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.