The disadvantage of going to bed at nine o’clock in the evening is the tendency to awaken eight hours later – which is uncomfortably close to five o’clock the next morning. I say uncomfortably because there is not a great deal one can do at five o’clock in the morning other than read, not a bad thing clearly but not what I prefer to do first thing in the morning. When – as was foreseen last evening – the weather this morning was forecast to be clear, my design at the start of a new day is more inclined to getting into the fresh air. It is a laudable attribute I seldom tout but which I heartily embrace with the same gusto of a native athlete (which by the way I am not). In any event I didn’t invoke the five o’clock alarm but rather the six-thirty am alarm, or more accurately the instinctive provocation to get moving. There is only so much dithering in the lair that is tolerable. Though I rudely interrupted the laundry schedule remarkably already underway (my bath towel was in the dryer and would not be ready for another half hour), I persisted in my private propulsion and claimed a fresh towel instead, having acquiesced to abandon the necessity of both bath mat and face cloth which were with the other whites. I reasoned the Dial bath soap and Suave 2-in-1 Shampoo & Conditioner, with rapid and slightly aggressive application, would bestow the requisite cleansing in this singular instance.
There was a time when I insisted upon putting on the nose bag immediately after the morning ablutions and pointedly before commencing anything requiring assiduity, no doubt a spinoff of my boarding school regime of bells before marching to the Great Hall; as well a product of 30 years at the trough each day of the business week with the boys at the Superior Restaurant. Now however I approach the matutinal restoration more cautiously perhaps because the post-employment narrative has afforded a comparatively sedate ambition. Nor is it unwarranted that we only eat two meals a day – basically, breakfast and early evening dinner. His Lordship enjoys a variety of modest snacks throughout the day; but I strictly confine my abuse to the bipolar attitude no doubt a reflection of my notorious inclination for extremities though in my case both are more manic than depressive.
Here on Hilton Head Island I have unwittingly developed the routine of getting the car washed each morning at eight o’clock when the Island Car Wash opens for business. Often I am the first across the mark. The stimulus for this peculiar absorption is to vacate my preferred parking space at the condo early enough to permit me to reclaim it before anyone else does. Preposterous, I know, but I am unaccustomed to not having an allocated parking space. I liked to quip years ago that I never had a parking problem because I owned the spots whether at my residence, in the city or at work. Accordingly this habit has caused considerable frustration to break or accommodate and I can only do it by nefarious design. I reckon most people here don’t move off base until later in the morning. Thus far I have not been defeated in my petty scheme but as the weather improves and the crowds start to gather, I shall no doubt suffer the ignominy of having to park elsewhere from time to time. I don’t think a neon coloured pylon would be an appropriate alternative!
My venture to and back from the car wash this morning consumed about 30 minutes at the outside. Immediately upon my return to the apartment I set into motion my further custom of breakfast. I did however ornament the ritual this morning by scooping judiciously from the seemingly small ductile container of Naked Wild Honey Comb, Barkman Honey, LLC, Hillsboro, KS 67063 nakedwildhoney.com.
OUR HISTORY GOES BACK TO THE 1920S, WHEN ESRA BARKMAN CHOSE BEEKEEPING AS HIS PASSIONATE LIFE’S WORK.
DURING WORLD WAR II, ESRA BEGAN SELLING HONEY FROM HIS HOME IN HILLSBORO, KANSAS, WHEN SUGAR WAS RATIONED.
IN 1960, ESRA AND HIS SON, RICHARD, DECIDED TO MAKE BEES AND HONEY THEIR OFFICIAL BUSINESS AND FOUNDED BARKMAN HONEY.
TODAY, BARKMAN HONEY THRIVES AS A BEEKEEPER-OWNED, FAMILY COMPANY. WE ARE BEE PEOPLE, THROUGH AND THROUGH, COMMITTED TO MAKING ETHICALLY SOURCED, QUALITY HONEY AND ADVOCATING FOR THE HEALTH AND SUSTAINABILITY OF BEES.
Thus energized by the uplifting and inexpressibly phenomenal product of bees and wildflowers I set about my purgative task of cycling. Once again today I resolved to limit my compass to Sea Pines, essentially Tower Beach and Sea Pines Beach Club. Because the low tide was around midday, and the wind was from the southwest, I quite properly reasoned that I could again today enjoy a sail from Tower Beach to Sea Pines Beach Club with the wind at my back. Until I arrived at Tower Beach I regretted not having worn a jacket over my several layers of synthetics and cotton. I relied heavily upon the trusty silk scarf to buffer me from the precise effect of the elements especially as I careered through the towering sea pines and stands of bamboo-like foliage. As soon as I hit the open azure sky however the sunshine emanated its predictable warmth. I lingered on the boardwalk momentarily like an old dog in a sunbeam.
When I pushed off across the damp retiring beach I was reminded of the frequent impassability of the sand in this area of the Island notwithstanding the low tide. It appears that at this southernmost and curvaceous juncture of the Island the North Atlantic Ocean pushes large amounts of sand onto the existing beach causing things to remain damp and somewhat impassable as a result. The modification was not especially powerful this morning so I was spared the necessity to walk the bike too far before gaining mobility. Before long I was sailing parallel a limitless horizon and beneath a boundless sky.
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