, dreaming of the good old days when the surf didn't knock us down at ankle depth.
