A Bioluminescent Binge

We’re home.


Finally.

After four hours of bay fishing followed by fifteen overnight hours in the car, we made it. We stink, we’re dirty, we’re tired, we traveled with a cooler full of dead trout, but we’re home.

And what a final couple of days it was.

Friday night, we decided to walk the beach after dark to see the magnificent stars. And what we saw in addition to the stars was straight out of a special effects shoot--the waves that were crashing up onto the shore were actually glowing.

In my 40 years of living, I never knew such a thing occurred. For those of you as dumb as I am, it’s called bioluminescence (the production of light by living organisms).

Now, I knew certain living creatures had glowing capabilities. I’ve squished many fireflies in my day. But I never knew that entire ocean waves could glow.

Apparently, the sea life contained within the waves illuminates when it’s moved. Thus, we witnessed something similar to the above picture. Breathtaking, really. We were all astounded.

Then Gus shone his flashlight onto the sand and we realized we were being mobbed by ghost crabs. When I stopped freaking out -- and when I talked Mary Claire off the ledge -- we were pretty impressed with their presence, too. They were, quite literally, everywhere.

One of the most magical nights we’ve ever experienced.

The next day, we packed up our belongings and headed to meet Captain Terry for our 4-hour cruise... our 4-hour cruise. (Did you sing along, ye children of the 70s?)

We caught trout after trout after trout in the bay. For 4 hours, we threw our lines in and pulled them back out with stinky, wiggly, slimy fish. And we kept enough to grill for dinner tonight. Chris just cleaned them. I can’t quite talk about it right now. The guts, the heads... ugh.

But the big news of the week?

I managed to gain 10 pounds.

In one week, my friends.

That’s true dedication.

When I think back to what I ingested on our vacation, I guess it’s no big surprise. The bread, the wine, the vodka beach drinks, the potatoes, the vodka beach drinks, the Fudge Stripes, the red wine, the donuts, the white wine, the creamy soups, the vodka beach drinks, the fried fish, the red wine, the ice cream, the wine.

I ingested enough of the White Devil to ensure my eternal passage to hell. (As if that wasn’t already guaranteed.) After 8 months of faithful and prudent South Beaching, I just ran that train right off the track and into the convenience store...

Where the Hostess treats of my childhood were waiting.

When I walked out to the Suburban for my 3:00 AM driving shift with coffee in one hand and a 2-pack of Ding Dongs in the other, Chris just shook his head sadly and proclaimed, “That’s not going to end well.”

And he was right.

The bingeing didn’t end well. It never does. I feel sick, bloated, disgusted, 10 nasty pounds heavier.

But the good news is that I’m completely re-committed to South Beaching it tomorrow. I’m going back to Phase One, baby, and the thought of carrots and filet and daily exercising sounds like manna from heaven.

But tonight, I’m going to finish off the gluttonous ride with a Reeses Peanut Butter Egg.

Or four.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Once Upon a Time

There was a family of six who loved and cherished one another. They sat in an overcrowded Suburban for 15 hours, drove through the night to reach their paradise destination, didn’t argue once, didn’t complain about anything, and then arrived on the beach to frolic happily -- and contentedly -- for seven glorious days.

Or something like that.

This vacation is -- in fact -- pretty darn close to perfect. The kids are old enough now to entertain themselves during the day. Which means, of course, that I am free to sit on the beach drinking White Cran Peach and vodka tumblers of goodness while devouring all the latest novels that I’ve been neglecting over the past few months. (And just for the record, my friends, MANY of those are actually from The Library. Yup. THE LIBRARY. And I haven’t developed any communicable diseases from them... yet.)

In true Beverly Hillbilly fashion, we loaded the kids bikes up on the back of the Suburban, and Chris and I rented two more when we arrived. We’ve been biking all over the island. We biked to the State Park, biked for ice cream, biked for dinner, biked in circles like the Shriners. We’ve been biking fools. On our first full day here, we biked over 12 miles. Yes, there was a bit of complaining, but we soothed our girl’s concerns with a little yelling and a lot of ice cream.

We’ve watched dolphins swimming right outside our windows, we’ve examined jellyfish that washed up on the shore during the night, we’ve eaten oysters. OYSTERS!

We’ve played Scrabble, painted our nails (well, the boys didn’t participate in this little adventure, but I probably could have convinced a couple of them if I’d promised some extra trips to the ice cream store...), watched movies together, thrown the football on the beach, attended Bingo night at the local firehouse.

Our faces are sunburned, the tops of our feet are peeling, and life is good.

Saturday, we’re scheduled for a fishing excursion with Captain Terry. We’ve loaded up on seasick bands and bought a lifetime supply of Dramamine. Jared suggested we “keep our eyes on the horizon,” and Brian requested video footage of the barfing carnage that will most likely ensue. We’re keeping both options open.

I’m ready to walk away from our rumor-addled small town and embrace this kind of life permanently. The problem is, however, that at some point we’d have to work. And the kids would have to go to school. And then we’d just create a new small town life -- one that’s just a bit sandier.

But for now, we’ll enjoy every minute of our vacation. We’ll barf our way through our sea fishing expedition. We’ll play some more high-stakes Scrabble, eat some more ice cream, and enjoy the ride.

And if I can get video footage of Chris on his girly beach bike? I’ll be sure to post it for your viewing pleasure.