I SUCK AT THE BEACH!

 

After a sausage and French toast breakfast (made from Cuban bread), the boys headed out for another day of fishing with Kenny.  Brian is on the second day of his three day fishing license.  That left Wendy and I to our own devices...

This morning, two pumper trucks came down from the mainland to sell diesel
fuel at a discount to the boaters here at Banana Bay.  One of the boaters here
arranged it all, and that was much appreciated.  Two trucks were required to
accommodate all of the power boaters.  For many of them, filling up the fuel
tanks means B.O.A.T.  When you're buying 300-400 gallons or more at a
time, it's easily over $1000 bucks- with the discount.  I politely waited my
turn, then grabbed the Cuban guy to ask for a fill up- in my jerry jugs.
I took all of 11.5 gallons. My bill was just $41.05.  Gotta love a sailboat!
I was actually embarrassed as I wrote my measly check.

It was really chilly this morning.  Wendy attempted to sit outside, but had to give up and go back down in the boat.  I gave her options for what to do today, but apparently it was too many options.  I kept checking the weather, and if we were going to have rain, it was supposed to move through by 1pm.  Finally, around mid-morning, I suggested that we take a drive to Bahia Honda State Park.  Even if it was chilly, we could walk a trail, walk the beach, go up the railroad bridge for pictures, etc.  Then the plan was to come back, have lunch, and head to Sombrero Beach here in Marathon for some fun in the afternoon sun.  I should have known better.  All plans around here are written in sand (usually because we are on island time now).  I should also have known to never make plans around the weather,  as on the ocean the weather can change very quickly.  And if somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain I did not recall the two aforementioned "I should have known betters", then I should have at least recalled the fact that I SUCK AT THE BEACH!

Let me clarify.... I LOVE the beach.  I LOVE picking up seashells.  I LOVE my toes in the sand.  I LOVE body surfing in the waves.  I LOVE to walk for miles holding my Cap'n's hand.  We have made that trek on some of the most beautiful beaches in the world.  I LOVE to feel the warmth of the sun on my back and on my face. Being a therapist, I LOVE to people watch, and make up little scenarios in my mind about the people I see- everybody has a story.  I LOVE to listen to the languages of people from all over the world who are enjoying themselves along the seashore as much as I am. More than anything, I LOVE to watch the water.  I love the shades of green and blue.  I love to watch the sunlight on the surface of the water sparkle like diamonds.  I am a beach girl at heart.  But truth be told, I SUCK AT THE BEACH.

I do not like having sand on my hands, in my hair, in my mouth, on any part of me other than my toes.  I tolerate the feel of sand on my toes, as I convince myself it is a free pedi and exfoliation from the good Lord above.  Now, we have a sheet, "the beach sheet" that has traveled with us all over the world.  Invariably, I no sooner get my beach sheet laid down in the sand (after picking just the perfect spot, and angling myself to the best sun and best view of the water) when a gust of wind picks a corner or two of it up, messing up my beach sheet. (Remember, the OCPD in me has to fastidiously smooth out all the wrinkles before I can deposit beach bags, flip flops and coolers onto the four corners of my beach sheet). If the wind doesn't pick up my beach sheet, messing up my order in the world, and depositing a bucketful of sand upon it, then Cap'n comes along and FLOPS himself down in such a way that he will bring his own bucketful of sand with his feet to deposit all over MY CLEAN BEACH SHEET.  You can imagine the fussing that commences as I have to get right with the world and my sheet.  Throw wet bodies onto my CLEAN BEACH SHEET, and it has disaster written all over it, to which the only possible solution for toleration is to flag down the nearest cabana boy for a rum drink of some sort.
*sigh*

The last episode of SUCKING AT THE BEACH was at South Beach. (which, by the way, is the best beach in the world for people watching).  It was the usual debacle we suffer in an effort to get MY CLEAN BEACH SHEET laid down in perfect order.  This was preceded by a previous attempt in search of the perfect spot that landed me in the middle of the rainbow flag section.  I was simply admiring the beautiful, buff, tan male specimens all laying out before me...until my husband politely pointed out that we were in the gay section.  In all of my ogling, it didn't occur to me that these beautiful specimens were rubbing tanning lotion ON EACH OTHER, wearing nothing but a banana hammock, and in some cases, just a teepee.  Clearly, I was distracted.  But, I digress.....

Moving to a new comfy spot, I smoothed out the wrinkles, deposited the bags, cooler, and flip flops, and enjoyed all of about 10 minutes with my face to the sun when Cap'n announced that he was hungry.  I dare not let him rifle through the picnic basket; he could mess things up in there. (Yes, I know, people- I have control issues.  But I'm lovable :)  With a bit of harrumphing, I proceeded to put out the lunch spread on our CLEAN BEACH SHEET.  I don't know how it happens, but if you so much as open a bag of chips, the sound of the wrapper being split open will bring no less that 100 seagulls soaring overhead and swooping down low. Their god-awful squawking sounds like, "Mine! Mine! Mine".  I hate them. They are flying rats to me.  I had my sandwich in one hand, hadn't even taken the first bite, when I reached into the basket to get a napkin and SWOOP- my sandwich was gone.  I swear the damn thing spit a piece of lettuce back at me just to taunt me.  At this point, the clouds quickly rolled in, and it started pouring big, fat, cold raindrops.  We gave up.  "We're morons!", we said. And that was the day we declared that we really do suck at the beach. Which brings me to today....

