“I’d be glad for you to use it,” I told David. “Get a group of your friends to go with you. If you don’t use it the time will go to waste.”

“Ok,” he said, ‘Thanks a lot.” 

We were talking about a time-share villa on the beach at Tybee Island, Georgia. I bought the time-share years ago for my late wife, Dorothy. She loved the place. We visited the resort every year. Some time later David called and said that he could not find friends interested; wouldn’t I come with my Louisiana family. So here we are – Catherine, Ghulam, and niece, Amara. When Shawn found that David’s daughter, Ursula, would come, he decided to drive here. He left home before the rest of us did and met us at the Savannah airport. I’ve always said, “If you have time to spare go by air.” David who drove here from Northern Virginia also met us at the airport. With two cars available we all arrived at the resort, ready to vacation. 

We had a snack of seafood at an outdoor eatery, accompanied by a songster singing popular oldies, most new to me, and much chatter from the diners. We went on to the resort where David had laid in food from the local IGA, and settled into our quarters. Not much has changed on the beach since I was last here. The ocean tides still roll in and out. Visitors still roam the parking lot, head for the pavilion and the pier, some with fishing gear. Others walk on the hard sand of the beach, while some lie in the sun and occasionally play in the surf. Good eyes can still see ships lying in a row on the horizon, waiting a turn to ply up the river to port. Elsewhere around town, new structures have appeared, replacing vacant lots or old buildings. Inside, things are a lot different from the last time I was here with Dorothy. While then it was quiet, we now have the frequent rings of cell phones. If there are no incoming calls, there is soon one going out. The younger generations seem to be addicted. I remember when leisure meant slowing down one’s pace. Between phone calls, we all found time to enjoy the beach. Ursula and her dad made time to run, to sun, and to play in the water daily. We enjoyed standing on the pier, over the frothy surf, watching the breakers do their swirling dance up and down the beach. A trip to Savannah was, of course, a given; as it was for Dorothy and me. The main attraction was the old section where antebellum houses of the wealthy line the streets. They sit on streets interrupted every few blocks by squares where there are trees, statues, and occasionally benches. One can stop and just relax and enjoy the scene. We visited Dorothy’s second favorite spot, River Street, barely above sea level. It runs along the river, where a riverside pedestrian walk, with trees and benches, is located. The other side of the street houses a row of small shops, selling all kinds of things, most of which are useless except to visitors. Dorothy found a dress shop, run by an Indian who reminded her of Ghulam. She made a point to visit his shop every time we were in town.

All the hype on TV during our first couple of days at Tybee Island concerned 9/11/01, five years ago. On that day, Dorothy and I were here for our last time. I had turned on the TV to check the weather. Rather than a weather report, we saw pictures of a tall building belching smoke from a floor near the top. Our first reaction was one of unbelief and amazement. The voiceover said that it had been hit by an airplane. As we watched, a second building also emitted a cloud of smoke. Two airplanes, two buildings; this could be no accident. Terrorists! My amazement quickly turned to anger. I still harbor that anger. There was nothing we could do besides watch in horror as people jumped to avoid being burned to death. Our last week here turned out to be our worst. Besides the horrible event, Dorothy suffered cancer. We had hoped to be able to forget that for a little while, but no such luck.

The family remembered that I was having another birthday at midweek. They favored me with a rib eye steak, cooked on the outdoor grill. I’ve never tasted a better steak from the grill.

Catherine and Ghulam left us for a trip to Denver to buy stock for their store. That left a bed empty so that Shawn no longer had to sleep on the floor.

Shawn got a cell phone call in response to a resume he submitted to a potential employer.   ”I’m on vacation with my family, and we’re are about to have lunch. May I call you back?” he responded. After lunch he returned the call, and had an hour interview on the phone.

“How do I get to Charleston? Time is of the essence,” he said and was soon off to a face-to-face interview. When he returned after a few hours, he was elated. He exuded confidence as he reported that he was to have a second interview with the regional manager. He spent his last day of vacation traveling to Jacksonville for that. Shawn missed out on some beach time, but it will be worth it if he gets the job. We are all rooting for him.

Yesterday I was up at sunrise. Facing east I saw despite my impaired vision a uniquely beautiful sky. The sun had risen above the horizon but it was hidden behind a cloud that formed a great blanket of color that painted the whole scene in a golden glow.

It has been a most unusual week. Tomorrow we head back home to Louisiana and more normal living. I’m now convinced that cell phones are good for some things. Good luck, Shawn!