Full Definition of GRITTY
1. containing or resembling grit
2. courageously persistent : plucky <a gritty heroine>
3. having strong qualities of tough uncompromising realism <a gritty novel>
The business of “finding one’s voice” is customarily associated with the plight of a literary author; however I suspect it is ultimately the preoccupation of any one of us if we want to achieve personal importance and lasting value. Continue reading
“What day is it?”
It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
My favorite day,” said Pooh.”
― A.A. Milne Continue reading
My head has been awash today with distracting thoughts and atypical reminiscences. I’ve contemplated – or rather I should say, I’ve cogitated on – murder, suicide, death and religion, admittedly a peculiar agenda. This is especially curious as I spent the day blissfully cycling on the beach in the sunshine.
The velvet fog which obscured the early morning view of the Sound signalled we were in for some warm air. By ten o’clock the soft grey mist had burned off, revealing a cerulean sky and a yellow orb. The waters glittered. Continue reading
I have re-instituted the habit I formed a year ago when we were on Hilton Head Island; namely, laying in bed until as late as 9:30 a.m. Granted the extension of my wake-up time has occurred gradually as I have contemporaneously begun staying up later and later at night, often until 11:30 p.m. or after midnight instead of hitting the hay by 10:00 o’clock at night as I had been doing for some time. One reason for the difference is that I have set up my keyboard here and I play it late at night. That always gets me wound up. Frankly for most of my adult life it was my routine to go to bed late anyway. I could never bring myself to go to bed any sooner. I had to run myself into the ground before I’d succumb to the iniquity of sleep. Besides the reality was I would sleep better if I were tired even if it meant I slept less. When I was working I always got out of bed by no later than 7:00 a.m. no matter when I went to bed; and when I had my little French bulldog I got up even earlier so I had the time to take care of his needs before taking care of my own. Those days are now gone. No more work. No more little dog. Continue reading
I believe in one God, and no more; and I hope for happiness beyond this life. I believe the equality of man, and I believe that religious duties consist in doing justice, loving mercy, and endeavoring to make our fellow-creatures happy. But, lest it should be supposed that I believe many other things in addition to these, I shall, in the progress of this work, declare the things I do not believe, and my reasons for not believing them. Continue reading
We knew of course to expect some rain today. We could see it on the horizon. The dreary clouds were a marked departure from what had been weeks of blue skies and yellow sunshine. Continue reading
We have apparently fallen victim to another addiction – food! Perhaps it started yesterday when we succumbed to Sea Shack for lunch. Or maybe it was days ago when I spied a pecan pie at Fresh Market. Whatever the proximate cause, restraint went to Hell in a handbag today! The effect was similar to that “one drink” when falling off the wagon. When for example we cycled this morning to Fifth Avenue Salon to check the place out in anticipation of my hair appointment this afternoon, we ended by detouring to Sea Shack for lunch. No doubt the indulgence whet my appetite because later this afternoon when I went to T.J. Maxx to buy a cheap little bathroom mirror (and I mean cheap, and really ugly – pink with rhinestones), I diverted my mission to Whole Foods Market to “inspect” their bakery department. I believe they make their own stuff so that was the impetus to “test” the Cayenne Chocolate Cookie Sandwiches and Chocolate Chip Oatmeal cookies. And – oh, yes – the pecan pie. Had I mentioned pecan pie? Continue reading
Whether it was the coincidence of meeting complete strangers from Pennsylvania at Harbour Town this morning and telling them about Sea Shack (where “the locals” dine) or whether the place has been on our minds since we arrived here two weeks ago, whatever the reason, we found ourselves cycling to this exceedingly modest restaurant for lunch today. This is the first time we’ve dined out since our arrival on the Island. And what a great way to start! It’s a Maritime hallmark! As always we were not disappointed. And as usual I had the identical meal I’ve had every time I have been there – a cup of soup (which daily varies between clam chowder and seafood bisque), blackened Grouper, cole slaw and corn bread. The meal always comes with three Hush Puppies (corn fritters). To drink I had unsweetened tea with a lemon wedge. We ate at one of three out-of-doors picnic tables next to the restaurant. It was the same Mexican server who delivered our meals to us, a single mom immigrant who came here about 25 years ago to escape the violence of Mexico City. She told us that she is tired of moonlighting at the yacht club, that she finds the patrons there too picky and that she is looking for a “good man” so she’ll be able to give up that “extra” job. The female cashier also recognized us when we arrived and placed our order. She welcomed us back.
It’s Sunday morning, only our second Sunday since arriving on the Island on November 15th last but another in a succession of warm, sunny days which we’ve delighted in for the past two weeks. I gaze out the wide front windows of the condominium onto the expansive green common. A black cat crouches at the edge of the pool, staring into the water as though watching something below then eerily turns its green orbs in my direction, its tail motionless. Small birds flit between the palm trees. The water of Calibogue Sound shimmers in the distance. Pelicans and herons sail mere minutes above the water. The early morning sunshine is creeping over the manicured hedges. Schubert and Brahms mollify the whole. A runner clad in white clothes whisks by on the beach. Two walkers, heads down toward the sand, stroll along the beach, speechless. A cone tumbles from a sea pine.
