Little Talks, Surf Version

Just when the summer was winding down, I got extraordinarily lucky.

I got an invitation to go to the beach and who's going to turn down a chance to fall asleep to the sound of the surf?

So I gathered up the essentials - bathing suits, steaks and a hat - and hit the back roads for a drive to the coast.

On 460 east, I got behind a truck touting, "Fresh milk! Free samples. Oberweis Dairy. Milk delivered!" surprised to learn that milk delivery was still happening.

Further down, I passed a church with a sign saying, "Rethink church with us!" while knowing perfectly well that I'm not rethinking church with anyone.

What I was thinking about was getting to the Outer Banks and enjoying a few days of post-season bliss overlooking the ocean.

It's never a straight shot, though, so I stopped at Weeping Radish Brewery to pick up their I.P.A. for my favorite hop-head and at Wink's for vintage postcards.

There's something to be said for sending postcards that look nothing like what they depict due to their age ('60s, I'm guessing).

Once I arrived at my home for the next few days, complete with seahorse-adorned lampshades, I did a quick unpacking before hitting the beach.

"That's the most undressed I've ever seen you," my host told me, hopefully admiring my Adrienne Vitadini suit, the most unlikely beach attire I've worn in fifteen years.

Although it's only been eight weeks since I was here last, it's worlds apart from my last sojourn down.

Gone are the crowds, replaced by childless and older couples for the most part.

I was happy to find that the ocean water had warmed up significantly since July, but then it was an unusually cold ocean we endured earlier this summer.

The two of us took beach chairs, an umbrella and our drinks to the beach, setting up camp mid-afternoon and having far too much to talk about to ever crack open our books.

I figured the reading gods would cut us a break since it was the first day of our holiday.

It was the laziest of afternoons - some beach-walking, a little shell-collecting, mostly watching the tide come in - and we stayed outside until well past the start of happy hour.

Back on the screened porch, we broke open a bottle of Sancerre and she set the Pandora station to Of Monsters and Men.

We had a good laugh about the woman, Olive ("You can remember my name if you like martinis"), on the beach who'd said, "I'm looking for a man with his own plane and all I've found is a man with a parachute."

There are so many possible ways to take that, most notably that it's wise to keep your eye on what matters most to you.

Olive, you're my hero.