Razzle

We have dogs named Tazzy and Jazzy staying with us at the beach, so naturally, the rhyming concepts of razzle and dazzle would find their way into our conversation.

"Dazzle is such an awesome word," I said to the group, "but when was the last time you were truly dazzled?"

"Snorkeling in Belize," Bill answered immediately. "The colors of all the fish were dazzling."

"I was dazzled today," Treat told us, "by the 300-year-old live oaks with all the lights on them at Brookgreen Garden. It was spectacular."

"I honestly can't think of the last time I was dazzled," I confessed. "But I am going to pay attention and use the word in my blog tomorrow," I vowed.

The next day was Thanksgiving, and as is our tradition, we watched the Macy's Parade. There was a number from the new Broadway show Death Becomes Her. All the performers were clad in deep purple sparkles. "Does that dazzle you?" my brother asked.

"No," I answered, and neither did The Outsiders, Jennifer Hudson, or any of the dogs in the dog show. Our turkey was magnificent and delicious, the desserts were wonderful, the stars from the beach were beautiful, and the lightning illuminating the clouds on the horizon was really cool, but I was not dazzled.

This morning we took our customary walk on the beach, despite the drop in temperature from 60s to 40s. I, committed to walking in bare feet, sloshed through the gentle incoming tide, because the water was warmer than the blustery air. The sun, muted by the clouds on the horizon, cast a bronze glow on the sea. 

"Maybe I'm just too jaded to be dazzled," I said to my brother.

"Too jaded and cynical to appreciate anything?" he replied. 

"Impress me, Lord!" I laughed, raising my arms to the ocean.

The sun rose above a cloud, flooding the beach in light.

"What about that?" he asked.

"That was pretty good!" I said.

"But was it dazzling?"

Yes.

Baked for Thanksgiving

Courtney, Heidi, and I took a bike ride through the beach neighborhoods around our rental this afternoon. Thanksgiving is so quirky-- some families eat at noon while others, like ours, maintain a more traditional meal time. At any rate, there were people about, walking off or walking in anticipation of their meal, and there were the sounds and smells of people within the homes, too, and their celebrations. In addition to hearing soft jazz, laughter, cheering, and Christmas music as we pedaled by, we also caught the smells of wood smoke, steak (or perhaps fried turkey?), spaghetti sauce, and tons of weed. 

"That's a choice," my sister shrugged.

"A common one, it seems," I agreed.

Low Country Thanksgiving Eve

As the sun set this evening, I drove to the southernmost end of the peninsula where we are staying. Holiday lights sparkled from many of the homes on the narrow spit, and plenty were occupied, despite the fact that this is a beach town in the off-season. The smell of wood smoke was on the breeze, and I stopped to let a couple of women cross the street carrying huge kettles. In house after house, I spotted folks setting up folding tables or picnic tables in the breezeway created by the pylons lifting the structure above the floodplain. Still other people stood on the decks of their houses watching the sun sink, turning the pale orange and the clouds pink. I rounded the point and headed back north into the gathering darkness and the lights and warmth of our own holiday home.

Ahhh

Wake up.
Drink freshly brewed coffee.
Go to the beach.
Eat a hearty breakfast.
Take a bike ride across the causeway and back along the beach.
Go to the state park to see alligators, egrets, and storks, oh my!
Run a couple of quick errands.
Play mini golf (Do badly! Deal with it!)
Cook dinner with your brother and sister.
Know that tomorrow will be just as good or better.

Zonked Out

After a fun day of vacation, I slept soundly last night. In fact, I only woke up once in the middle of the night-- I needed to pee and put my laptop away, which was still on my lap, powered on, and open to the Sunday crossword puzzle. Were my fingers still on the keyboard, too? Hard to say; I'm just grateful the lights were out, and the machine didn't fall to the floor like my books sometimes do!

Be Healed

Usually, I am an inveterate beachcomber: sometimes, there's nothing more satisfying than walking the shore and scanning the middens pushed up by the tide, looking for a hidden treasure. But, such focus can also be a distraction from the splendor around me, or worse. Many's the time I've left the beach with a stiff neck and a headache and not much else.

This morning felt a little different to me. It's the first day of our week-long vacation at the beach, and I just wanted to walk. With the early morning sunshine reflecting off the ocean, Heidi, Lucy, and I set an easy pace, walking and talking to cover the mile-and-a-half to the pier. We were on our way back when somehow the conversation turned to our aching joints and the stiff gaits we sometimes have to push through. 

"When I've been sitting in the chair too long, it's like," I mimicked an exaggerated toddle.

"How is it again?" Heidi laughed.

I paused and stooped over, resting my hand on my hip, ready to limp forward, but there on the sand at my feet was a big, perfect shark's tooth. I scooped it up, whooped with joy, and did a little happy dance. 

All my aches and pains were gone.

The Week that Is

Should there be a Saturday road trip on the agenda, I always look forward to listening to the AT40 70s edition broadcast. The nostalgia of hearing songs from my childhood seems to fuel the journey, making even the longest trip shorter. 

I was disappointed today, though, when the show was a rebroadcast from this week in 1970. Generally, the earlier in the decade the countdown, the less satisfying I find it. In 1970, I was eight, and although I recognized Black Magic Woman by Sanatana (#40), the next few numbers were disappointing, and so I turned my radio down and drove in silence. 

But soon, my mind turned to what I might have been doing Thanksgiving week in 1970 when I was 8. Back then, our family always took a road trip from our home in South Jersey to see family in DC. I imagined the five of us packed into our blue 1964 Ford Falcon heading south. I remembered that one year, we left so early that we actually stopped for breakfast at a roadside diner, which was not our usual routine. I could picture myself sitting with my brother and sister on one side of a booth, waiting for our pancakes, looking out the window at the cars whiz by in the bright November morning sun, and feeling the excitement of the holiday bubbling through my brain.

Back in the present, I navigated the flow of traffic under the pale blue November sky and felt the excitement of the holiday bubble through my brain.