Folly Beach 2

 

September 7, 2020

 

Labor Day. Toured the town on foot yesterday, discovering the twenty places you could buy T-shirts and the 0 places you could buy talcum powder, or a book. Lovely people in the stores, faces all masked by the plague.  Walked to the long pier, then went down to the sea to return by way of the breaking waves. Exhaustion, of course, but not so bad as I might have anticipated.

Vacation this time is to spend time planning gigantic meals, procuring the means of those meals, spending hours preparing and eating, lounging around after, mixing drinks until dark. I can see how this is restful and correct, especially in a place like the beach, contrasting though it does with my process of running from site to site grabbing a coffee as I go. There are no “sites” here but the sea. In olden days I could walk out to the marshes, but if I did I wouldn’t get back. Amy and I, on a trip to Walmart to buy food, saw spoonbills feeding in the marsh.

Zoom meeting about my play At Distance with Sips and Scripts last night was triumphant. They seemed to like the little plays in every possible way. One said she wished they had been written by a woman so she could include them in a women’s play fest she was organizing. It is the sort of group who would delight in finding faults if there were any, so, hurrah me.

Evening. Walked to and down the long pier, where people fish without apparent success, and grackles forage for the remnants of the fishermen’s sandwiches. Again to the pier with the group for cocktails. The cocktail lounge in open air apparently closes tonight, so those who love it blessed the timing. Much walking, followed by gigantic, irresistible naps.  I’m evidently intolerant of ambient sound—that is to say, of people playing recorded music all the time. I probably live a weirdly silent life measured by that of other people. I'd rather listen to the sea, while I have it. An adjustment to community living. Everyone is more watchful over the welfare of others than I. Everyone says “Are you all right? Do you need something?” ten times for every time I do. Again, probably testimony of my solitary life. 

 

September 8, 2020