So many times, you're disappointed ... and then, you're not

  • By Mike Dewey
  • July 30, 2014
  • 409
                        
SUMMARY: When an unexpected summer vacation drops into Mike Dewey's lap, he turns skepticism into optimism and revels in the chance that, even when life looks bleak, there's always a chance for happiness. EMERALD ISLE, NC – When something unexpected happens – something so unlikely that it never even got to the pipedream level of anticipation – there’s only one word for the sensation that overwhelms you. Giddy. And that was the word of the week as July crested and summer blossomed on what’s known as the Crystal Coast. My wife and I found ourselves able to unplug and relax for a few special, golden, blessed days. Where before had been only jobs and impossible scheduling, there appeared a little window through which we wriggled, following the sun to a place just this side of paradise, a slice of sand simply waiting for memories to happen. But before I get too carried away with my attempt to wax poetic, I should also say that my wife – who follows online weather reports with the slavish devotion reserved for stalkers and Moonies – felt compelled to keep me apprised of the latest five-day forecasts. “Clouds and rain the whole time,” she’d say to me, brow crinkled with concern as she turned away from the computer screen. “There’s only one day with a full sun.” She was, of course, referring to the little icons that illustrate someone’s best estimation of what can’t be predicted. “Honey,” I’d always reply, taking her hand and smiling in what I hoped was a reassuring way, “they’re only guessing.” The truth is that plotting the future is an inexact science, sort of like a marriage of fortune cookies, a Magic 8 Ball and a skyful of satellites, some of which might think they’re looking for the Loch Ness monster or Amelia Earhart’s plane. Are they right? Occasionally. Are they often wrong? Can that Eric Clapton guy play the guitar a little? So my wife and I balance each other out – she a believer and I the skeptic – which kept us buoyant as we crossed the causeway and entered the island proper. “Toes in the sand?” I asked, using our shorthand for the beginning of a summer escape. “Ten minutes!” she shouted. “I can’t believe it’s happening.” THERE WAS A TIME when we could plan an August getaway when snow was piled up three feet on the front porch and the sun set around four in the afternoon. Life was much simpler and there were fewer moving parts to synchronize when it came to getting together with family and friends. It’s simply not that easy anymore, but that only makes the realization so much sweeter and that was the case last week. It seemed like a hard-earned gift, something like a certificate earned at the end of a summer reading program at the public library or when you’d dropped the last two dollars into your Christmas Club account. My wife set up the seaside condo on a day when I was working so that when I finally stepped in, the place looked like a magazine cover. “You’ve outdone yourself,” I said, taking in the shore décor and her perfectly placed personal accents, candles and photo albums and flowers and such. “It feels like home.” “Just keep that ratty pillow of yours hidden in the bedroom,” she said as she walked into the screened-in sun porch that overlooked a courtyard dominated by a swimming pool and dotted with charcoal grills. I do travel with a pillow I’ve had since, well, college, I guess, but it’s comfortable and feels right, so it’s always on the road with us, like a lucky talisman. What can I say? It’s part of who I am. But so is making sure that I have all the ingredients I need to prepare meals for four or six or eight or 10 people, so it’s all good. Some people don’t like to cook on vacation, preferring restaurants every afternoon and evening, and that’s fine, but I think it’s much more relaxing to kick back and let someone who knows what he’s doing handle the kitchen or the grill. Again, it’s part of who I am. And whether it’s T-bones or tuna boats, burgers or shrimp and mushroom fettucini, I’m always up for whipping up a meal. BUT THE BEST PART of getting away from the grind isn’t what you eat, it’s who you greet as they walk into a beachside place with friendly faces on the other side of the door. That’s the money shot, the moment when it all makes sense, the smiles and the hugs and the realization that the last time you saw your great-niece, she was a year old and now, well, she’s a different person, walking and talking and taking it all in with a child’s curiosity, questions coming fast and from all directions. It’s impossible for me find the right words to fully express how fine it is to see family again after so many months, more than a year down the road. So I’ll just leave it at this: It’s beyond beautiful. There was no drama, no urgency, nothing that couldn’t wait, a kind of laid-back and languid sensation that was only heightened by the cloudless sky and the ocean’s timeless crash and roar. Feel like a cold one? The cooler’s right there in the sand, shaded by an umbrella standing strong against the onshore breeze. Fancy a walk on the beach? All you have to do is choose left or right. A game of beach bocce ball? First team to seven wins. And then there’s the water, bathwater warm with easy-flowing rolling waves, just right for boogie boarding in between the crash zone and the suck zone. “Ride it,” I’d say as a swell built to four feet high. “It’s a nice one.” And that’s how it was. Sure, it threatened to rain every afternoon, but we got lucky. Some unseen hand seemed to hold back the storms. And the restaurants had waiting lines, but knowing that steamed oysters and broiled scallops were waiting just inside made it all part of the game, one we actually won when it seemed for so long that we’d never get a chance to play. To wrap it up, we added two more plates to our License Plate game total, which leaves us only three to reel in by Labor Day: Nebraska, North Dakota and Wyoming. I’m thinking a trip to Okracoke might be in our future and I’m willing to bet that my wife will be charting the 30-day forecasts for the ideal time. But as long as she’s by my side, it’ll already be perfect. Mike Dewey can be emailed at CarolinamikeD@aol.com or snail-mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 2860. He invites you to check out his Facebook page.


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