Every Point of Refuge Has Its Price



A restless gnaw is planting its roots.  Time is drawing nigh for the instinctive move. It always comes, without rhyme or reason. It seems innate. My world is perfect. There is much to interest anyone here. The weather has been as good as it gets in the Carolinas. Acquaintances around every corner.

 Forest Gump ran across America, only to find the Pacific and turn to make the trip back again. And for no apparent reason, he stops one day and just quits. Thats the way I feel about placing camping roots. Moving on just because its time to do so. Every point of refuge has its price.

The final act couldn’t have been better scripted as a jet deposited I couldn’t think of a better surprise to the end of this leg than a visit from Erin, a daughter both inspiring and motivating at the Wilmington airport for a few days visit.

Our time was filled with our normal dining experiences, shopping for an upcoming christening, cruising the Strand, and freezing our asses off as Atlantic winds dawned goose bumps on exposed arms  at high tide.

The desserts, grilled hibachi, laughter and relaxation gave way to another Noreaster. Erin attempted to print her boarding pass 24 hours prior to boarding only to find that Philadelphia International would be closed the next day.

After scurrying through a myriad of phone calls, a wonderful lady on the flip side of the line, saved a spot if we could make it to Wilmington in the next two hours.

A quick shower and even faster packing, a gulp of dinner on the way, and a heavy foot delivered Erin to her appointed post ten minutes prior to boarding. Several hours later, a long awaited text signaled her safe arrival home.

The week ended with perhaps the final rounds of Myrtle golf, a road trip to Fort Fisher and the breakers oceanside, and a half-hour ferry boat ride across the Cape Fear River to the quaint decor of the village Southport, befriending birds and surfers along the way.

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Free DVD for Any Takers

We were discussing movies with friends the other day, reminiscing the myriad of cinemascopes that have passed through our collective mind’s eye.  I mentioned the fact that I never seem to watch a movie more than once, with the exception of Godfather I and II, and Remember the Titans.  The talked turned to “have you seen this classic” , or did you see this Academy blockbuster.  I even recalled my first drive-in, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s in the backseat of a ’57 Chrysler, never paying attention much to the movie.  I was more interested in stuffing my mouth with popcorn and pecking at  my younger brother just because I was two years his senior. I did come away with a love for “Moon River”, however.

And then we were stunned.  The ultimate question was posed.   Faces were aghast at our response.  ”Do you remember Gone With the Wind?”  Both Robin and I sheepishly looked at one another and admitted we had never seen it.  The crowd was appalled.  ”You’ve never seen it”, they cajoled.   “No!”, almost desperately seeking  an exit.  The raves and rants went on.  How could we consider ourselves movie buffs without ever have seeing the best movie ever made?   That did it. This week we ventured to Best Buy. Looking through the oldies section we hit pay dirt.  There it was, a debonair Clark Gable adorning the cover., embracing the vivacious Vivien Leigh.   We made the purchase and relished in the fact that the rains of the early week would be met with this three hour marathon.

Into the DVD, settle back with some microwave popcorn.  After a few minutes I would glance over at Robin stirring on the couch.  Not like her.  She’s usually coffin-like when she settles in for a good movie.  I caught her glancing back out of the corner of my eye.  This was not a good omen.  I opened my mind, hoping my mental indiscretions were part of a sullen weather day.  Finally, after twelve minutes we blurted out, almost on command, please can we try this another day.  I admitted that it wasn’t my attention deficit disorder.  I just was simply bored out of my mind.  Ditto from the fairer sex.   In popped an alternative DVD. We battled the gloom of the rain with the History Channel’l Lincoln and found it much more enticing.

The next day, more rains came.  We looked at one another and voiced another try simultaneously.  When you live together as long as we have, oftentimes words go unspoken as a mere look is enough to know what the other is thinking.  ”Let’s give it another try, Larry.”  ”

What”, you mean Gone with the Wind?”   Fast forwarding to yesterday’s departure point, we began anew, with a fresh and inviting attitude.  Yesterday’s twelve minutes was a milestone.  We made it an epic seven minutes.  Neither could take the punishment anymore.  We been told we step to a different drummer.  Often, our best friend’s find our behavior odd at best.  Perhaps their worst summations ring true of us.  Nevertheless, I have a perfectly good DVD of GWTW available for the taking.  We’re no longer interested.

