Saturday, September 22, 2018

Sipping in the Sand

Eventually, all good things must come to an end. Unfortunately, since we're Americans, that's going to happen sooner rather than later.

Beckham and the Beauty pulled out last evening, a while after we'd had an extensive discussion on the beach about how people in other countries do vacations far better than people here do. Like how the Europeans take the entire month of August off.

At issue was Beauty's comment that she was just beginning to feel relaxed after four days and nights and now they were leaving. "I think one more week would do it," she commented, but as one who has done two weeks here multiple times, I happen to know that at the end of two weeks, you'll likely still be craving a third.

Fact is, life is too easy and self-indulgent here not to instinctively want more of it.

When I finally woke up yesterday, it was to a house filled with the seductive scent of bacon and sausage - and lots of both - having been recently fried up by Beckham. Platters of meat sat in the kitchen for the taking, so much that some of it became BLTs for lunch.

Who's lucky enough to wake up to a fried meat smorgasbord at home? Certainly not me.

Because we knew the cute couple would be checking out right after dinner, we began happy hour on the beach especially early. That included a bottle of Fairview Roussanne which the newlyweds had brought back from their South African honeymoon and wanted to share as a group.

"This wine has some ass!" Beckham announced with a big grin on his face as he poured. Pru took one sip and said she could drink it in large quantities. Beau immediately took a photo so he could procure some once back in Church Hill. The three of us who'd been to Fairview regaled the others with stories from our winery visits, while everyone wished there was a second bottle handy. Truly a gorgeous wine.

The shame of it being their last day - besides the obvious: we'd miss their company - was that the "No swimming" flags were up all along the beach, limited how far we could go into the warm-as-bathwater ocean. But as Beckham so cleverly pointed out, if your feet are on the ocean bottom, you're not swimming by definition.

Rationalizations come fast and furious when you're at the beach.

Pru made sure their farewell dinner was memorable with chicken Cordon Bleu, steamed sugar snap peas and seasoned cantaloupe enjoyed overlooking the ocean.

After they left, I headed down to the beach just as dusk was settling in. Hardly anyone was there, other than one fisherman and a family with two young kids, making it ideal for soaking in the beach vibe at night without having to be social.

We really have had extraordinary weather this week, especially coming so soon on the heels of Hurricane Florence.

It had been such a busy day that I was the first to call it quits on the game we were playing and at the ridiculously early hour of 9:30 at that. Hell, Beckham and the Beauty weren't even back in Richmond yet when I said goodnight and headed down to my oceanfront room.

And you know what? After ten and a half hours of sleep, I'm ready to get up and do it all over again. My only regret is that there's no wine with ass in my future today.

And while I'll have to go home soon, too, it'll be to pack and leave again. Go ahead, call me un-American. My rationalizations run wide and deep. And happy.

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