Seventeen days ago we came to G’moms house on the beach, to clear out old furniture, and begin renovations. I shouldn’t be surprised by now that there was significant mold growing there. Molds seem to be ubiquitous. Either that or the stuff is following me. Luckily we never planned to sleep in the house during renovations. Instead we have been trudging back and forth from here to a hotel. Now that most of the furniture is out, I look forward to sleeping here one day again. (I was not always as sensitive to mold as I have become.)
The pink and coral beach house stands between the intercoastal and the Gulf, on a long spit of land called Treasure Island. The island mascot, pirate Captain Jack, welcomes us each morning as we come across the causeway from the mainland. Mailbox kitsch is everywhere on display. The lavender house matches its lavender mailbox. Sun sparkles between palm leaves and over hibiscus flowers on the deck at 8300 Bayshore Drive — one block from Sunset Beach, one of the best beaches I know.
But this place isn’t just a beach destination. It’s a community. When Owen took off this morning, Tom the nextdoor neighbor went out on his motorcycle to help me find him. The neighbors on the other side (whose recycling Owen had just been pilfering), called out “Hello Owen!” and introduced themselves to him, as I supported him getting back to the house.
I am ready to go home. Seventeen days is a long time. Owen is restless and bored. All of us miss our normal routine. The trip should have been a week, but we added on ten days after Owen and I tested positive for CoVid. (All better, symptoms lasted a few days.) Although we appreciated them at first, we are sleeping badly on the hotel beds now, and tired of breathing dry hotel conditioned air.
But we will miss arriving each morning for smoothies and writing on the deck. We will miss finishing our days with feet in hot sand, lulled by rushing waves… until the sun lowers, and we realize that once again we are late to get supper…
Thank you G’mom. We will be back.