DAY FOUR

Sunday, June 4, 2017

_MG_0758I woke up this morning at 5 am and went and took pictures of the beach at sunrise. They’re amazing, too – to be honest it’s more or less impossible to take a bad picture of the beach at sunrise, unless that is you equate the word bad with the word cliché, or perhaps 70s motivational posters – and then, instead of being industrious, I went back to bed for a couple hours. I got up again at 8:30 and contemplated doing things. All around me people were busily clearing their campsites and heading off towards real lives. No, I decided, I’m not doing anything. I’m going back to bed. And so I did, with MFK Fisher’s lovely memoir Among Friends. And it was good. It’s surprisingly difficult to let go of the idea that you have to be Doing Something All the Time. But I let go of it this morning and it was great. I lay in bed and luxuriated in the sea breeze. The wind here off the ocean is amazing and it rocks the Mobile Hermitage like a sailboat.

Then driven by hunger, I decided to go to a diner. I put on a dress, because the laundry situation is beginning to be a little dire, and as usual I packed, like, the world’s weirdest clothes. I went to plug the camper in again – we will remember that last night I had to unplug everything due to the mysterious alarm – and I dropped the umbilical. Into the bed of the truck. And I could not get it out again. This cast a damper on my spirits, but what the hell, I soldiered on down towards Bethany Beach anyway. A mile or two in I realized that I had forgotten to close the camper windows and that banging sound I was hearing did not bode well. I don’t really care that I’m going 45 in a 55 anymore, so at least that problem has been solved. Anyway, I pulled off into the shoulder, directly under the amused gaze of a couple of state troopers hosting a speed trap, and closed the windows, dress flapping in the breeze and the speeding cars. Then I found the diner – the Bethany Diner, to be specific – and it was amazing and I had an omelette that was amazing and they had wifi and that was amazing too. I think I could live in Bethany Beach. It’s completely adorable and the diner is great. I miss diners. There is a dire shortage of diners in Asheville. I have said this for years and then I forget it for a while and then I come back up to the mid Atlantic and re-encounter diners and oh man, the Asheville diner dearth cuts like a knife all over again. I just want to eat omelettes and drink thin coffee and luxuriate over a leatherette menu forever.

Because there was wifi, I searched for dealerships. There is not one around here but there was a Jayco dealership which was open, mirabile dictu, and so I went there. There was a teenager washing a truck in the back and he got a piece of wire and hooked up the umbilical for me. Then a nice man came along and we started chatting and OK I HAVE BEEN COMPLETELY WRONG AND I APOLOGIZE. Travel Lite is not made by Jayco. Miles RV in Fletcher, which we have discussed in scathing terms which remain scathing, sells both and so I added two and two together and got five. There is actually no connection, so, okay, I forgive you, various Jayco dealers, for not being up on all the details of my camper. Mea culpa. Travel Lite is made by Travel Lite and there are not a whole lot of dealerships around. There IS one in Smyrna. But not the one I went to, which is, I don’t know, another kind of dealership altogether despite being listed on the Travel Lite website as a dealer. But I’m not going back to Smyrna, no. Not tomorrow and possibly not ever. The next closest one is in Hayes, Virginia, which is to say, it is 207 complicated miles away. Miles that involve either the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel or a ferry. I am hoping for a ferry! But I have no concrete plans.

I have no concrete plans and it is supposed to rain tomorrow. 90% chance of rain and thunderstorms and if that happens, I am staying RIGHT HERE with my box of books. I moved to another campsite: I left the forlorn and deserted tent area (even the Mafia finally left) and am with the big guys now in the full hookup area where the bathrooms are very far away, because you’re supposed to have a bathroom of your own. I am very small here, as I was very big among the tents. I went and asked the campground host for help hooking up the electricity and it is working! And I found where there IS an alarm down by my feet and it IS for a low battery (I still cannot find the battery) and that is what was beeping! It is not beeping anymore! And I hooked the propane back up and, dear reader, I made dinner, real dinner – or, well, a grilled cheese sandwich with a lot of sautéed vegetables in it. Now I feel like a real person and I have realized, suddenly, that if I don’t want to do something – I don’t have to do it. I’m NOT driving this thing in the wind and rain and if that means I must stay another day, then I can do that.

Oh and I also went to Starbucks and got this blog actually up and more or less running! It took about 500 calories of a quite horrible drink – I never know what to order at Starbucks – and several hours of work, but it’s there! In the evening I took pictures of birds. And I have Lightroom now, so I am going to learn that to further and unashamedly accentuate the resemblance between my photos and 1970s motivational posters. Hang in there, baby!

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2 comments

  1. The “Hang In There Baby” (aghast at capitalization rules I don’t remember) hung prominently at our once humble “cottage” in Rehopeless (the climate change/sprawl name). My Grandmother, who watched a chick flick at the Midway Cinema about 7 miles north of this post 10 years and one day ago and at the age of 94-ish just plain died during the expository scenes loved that kitschy stuff. She was perhaps the original snark. She would’ve loved your hair. “What drunk leprechaun was painting while you were asleep?” She might’ve said that. She might’ve just could. Hang in there, baby.

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  2. Alas. I wrote a very long, heartfelt a quirky reply but it was eaten. On a particularly auspicious night for such things. Wishing you much love and wishing WordPress a big, solid, kick in the nethers that does not impact your reportage.

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