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Running Around

My neighbor yelled at me the other day. I was up on the ladder re-caulking the bedroom window with tubular silicone.  Apparently I had a small leak and couldn’t find it, so I redid the whole damn thing.  Stepping down with caution, I queried what he might have in store.  Surprisingly he asked, “what do you do for hobbies and what is your favorite?”  I pondered a bit.  Thinking about the myriad of things that might comprise any given week, I said, “the thing I like to do the best is run around.”  He looked puzzled.  I told Dennis that perhaps I spend more money on gasoline and time running to and fro’ from one area of interest to another.  He appeared even more awestruck.  I thought I would share the past few days so he would better understand.

We ventured to Sam’s Club the other day. Robin’s contacts were in. I thought that perhaps since our proximity to the beach, the plethora of seagulls in the parking lot were to be an odd but venerable sight.  However,  on further inspection, I found someone had deposited a piece of pizza on the asphalt, hence our pecking visitors from the sand.

Later that day, the campground office hosted a low country boil. Steamed shrimp, boiled potatoes and sausage, corn on the cob, side dishes and grilled oysters were the main fare of the evening followed by desserts,  a DJ, some dancing, and way….way to much Merlot.

The next morning we found sun and warm skies. Since we hadn’t been to the beach in over a week, we packed two chairs, a few books, and Ipods and headed to Cherry Grove. The medicinal effects of rolling tides ringing in the ears serves better than any prescription that Doc could offer.

While we were there, my new friend Paula called. Apparently I had left a serving tray on our last visit during the Super Bowl. She stated it would be good to retrieve it that evening. Relaying that  Mike and Gail, Paul and Linda would be her dinner guests for the evening, Robin and I would round out the table quite nicely.  I’m never one to pass up a good time of laughs, smutty barbs, and good home cooking from a bunch of Yankees.

Following dinner and just prior to an array of sweets,  we were introduced to and quickly made a new friend.  Ernest, “the Barber” de Napolitano. Yes, as you guessed, Ernie’s a transplant from New York.  He just stopped in for some after – dinner firewater. The “Barber” name is his pseudonym he uses in the local SASS.  Now what’s that?  It is the Single Action Shooting Society.  A group of people who dress as cowboys and perform an array of shooting skills beyond your wildest imagination.

The next day, Sunday, we had been invited to  breakfast with Dennis and Mary.  It was the usual cuisine at Mama Jeans in Little River.  I set an alarm as their plans to go were far earlier than we usually arise.  However, I didn’t need that alarm as icicles from the nostrils stirred me prior to the bells of the clock . The propane had run out during the night.  I found my fingers numb not from lying on them as I snoozed but from lack of enough heat to mobilize the bloodstream.  As I grabbed a pair of pants and readied myself to change tanks, I looked out in horror and eyeballed a sight never before seen in Myrtle Beach, as long as we’ve been coming here. I murmured under my breath, “what is this shit?”

SNOW!!!  It wasn’t more than a few minutes that  I had the heat on, prior to  Robin’s morning arousal. Bleary – eyed,we dressed and met Dennis and Mary for our morning feast.

The mercury decided not to rise while we consumed too many morning calories. In fact, by the time of our return back to Willow Tree,  it hadn’t reached freezing. There would be no walk, no bike ride, no trip to the gym. Nothing except a day of partaking in the Downton Abbey Marathon and making a few weekly phone calls.

What a difference a day makes. Monday proved to be sunny, warm, and a total reverse of the previous. Robin and I found a deal at the Diamondback Golf Course.  Fourteen dollars for a cart, a round of golf, and two drinks. The only problem being that the dampness from the previous day made it cart path only. Given the holiday crowd, the play was extremely slow. By the time we had 13 holes under our collective belts, we had been out five hours. Come to think of it, Robin had no belt this day. So we just called it a round and motored past everyone in front of us. We did find some time to take in a bit of nostalgia.

And I spied a dream ride from the past, and hopefully my next purchase for grandson, Xavier.

And although I continue to bitch about the rising price of gasoline and diesel, I keep motoring down the highway.

You have to remember to throw in a couple of visits to the grocery store, post office, and Walmart in between all these jaunts to and fro’.  By the way, where in the hell does that word fro’ come from?

Today, the running continued but the driving was left to someone else. A few of us hopped the campground van and headed to the Golden Griddle for omelets and pancakes, then it was off to South Myrtle to view a museum full of  muscle cars and oldsters.

This was more of a manly- man type of thing and Robin deferred with a smile, stating that she would calmly remain behind and try and get through the morning without me.  Therefore, my neighbor now understands what I meant when I said my favorite hobby was running around.

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