Tuesday, October 18, 2005

The Marina

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?

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