I was up at 6am this morning for no reason. It’s quiet. I watched the ocean. Santa was on the beach yesterday, sweating under an umbrella (and I have the pictures to prove it). The kids didn’t care; 1) either because warm sun, sandy beaches and the ocean don’t conjure up any Christmas Spirit, 2) they didn‘t notice him, 3) they don’t really care all that much about Santa because they know he’s a figurehead of fantasy.
Sonya and I went out last night. Had some $1 beers and good food at the Mad Boar (the exact same place we went last year on our night out). Then walked around Barefoot Landing (just like last year), and gorged ourselves on some Kohr’s Family ice cream (yeah, ditto) then drove forever looking for a specific miniature golf course in Myrtle Beach, but gave up after driving for 40 minutes. Apparently something “not good” happened on the island last night (while we were out). Flashing lights. Helicopter. Coast Guard. I’m about to head out and investigate, snoop and sniff and find out what went on. I cringe to think of some child being pulled to sea. Sonya and I could see the helicopter as we waiting to cross the bridge. It’s impossible (for us at least) to not imagine our own children, our own family, thrust into that chaos, sadness, hysteria. Thank God by His grace we only need imagine.
2 Days left. Then another round of insanity, in a new place — begins.