The boys are out fishing.  We've been chilly hanging out at the boat, waiting for a break in the weather.  I finally suggest that we drive down to Bahia Honda State Park to at least take a walk, snap a few pictures, and to show Wendy some beautiful views of the Florida Keys.  We got on our yoga pants, bundled up in our sweatshirts, and headed out...to the beach. I should have known better.

We no sooner crossed the Seven Mile Bridge, and entered the gate to the park and we saw glorious sunshine.  I swear, the temperature jumped at least ten degrees up.  Things were looking up- and were dressed for winter (winter in the Keys, that is.  It's all relative).

We walk up the old railroad bridge for a better view, and we have already
shed our sweatshirts....

This was our view to the ocean side.  To the right you can see the fishing
boats dotting the horizon.  Down on the sand it was dotted with one
happy couple/family after another. Soaking up the sun's rays on
THEIR clean beach sheet.  We had nothing. No sheet, no swimsuit,
no sunscreen, no sammich. It's a thousand wonders we remembered
a bottle of water and our cameras.  Still, we rolled up our yoga pants,
put our toes in the sand, and walked the length of the beach and
back, illegally picking up two wee little seashells.  Once I apologized
all over myself for being ill-prepared, and for SUCKING at the
beach, I suggested we make a mad dash for home to grab our
beach bags, swimsuits, and lunch.  Of course, I had to
pack my trusty beach sheet.  I should have known it was not going
to bode well in our favor.  I realized our Tommy Bahama beach
chairs (the Cadillac of beach chairs) was in our car which was in
Kenny's driveway... because the boys took our car to go fishing.

We got ourselves all situated on my CLEAN beach sheet at Sombrero
Beach, and the sky had already begun to fill with clouds.  I did not despair.
First of all, my beach sheet remained clean because Wendy is NOT a
flopper.  Secondly, the pb and homemade mango jam sammich
really hit the spot. (I should have made two for myself, but I was in
a hurry to catch some sun). And then I hit the trifecta- I had the perfect
couple in front of me for people watching AND they spoke beautiful
Italian (from Venice, no less).  With all of this good fortune, I was
certain the clouds would break and the afternoon would be salvaged.
(Let me just insert here that Europeans would strip down naked
and lay next to a mud puddle if the sun was out. Or maybe the sun
doesn't even have to be out.  Nice buns.)

We no sooner finished our sandwiches and I could see the front moving
in.  The wind picked up, and I figured we had about 11.2 minutes to
get to the car before the liquid sunshine was upon us.  That was the
only thing I had right the whole day.  By the time we got back to
Marquesa, the skies opened up in a BIG way.  I SUCK AT THE BEACH.
For the record, the guys put on their Ducks (best foul weather gear. ever.)
and kept right on fishing. And catching!

By the time the boys filleted today's catch, they had about 11.2 minutes to
wash the fish stink off of them and to get to Sparky's before happy hour was
to end.  It was 25 cent wings and shrimp, and they only serve seafood
gumbo on Tuesday nights.  Notice how sunburnt Brian is. The turd face.

The only reason I'm smiling is because I see a mango margarita in my near future.
(Ok., not really. Notice my husband has "coon eyes" from his sunglasses and
sunburnt face.  Um, yeah, he's a turd face, too.)

The gumbo was a big hit.  Brian was a trooper- he ripped the head off
and ate that crawdad tail. If he were a true Cajun, he'd have sucked the
head out, too.  Needless to say, Wendy politely picked the bug out
of her soup in one quick swipe.

The singer in the bar had one of the coolest guitars I have
ever seen.  It was a 1960's Epiphone, that he customized
with photos on a plastic credit card like material, that
were then mounted to create a mosaic tile look.

It even had a built it cup holder.
All he needed was a curly straw for his beer.

After dinner we walked the docks to look at the fishing
charter fleet.  We saw a 2009 60' Viking that cost
a cool $3 million.  It's heading to St. Thomas for
sport fishing charters in March.  Nice.

Brian loved Mystique, which had it's blue night
lights all ablaze.  She's a beauty.  If there was anything
to reincarnation, I think Brian wants to come back as
a boat captain. on a luxury charter boat.
in St. Thomas. catching sailfish.

We visited at Mamaw and Paps for a bit after we left Sparky's.  The boys
told their fishing stories, and we mapped out our menu for the fish fry
tomorrow night.  I needed some tortillas for tomorrow's breakfast
burritos, so we stopped at Winn Dixie on the way home.  I also wanted some
baby food jars for a little craft project.  You should have seen four
grown adults pouring over all the dessert flavors trying to decide which
ones to buy.  Naturally, we had to sample them all when we got back
to Marquesa.  See kids, adults can be silly and have fun, too!
G'nite, y'all!!!