Sparkler Salvation

It never ceases to amaze me that there are adults who are genuinely afraid of thunderstorms, but one such person is part of our little getaway group. This only became a problem when we started talking about going out and she informed us that she couldn't possibly go anywhere until the thunder and lightening subsided.

No problem, we accommodated, we'll do a happy hour until the storm passes. But not everyone had their beverage of choice in house, so we sent a duo out on a hunting and gathering mission (one needed cigarettes, so that was part of it) with instructions to be quick.

They were not quick. They did not remember to get the vermouth, either. They made a side trip and brought back fudge, saltwater taffy and rock candy. They were still backslapping each other about the Brew-Thru. Fail, but not epic.

On a happier note, during their absence the storm had moved on and we were able to leave for dinner. Our destination had been chosen by a vote (I lost) so we went to the Red Drum, a place that touts its 18 beers on tap. "Nuff said.

I can't complain, though, because my rockfish topped with a saute of applewood-smoked bacon, shrimp and tomato in a roasted garlic basil butter was outstanding. The taste I had of storm girl's flounder with artichokes, crab meat and capers in a lemon butter sauce was almost as good.

But even well-prepared fish can't compensate for large family groups and small children banging cups and hollering. When one little girl sitting on her grandfather's lap began rubbing his chest, her mother demanded,"What are you doing, feeling him up?" in a voice that carried across the room.

There is no hope for future generations.

And on that note, we are headed down to the beach to set off fireworks and contemplate a hopeless future. Glasses will necessarily be raised.

But not until storm girl changes into something with no metal zippers. Give me strength.

Beach House Chatter

That beach nap I was counting on so much never quite happened.

Oh, I made it here just fine and spent the afternoon on the beach with my sister and brother-in-law and their seven guy friends (why they have nothing but guy friends is a sociological study in and of itself), but things were too social to sleep.

If I'm only here for 48 hours, it's too tempting to talk rather than catch up on sleep.

Like in RVA, storms had blown through yesterday, resulting in a very breezy afternoon on the beach, with a choppy surf perfect for windsurfing.

The ocean was dotted with brave souls hanging on to their "kites."

We're staying almost on top of the Nags Head pier, so it was fascinating/terrifying to watch the windsurfers maneuver around the pier without slamming into it.

By the time we got cleaned up (and while I was happy they had an outside shower, it's under the house, so there was no sky view, much less sound of surf) and ready to go out, it was after 8.

We took two cabs to the Red Drum for dinner and gradually took up the entire bar, stool by stool.

I ended up next to a tipsy local who shared the very sad story of the love of his life dying unexpectedly from a heart attack six years ago.

He has a new girlfriend, but she's not the one.

Asking about my love life, he gave me all kinds of advice about how to proceed.

We decided to make Lucky 12 our last stop because it's a block from the cottage.

The music was decent, the drinks reasonable and I had seven new housemates to talk to.

Highlight: one of the guys telling me, "You'd never know you two are sisters" and he wasn't talking about our looks.

I feel obligated to get some sleep tonight since tomorrow is a full day and my last day here, so one of the guys walked me back.

Sitting here on the deck with the ocean two houses and a road away, it feels a world way from last night.

The music isn't nearly as good, but I have loads more company, some new to me, some familiar and all talkative.

And I do love to talk.