Boohoo… Wail… Sniffle… Boohoo
Tomorrow is the sad, sad day. We don’t even voice it. Just say, “Tomorrow is it.”
Our last tide is today; our last chance to stand at the end of the earth/dirt/sand before it morphs into ocean; our last walk along sand and shells and dead sea creatures washed ashore.
But there is this piece of us that is excited. Home.
And though we have had a great time eating at Ela’s, The Old Oyster Factory, Skull Creek Boathouse, and even Pizza Hut (which has great thin crust veggie pizzas I might add), and 11th St Dockside, there is a piece of us, a pretty good-sized chunk, that will be glad to have a baloney sandwich on our own porch.
The memories of the families making sand sculptures (this year’s half alligator/half ladybug won the best-according-to-Brenda prize) and young men with their virility screaming at any young gal that walked across their path and the runners/walkers/seashell collectors and the grandmas and grandpas helping each other or playing with their grandkids, and the funny, interesting, just down-right-love-to-watch-them children will sustain me until next year.
I’m going to print out Dar’s Hilton Head Expense sheet and savor the memory of each item.