I haven't posted this week, primarily because my days have been pretty boring. They go more or less like this: Woke up. Worked all day in pajamas. Ran and/or read awhile. Put on grown-up clothes. Ate dinner with Lee. Watched 2 old episodes of Hoarders on Netflix. Went to bed. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying myself. It just doesn't make for interesting reading. It occurs to me, however, that I didn't tell you about our big beach adventure last weekend, so I'll tell you now.
Before I begin, you may want to acquaint yourself with the story of our last big beach adventure, since this one was similar in some ways. Before I came to visit, Lee mentioned that he'd like to take a day trip out to Galveston (an island about an hour away) and hang out on the beach while I was here. Given our past experience with planning and executing trips to the beach, I was a little apprehensive. I pointed out that historically we have not been great planners or early risers, which could have a negative effect on our beach time. He assured me he would take care of it, and that everything would work out.
Friday Lee's uncle asked if we'd like to have dinner at his house Sunday night at 6. He said sure. It would cut into our day at the beach, but we'd just have to be a little more diligent about keeping track of time. No problem.
Sunday morning we woke up at the early hour of 10:30. We got up and started getting dressed in our bathing suits. I packed a bag with the things we would need. I asked Lee if he had any sunscreen. He did not. Alright then. We'd just have to stop at Target on the way to Galveston.
"Do you have any beach towels?" I asked.
"Yes, this one here."
"You mean the one I just showered with?"
"Yes."
"It's damp."
"It will be fine."
"Ok, but what are you going to lie on?"
"This towel here."
"That 3-foot long bath towel?"
"Yes."
"You're over 6 feet tall."
"..."
"Never mind, we have to go to Target anyway, we'll buy beach towels there too."
At around 11:30, we set on our way to Target. Suddenly, Lee remembered he needed to stop at the computer store to buy memory for his coworker's computer. No problem, the computer store is right next to Target. We ran our respective errands, and were back on the road at about 12:15, towels and memory in hand. Lee was glancing anxiously at the memory he'd just bought.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm worried about leaving this memory in the car all day."
"... Ok, you can stop by the office."
"I didn't say anything about that."
"I know. I'm just saying, it will make you feel better to take it to the office, so if you want to I'm telling you that I don't mind."
Thirty minutes later, we were back on the road again. The hour-long drive out to Galveston went smoothly and soon we were on the island, driving past charming old homes side-by-side and buildings that had been nearly demolished by hurricanes. We went through several lights until Lee muttered, "I think I was supposed to turn there..." We kept driving as I pulled out my phone and started trying to figure out where we were.
"The map says this road is going to dead-end soon, and then there will be a smaller road off to the right, which will also eventually dead end. You might want to turn around?" I look up and the road is in fact dead-ending, with a police car at the end of it, facing us. Most of the cars in front of us are turning right onto the smaller road. Lee stops next to the cop car.
"Excuse me, is there public beach access down this way?" The cop looks stone-cold serious. "Yes." he says precisely.
Lee pauses for a second, waiting, and then turns right when the cop doesn't say anything else. Once he's in the rear-view, we both burst out laughing.
Although the road was basically one lane and looked kind of run-down, it did in fact end in a public beach access. Even better, it was gloriously uncrowded. (We later learned from Lee's uncle that we were on what is considered the less desirable end of the island, whatever that means. As far as I'm concerned, the most desirable beaches are the ones where you can spit without hitting someone.) We got in, parked, and set up on the beach between a Latino family listening to Spanish radio, and three college girls drinking Bud light. (Now that I think about it, I guess I know exactly what "less desirable" means to some people.)
We spent about 25 minutes getting sunscreen-ed up. At this point, it was about 2 pm. I lay back to start the sun-roasting process while Lee scampered out to the water. The sun was high and bright. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky for it to sneak behind, not like the treacherous North Carolina sun had done to me on the beach 2 years ago. The water was calm and warm and quietly lapping at the fine, soft sand. Life was good.
Whenever the sun started to make me feel a bit too much like a rotisserie chicken, I rolled over onto my other side. Back to front. Front to back. After a few rotations, Lee returned from the water and laid down to dry. After a few more rotations, he asked me to check the time. 3:15. "We'll have to leave soon. We need to get back and cleaned up for dinner." Fifteen minutes later, he declared it time to leave. My glorious time in the sun (about 2 hours, to be exact) was over. We shook out our brand new towels and headed to the car.
As the beach receded behind us, I relaxed in my sun-warmed seat and gazed happily out the window. "Remember," Lee said, "if my uncle asks, we have to tell him we got up early and spent the whole day out here. I don't want him to know we drove all the way out just to spend 2 hours on the beach."
We're clearly not qualified to be responsible adults, but at least we know how to have a good time.
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