Sweet Tea, Hot Wings, and Sand in my Shoes

Cheryl: Yes, we spent another hot humid morning running around Savannah on Thursday, but after a short ride to Tybee Beach the ocean shore wind blew away my clammy disposition. Beach people are the best! Among the faithful were the young, the very, very young, the tweens and teens, the 30 somethings, and middle-agers along with super seniors and baby-boomers like me. Sometimes I forget just how leveling being on a beach proves to be. For instance, who cares what you’re wearing unless it’s nothing at all. There were teens there however, who wore next to nothing, showing off an amazing number of tattoos. The girls seemed to have more skin art than the guys. Go figure. I found a shady spot under the boardwalk, plunked myself down on my back and opened my ears to the pounding of the surf, some great music from the pavilion above, happy shrieks of children and what sounded like the frequent sound of the life guard’s whistle sending out warnings to errant swimmers. That sound turned out to be from some grackles, who had learned to mimic the sound of the whistle, clever birds.

Frank has never learned the art of doing absolutely nothing, which I try to explain to him is what you actually do on an ocean beach, along with making an attempt to read or running around wildly chasing after a football or Frisbee. Anyway, he waited for me up on the boardwalk, using my hour and a half of nothingness to make a few necessary phone calls. The water at Tybee Beach rolled up in surprisingly warm, gentle, slow breakers. Sandy and shallow for quite a distance from the shoreline, the water drew in even the most timid. Kids were playing on small surf boards as mothers introduced their infants to the salt and sun. What a picture of perfect tranquility. I’m not a sun worshipper because of my fair skin, so my spot under the boardwalk allowed me to people watch in the shade and also catch a nap after spending the morning walking around hot, humid Savannah. In my book, there’s no better way to unwind, and I had settled into a beach-wise frame of mind by the time I returned to the truck and found Frank asleep in the front seat.

Since Frank and I each have our own cameras, my photos tend not to make the cut when it comes to blog posting time. We’re usually in a hurry and with the Internet being fickle with the WiFi connections, we’re content to use whatever turns up on Frank’s camera. I’ll post some of my pics of Charleston and Savannah so you can see though my eyes as well as Frank’s. I tend to take the artsy shots for use later in my computer’s screen saver. That way I can relive our present year’s vacation over and over again until the next time we’re out on the road.

I know there must be a thousand things I’ve wanted to tell you that I can’t think of right now, but my mind seems to be in pack-up and get-down-the-road-mode to Hilton Head. So, I’ll just say I miss you guys, and I promise to write more when we’re settled in at Hilton Head Marina and RV Park. I definitely want to return to Savannah and learn to enjoy it Slow-vannah style next time. Oh, by the way, I’ve been drinking the southern sweet tea since we arrived in the South, and it takes me back to lazy summer days of drinking my mother’s wonderful iced tea in Indiana. She was a southern girl at heart with her father’s roots in southern Virginia. Yesterday before going out on the beach I ordered yummy hot wings at a funky little pizza place. Of course, when I got back to the truck my shoes were full of southern sand, which I deposited on the trailer floor and must now vacuum.

So until next time, from the sunny beach “where the boys are,” love, Connie Francis