If you know me, you know I try not to whine.
I may rant and shout like a sailor.
But I don't "think" I do too much whining.
Well, honeys, this is a whine of a sort to make up for all those past un-whines.
Skip it if, like me, you're pretty turned off by the noises made by a constant whiner.
Pitiful is just not my thing.
And I do not mean this to sound as though it's directed at those of you who have very legitimate complaints.
There are, after all, real reasons for complaints and then there are those who feel as though if they don't "suffer" a drama a day they're not going to get the attention they so need.
THOSE are the people I'm talking about here.
But enough about them - this is gonna be all about me.
All about me whining . . .
Being pitiful . . .
I hope I've made that perfectly clear. (insert little winking emoticon here)
So.
I was suffering a bad case of the blues about this week.
Thanksgiving. My birthday. Happening this week without my mom.
My answer to combating this week of the blues is the same as it is for so many other things.
A week at the beach.
Now, as you may have figured out over time, the beach, the ocean, any big expanse of water meeting the sky is a balm to my soul.
It's not something I simply enjoy.
It's something I truly need.
Need from the very bottom of my feet to the very depths of my heart.
If I had known my ties to the water were so strong I doubt I could have ever left Cambridge where every drive I ever took was, sooner or later, going to have me going across a bridge. Or have me within just a head's turn to see the water. Cambridge Creek. The Choptank River. I get emotional by only thinking about them.
But. Had I never left Cambridge, what are the chances I would have ever met Don Barley?
Or many of the other people I've met on this life journey. People I'm privileged to call "friend?"
So. There's my making lemonade out of lemons.
Oh, hell - enough of that.
I am here to whine, I tell you!
We were able, on very short notice, to rent a house at Topsail Island. Our favorite "go to" beach of the past many years.
The house was perfect.
Dog friendly. Ocean front. Large deck facing the ocean. A sunroom in case the weather was a bit too nippy for early morning/late night coffee times. As long as I can see, hear, or even sense those ocean waves, I am a contented woman.
And there was going to be a bonus this trip.
Because we pass closely to my friends Margaret and Joe's place we sometimes get to visit with them on this trip to the beach. I was hoping to meet them for lunch today on our way.
But, as chance would have it - that couldn't happen this time because Margaret was already planning a trip to Topsail and would already be there.
Long story short - plans were made for me to get together with her for dinner this evening. The dinner was to also include some of her writing group - The Weymouth 7. The Weymouth 7 includes Margaret Maron, Sarah Shaber, Diane Chamberlain, Mary Kay Andrews, Brenn Bonner Witchger, Katy Munger and Alexandra Sokoloff. Pretty stellar group, huh?
While all seven were not part of this week's writing retreat at Topsail, Margaret, Sarah, Diane, Mary Kay and Brenn were.
And my beach bonus was to include dinner with those who were there. Except Brenn who ended up not feeling well.
Oddly enough, she apparently was pretty contagious with vertigo which she passed along to me. (is that even possible?! I don't think so . . . but I need to place blame on someone and Brenn gets to be it).
<insert another winking emoticon right here>
So.
Not only are we not spending this week at the beach.
I am not having dinner with Margaret, Sarah, Diane and Mary Kay.
Insert every four letter bad word you have ever heard uttered in your entire life right here.
And now do it again with greater emphasis.
More gusto, please!
Believe me, you're not even coming close to expressing the disappointment I feel.
Except for Mary Kay, I know these women. I was looking forward to meeting Mary Kay because I've been a long time fan. Loooong time fan. I lived in the area she used to write about under the name Kathy Hogan Trocheck in her Callahan Garrity series. And I love the books she's writing now.
So. A group of women, most of whom I'm lucky enough to know. Women I admire. Read. Women whose work I read for heaven's sake - how cool is that?! How could I not be sad and disappointed.
I demand a "do over!" (and Brenn joins me in this demand).
In the meantime, today I'm picking up my copy of Diane Chamberlain's newest book, "Pretending to Dance." I'll read it and about 6:00 this evening I'll lift my glass in a toast to the women at Topsail who I'll be missing.
<clink>
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