Say What You Need to Say

All good things must come to an end.

So after breakfast, I did what will (sadly) probably be my last beach walk of 2013, stretching it out for as long as I could.

And by that, I mean I walked all the way to the Kitty Hawk limit and beyond, savoring the clear skies and 75-degree air.

Once back, Pru and I made one last trek to the beach, stretching out our beach towels for one last hour of people-watching, leg tanning and girl talk.

After packing up the car, I headed up the beach road listening to my favorite local radio station, the Dj's voice totally familiar from so many summers down here.

With all the windows down and salty air blowing across me, the moment crystallized when John Mayer came on.

I say that because I first heard him on this very station back in 2002. This was a newer song, but the effect was the same.

Have no fear for givin' in
Have no fear for givin' over
You better know that in the end
It's better to say too much
Than to never say what you need to say again

It was a fitting way to head up the road.

But I only got as far as mile post 2.5 when the car insisted on turning in to Art's Place for lunch.

This little bar and grill has been around for 30 years and I've been staying within a half a mile of it every summer for at least as long, so it was a visit long overdue.

It's a place that advertises right on its menu that they're open 6 a.m. "till you let us go home" and that "Locals welcome, tourists tolerated...sometimes."

With my long time Kitty Hawk attendance record, I was ready to fight for my right to stay.

I took the last seat at the small bar, next to two guys deep in conversation about their guitars and the bands they'd played in.

When a server saw my purse in my lap, she pointed to the hook under the bar, but in front of one of the guys.

Saying I didn't want to crowd him, she  insisted I use it, saying, "Maybe he'll talk to you then."

I ordered Art's signature burger and eavesdropped as they segued into how much they'd liked Split Enz.

Without so much as looking up, the server behind the bar ran her hand through her cropped hair and said nonchalantly, "I got the Flock of Seagulls hair swoop."

She did indeed.

While eating my burger, I listened to Rolling Stones and Hendrix and admired the old black and white photos of the beach after numerous catastrophic-looking storms.

Once my plate was empty, she asked if I wanted anything else.

By then I'd spotted the Patron behind the bar, and while not my favorite tequila, it'll do in a pinch.

Ordering one got the result she'd expected from hanging my purse.

All of a sudden, the guy next to me wanted to chat. We talked so long that his friend joined in.

They chided me for waiting so long to try Art's and for not barging into their conversation earlier.

By the time my tequila was gone, they sounded really sorry that I hadn't wandered in nearer the start of my visit down.

Ah, well. There's always next time.

It was time for me to get home to do some work.

Coming up 158, I passed a tractor pull with a line of cars half a mile long waiting to get in.

I breezed past the Currituck Wildlife Fest with a big, bird-adorned sign for a "calling contest."

I have to assume this means grown men imitate fowl, but I'm really not certain.

Time to get back to my real life.

Do it with a heart wide open
A wide heart

Always.