The Beach, The Park and Other Things

Sometimes I have a problem understanding native vernacular, as well as where I live in relation to other parts of my adopted state.

Folks 'round here, during the summer, go to "the beach." This has always baffled me, because, as a New Yorker, there were lots of different beaches. Jones Beach, Robert Moses, The Hamptons, Rockaway, Coney Island. You said, "I'm going to the Hamptons this weekend."

Here, "the beach" means any beach, I think. And then I need to ask which beach, because I just don't know. There's Myrtle Beach, Litchfield Beach, Folly Beach, and all kinds of beaches on the South Carolina coast, but you have to ask because that information is not offered.

So this Saturday, urged on and accompanied AND driven by my best friend Bill, we set off on a 45 degree morning to THE BEACH. We told people, though, that we were going to Charleston. Which we did. Dressed to the hilt in Nanuck clothing and making us look just like the Northeasterners we really are. Hoodies and jeans jackets and all manner of long sleeved attire.

We drove a lot around Isle of Palms and marveled at the homes. We had lunch, drove around downtown Charleston, and made our way to Folly Beach, where the above photo was taken. My drink is non alchoholic and my shoes are waterlogged. Just thought I'd let you know.

But so amazing. We live in South Carolina, in a part of the state that was freezing when we left, and landlocked. Three hours and change later, we are on a beach in 85 degree weather and I am digging my toes into wet sand and loving every second of it.

I just kept saying, "I need to see water." And my good buddy took me to water. He rocks. He so totally rocks!

We got back and then Zack took these two photos of the two "guys" in the house, Biggie (again, in his present size) and Elliot, who is our real nice guy. He's got some issues but he is a love (he's 8).