Tuesday, October 18, 2005
A few evenings ago, I drove down to The Market on the Island to shop for dinner. The sun was setting over the marina, so I paused and watched as it dropped on the horizon.
When I finally went inside to shop, I asked the girl behind the counter, "What is the name of the marina here? I don't think I've ever seen a sign."
She looked at me as though I'd just asked if water was wet and replied, "It's called The Marina."
"Oh," I said, and cocked my head to one side hoping it might help the information trickle far enough down into my brain that it made more sense.
The next morning as I took my shower -- the place and time the light bulb generally goes on over my head -- I finally got it. Life on the island is simple and sweet. I no longer feel the need to cruise through life at 70; I'm cruising down Via de Luna at 35. There is The Market on the Island; there is The Marina on the island; and, by-doggies, I'm just the [barrier island] girl on the island.
Ain't life grand?