Camping on the beach really could have been romantic...........if there was some preparation for how rigid deceptively soft sand actually becomes under a tent floor with only a sleeping bag to aid in cushion.......and if one had the opportunity to pick out a spot in the daylight (but being robbed of that option lead us to not travel far from the entrance).....and if one didn't find oneself awakened in the middle of the night by bagpipe "music" blaring through the air like fingernails on a chalk board.....and if dune buggies weren't racing back and forth past the tent like they were reincarnated NASCAR racers.
When everything finally quieted down, I woke up with my hipbone screaming at me from digging into the solid earth for too long and looked up just in time to witness the pink and orange sunrise saturating through the fury of clouds hovering the ocean.
It was gorgeous....a moment I wished I had my camera for, but it was lost amongst all the chaotic last minute packing.
Patrick and I got up and took a morning stroll down the shore's edge in our P.J.'s, kicking the water up as it washed in, like a couple of kids.
We had a glorious morning on the beach in the mild weather and the cool, almost wave-less water, before the Sunday sunbathers started to show up.
Sunrise is one of those things in life that happens way too fast.
We packed up to leave as the sun started to burn off the clouds and drove up the coast line, over the San Luis Pass, to Galveston Island.
It was a dandy breezy drive, with the windows down, the sunroof open, a pleasant view.......until it started to rain.
I felt like a real hobo when I had to take a spit bath in a gas station bathroom so I could roam the Strand without looking like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown, and the lady who worked there became wrongfully suspicious of my activity and tried to unlock the bathroom while I was still occupying it!
Patrick so graciously followed me around through all the shops I wanted to see (it's funner when you have someone to show stuff to), where we purchased a couple of unique souvenirs, and then stopped by Pleasure Pier, a Santa Monica Pier copycat.
Why the heck didn't this thing exist when we used to take family vacations here?!?!?
I don't know if it was the sketchy weather that scared people away, or if it's just slow on Sunday's, but the crowd was definitely skimpier than I expected, which was great.
We spent a while at the end of the pier, just enjoying the breeze and watching all the birds gracefully soar around while they feasted on their lunch.....
......which wasn't such a difficult task, since they fish were practically sacrificially offering themselves.
By the time I'd convinced Patrick to ride the ferris wheel with me, they'd shut it down for maintenance checks....of course.
I refused to leave the pier without getting on a single ride, and after a lot of begging, pleading, and pressuring, had Patrick harnessed in the tower-swing (called the Texas Star Flyer, the tallest swing ride in Texas, suspended more than 230 feet above sea level, for a great view of the Gulf of Mexico) next to me for a quick thrill. He was convinced this would be the result of his eminent death, with the "thin chains and wimpy bolts". He said his goodbyes, making sure I knew I was to blame if he suffered a heart attack, and our dangling bare feet began to left higher and higher into the air.
My stomach did a little excited flip and I looked to my left to see my husband squeezing his eyes so tight I'm surprised they didn't permanently fuse together. "We don't typically do stuff like this together. Just so you know, I giggle a lot," I told him. We gained speed, resulting in the outward tilt of our dainty chairs. Further and further we flew into a sideways angle in the sky until we were almost parallel with the horizon.
"It feels so free! Like we could just shoot off into the ocean!!" I exclaimed.
"I hope you're happy," he grudgingly responded, eyes still tightly clenched.
Of all the feelings in the world, this is one of my favorites.
For the rest of the day, he'd randomly revisit his traumatic experience, "We were just so high up there. With tiny chains. And little bolts."
Exactly. A feeling well worth hearing his pre-during-post whining.
When I spotted a snow cone truck on the beach next to the seawall, our agenda shifted to lower grounds.
Not only is Pina Colada a safe choice for a messy girl on a hot day (no stains), but it just tasted spectacularly right, being there on the beach and all.
Besides, Patrick embarrassingly pointed out to me that the task of brushing my teeth had somehow completely vanished from my hygiene list that day, probably since my moment of cleanliness had been rudely interrupted, and I needed something to masque the seafood omelet I'd consumed earlier.
One more walk down the beach finished our short weekend vacation before our rainy drive back to our puppies.
And now everything we own is covered in sand.....
"What are the symptoms of West Nile Virus? I feel bad. I think I may have it."
I really don't know how I'm suppose to take a medical question like that seriously when the patient looks like this.
What's your favorite snow cone flavor? If you had to pick: Sunrise or Sunset?
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