Belleair Beach -- Sunday

Yesterday, Sunday, my first full day here, was idyllic.  Beautiful weather, a good book, actual swimming in the Gulf.  And a day with no books thrown out.

Michael Crichton's last book, Micro, did not disappoint.  The plot was silly, the characters two-dimensional.  I had always felt that what Crichton needed was a ghost writer.  It didn't help.  Richard Preston picked up the pieces after Crichton's death, but the book sounds as much like Crichton as any other.  On the other hand, once the ridiculous plot was developed and the absurd characters put in position, and the book became an adventure story, the twists and turns were great.  Perfect for vacation.  I will miss you, Mr. Crichton.

Today is for Terry Pratchett, from the ridiculous to the sublimely ridiculous, and Small Gods.

I'm swept away by its timeliness, its insanely clever philosophical tale of humanity and religious radicalism.

And today I was determined to be sad, one dead author and one who has been cruelly driven by his mortality.  And on the subject of books, I ended up spending far more time than I thought possible on the tragedy that is unfolding at Charleston County Public Library, with the egomaniacal director and the obsessive and controlling branch manager, one compelling the other to greater feats of destruction of the library's collection.

I found myself writing in my mind yet another letter, this time to the Post & Courier, in one version anonymously, in another, offering to share confidentially all that is transpiring under the surface of our glad-handing Vorbis.  I had thought I had a week to put the heart-breaking ugliness out of my mind, but this catastrophe has been eating me alive for over a year now, and if anything, is just hitting its stride.

So enough of that.  This is my week.  I need to get away from all that.

I am sitting at a table in front of a window overlooking the Gulf, on an almost cloudless day.  Sometime in late afternoon, the waves begin to chop, or actually, there begin to be waves.  In the morning and throughout the day, the waters are calm.  And clear.  In the water I can see fish swimming just a few feet from shore, and make out the tiny Gulf seashells.

I'm remembering the trips to Antigua and Florida with my babes, when they were babes.  This is a family resort, in the sense that parents play with their children in the water, and I have not yet heard a radio or a blaring television.  This morning there was an amazing sand sculpture that just a few feet from the shoreline was undisturbed by the tide.

Today I decided I would explore the area, scope out the restaurants I have been reading about and mapping for the past couple of months.   This little beach town (called a "city") that only boasts one breakfast restaurant that is pretty well hidden is really the perfect beach spot for a recluse like me.