This weekend we’re making the trip we wanted to make last weekend. On July 4th of last year (2008) we stayed with our family of choice in Destin at a relative’s $2 million beach condo. We had a blast and hoped to repeat the visit this year, but due to family of origin issues, it was not to be. So we had to postpone the trip a week, and here we are. I can’t complain. I can’t afford the trash service at this place, much less the cost of the condo itself, so I’m happy even to be here. 

Since Jamie and I have been traveling so much over the last few months, I was looking forward to a weekend at home. I haven’t spent 24 hours in my house on a weekend since June 13th. I’ve got trees down in my backyard that need cutting and stacking. I’ve got a yard full of leaves that need raking. Jamie’s car needs a valve cover gasket and a radio installed. I even contemplated bringing the gasket with us and installing it while the others were at the beach. I can enjoy a couple hours at the beach, but hate getting burned. It seemed like a good use of time. I could get something done and Jamie could enjoy the surf. As it turned out, we couldn’t bring her car because the left front wheel might fall off, so it isn’t even here for me to repair. 

I’m actually okay with that. Sitting on the fourth floor balcony watching the people go by parasailing in the cool breeze is quite refreshing. I’m glad I don’t have a chore ahead of me. I’m glad I’m not getting residual grease from the engine all over my macbook pro’s keyboard. Jamie is sitting next to me reading and journaling. All I can hear is surf. I can’t hear any kids squealing. Wind and surf… a nice combination.

When I was younger I spent a lot of time at the beach in Venice, Florida. We’d go twice a day, once in the morning before it got too hot and again after dinner. The morning trip was for mom to work on her tan. The evening walk on the beach was to scout for shark’s teeth and sand dollars for mom’s craft projects. I never really enjoyed it much. It was fun for about 30 minutes then it got boring. Applying sunscreen was a chore. I was in a town where I only knew three people, so I wasn’t around friends. I can’t say that as an adult I was eager to go to the beach.

But these last few years have been different. Oh, the difference a $30 tent from Walmart makes! I can dig a chair in the sand and read a book in the shade. I can have a Corona, or two, or three. I can read a book and just relax. No homework. I need a sand-resistant covering for the laptop and I could blog from down there. I’m with my awesome wife and my friends. When we’re done, no showering at the public shower and then getting into a hot car for the soggy trip back home. I can walk 40 steps to the elevator and dry off on the balcony overlooking the emerald horizon. 

When hurricane season comes every June, I scoff at the people on the coast. They build these hotels and condos right on the sand and then complain about the costs of insurance going up. The roads wash out after a storm and then they want them rebuilt with tax dollars. Most of the population of Florida is less than 30 miles from the water. What morons! It’s like the three little pigs and all the beach houses are made of straw. 

Now I get it a little. It can be a relaxing and fun place. Jamie and I were talking about the people who live on the coast. Some in Tallahassee have houses there and a condo down at the water. I think I’d want a condo in town and a house at the beach. Of course, I’ll need to triple my salary for that to happen, so it won’t be this year. And it may not be in the US. I wonder how much beach property sells for in Nicaragua? 

Time to go dig my chair in the sand.