So I haven't been to Hilton Head since my lovely Christmas on the beach last December,
and my last trip to the Gulf Coast of Florida was in April (I know, but I booked it way early the year before, and glad I did). I am in the process of selling for peanuts my albatross of a time-share in North Carolina and, although I enjoyed 25 years of vacations there and elsewhere through exchanges, it will be a relief to no longer have that annual maintenance fee and the burden of renting it.
But everything I have is getting old, including me. Last year I was dealing with shower faucets that leaked and when they finally got repaired in the spring turned out to be far more than crummy washers. Then the cold water flow in my washing machine went down to a drizzle and I resorted to running pans of cold water through the kitchen for awhile before I got that fixed.
My five-year-old lawnmower wouldn't start, even after I did an honest-to-gods tune-up, leading me to imagine that it was the carburetor. For the cost of a carburetor, I decided to get a new lawnmower. To save the $75 delivery fee, I ordered it from Amazon.
I have a remote control for my bedroom light/fan that I had to resort to waving around in the air to get it to work and decided in the interest of not spending money that I would ignore it. Then in the thick of the summer, the fan on my porch (where it was 80 degrees at 8 a.m.) went out, and I broke down and found an electrician to take care of both.
Then, in August, in the course of two weeks: the toilet in the spare bathroom -- that nobody uses -- just started leaking and wasn't found out until the water flooded into the hallway; the toilet in my bathroom started to make strange, haunted sounds; and finally, when I reached under the bathroom sink for a roll of toilet paper, I found that the hose under the sink I don't use had all-by-itself sprung a leak, and soaked my Costco-sized supply of t.p. A grunch of plumbing repairs.
And last week I noticed a small ceiling stain and the narrowest crack in the stucco ceiling in my bedroom. I can almost remember noticing that years ago and having some roof tiles replaced, but I'm not sure. Hurricane Matthew ought to resolve that question this weekend.
Are you exhausted yet? I haven't even begun to complain about my own parts that are getting old and worn out. Fortunately, when my blood pressure hit the ceiling and wouldn't come down, I eventually realized that it was because of my arthritis medication. When I stopped taking the arthritis medication, the blood pressure went back to something closer to normal. Leaving me with the option of joint pain or my head potentially exploding. But, unlike the plumbing, I have learned to deal with body malfunctions philosophically.
So what does all that have to do with burnt bologna sandwiches?
Here I am, in Union, SC, a refugee from the hurricane. I was resentful initially of having to spend money on a forced trip, but figure that it might be peanuts if Matthew has its way with Charleston. So I booked this hotel quickly, the price was right, it was over 100 miles from the coast, and based on the photos it looked like it might be the best of the several two star hotels in the area. In other words, for no really good reason.
Then I packed the essentials: a bag of books, a bottle of gin, and my tennis racket and bag of old tennis balls. And of course the less important stuff like toothbrush and undies.
I left sooner rather than later. I hate being home alone when there are torrential rains -- the power inevitably goes out, which means no water, no phone, no internet -- and in the best of circumstances I am always a bit amazed when I can make it off my poorly maintained (read, not maintained at all) dirt road off Bears Bluff on Wadmalaw Island.
As Kinky Friedman would say, I left my cat in charge. She is okay with that, she just assumes I am on another of my vacations.
The trip was slow but uneventful. The proprietors of The Magnuson Hotel were friendly and welcoming. We talked about what is happening in Charleston, past storms and past evacuations. They were kind enough to let me be flexible about how long I needed to stay. They gave some good restaurant tips. Just next door is gas that is a few cents less than Charleston before Matthew, a diner, and a market where I can buy a six-pack if need be. The pool was cold and green and closed, but I asked for (and got) one of the chairs so I can read outside my room. And a couple miles away, a park with tennis courts. HBO and TCM (the one without commercials), neither of which I can afford at home.
Once I checked in, I revved up my computer. One of my home pages is The State newspaper and no longer feeling the urgency of the storm, I clicked on the headline "Where to Find SC's Best Fried Burnt Bologna Sandwiches." Go ahead and laugh, but damned if one of the places mentioned wasn't Dairi-O in Union, SC! And if that weren't enough, a check with TripAdvisor had raves about their soft ice cream (I have a soft spot for soft ice cream; you aren't surprised, are you?).
As I unpacked, I realized that sacrificing my vacations to save a few dollars just hasn't been working. It is too much time at home agonizing over stuff breaking down, chores that have to be done, bills that have to be paid, stuff, stuff and more stuff.
When I'm away, if something breaks, somebody else fixes it.
When I'm away, the most stressful decision I have to make is where I am going to eat, or whether I should take a walk or go for a swim.
I absolutely don't need a fancy, expensive vacation. A beach or a pool is nice. A bag of books is essential. I believe there is ALWAYS good food, and it is my challenge to find it. But I really, really need to get away. Regularly. There are just times when I am the only old breaking down thing I want to have to deal with.
As for Dairi-O and their burnt bologna sandwiches, they are worth the trip.
